#judge energy bars

[gregmarriage]

i may know it’s healthy to interact with people and be social, but that doesn’t mean i find it easy in any way

[pucksandpower]

Thawed

Kimi Räikkönen x sunshine!Reader

Summary: the many times throughout the years that only the warmth of his wife could thaw the Iceman

“He’s just so … cold,” your aunt comments, wrinkling her nose at Kimi’s back as he heads to the bar. It’s the first time you’ve brought him to a family event.

You bristle, prepared to defend your new boyfriend. “He’s not cold once you get to know him. He’s just a private person.”

Your aunt sniffs. “Still, he barely said two words all night. And that nickname — the Iceman! I don’t like it.”

You straighten your spine. “Well I do. His thoughtfulness and loyalty outweigh any lack of words.”

As you speak, you feel your doubts about mismatched personalities fade. Opposites attract for a reason.

Your aunt looks unconvinced, but you pay her no mind. You’re falling for the quiet Finn with a heart of gold. And you won’t let anyone’s disapproval chill that flame.

When Kimi returns, you lean up and kiss his cheek fondly. He looks pleasantly surprised. Let them judge. You see the real man inside.

***

“Smash it! Smash it!” The rowdy groomsman chants as you and Kimi cut into your wedding cake.

Other guests take up the chant, clamoring for Kimi to shove cake in your face per tradition. But you had quietly asked him not to — you don’t want frosting up your nose and ruining your makeup on your wedding day.

Kimi’s eyes meet yours, a silent question. You give a slight shake of your head. His expression hardens with resolve.

In one smooth motion, he whirls and smashes the slice of cake directly into the rowdy groomsman’s face. Icing splatters everywhere. The room goes silent.

“Here you go, since you seem to want the cake smashed so bad,” Kimi says coldly.

The groomsman splutters in shock. You have to hide your smile behind your hand.

Kimi winks at you as he licks icing off his fingers. “Now, where were we?”

Heart swelling, you lean in to kiss your wonderful, cake-covered husband. No one gets in the way of your wishes on your wedding day.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you make your way through the crowds, weaving between mechanics and engineers going about their race day routines. The smells of rubber and gasoline hang thick in the air. You smile and nod at familiar faces, receiving knowing looks in return.

Everyone here knows who you are — the bubbly, outgoing wife of the Iceman himself. The unlikely pairing has been the talk of Formula 1 ever since you started dating a few years ago. You’re warm and chatty. He’s cool and laconic. But somehow, it works.

You find Kimi in the Ferrari motorhome, sipping an energy drink, game face on. His brows are furrowed in concentration, icy grey eyes focused straight ahead. You know not to disturb him right now. This is business time.

Slipping into the seat beside him, you pull out your phone and scroll aimlessly, letting the comfortable silence stretch between you. The hustle and noise of the paddock fades into the background.

Finally, Kimi drains the last drops from his can and crushes it in his hand. He turns to you, the stern expression melting away. His eyes soften and the corners of his mouth tick upward ever so slightly.

“Morning,” he says quietly, voice gravelly.

You beam at him. “Good morning, love. Ready to go racing today?”

He nods, the hint of a smile still playing on his lips. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I did, thanks to my very comfy race driver pillow.” You wink.

Kimi snorts, the creases around his eyes deepening. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your temple.

Around you, mechanics and team members try and fail to pretend they aren’t glancing your way, still not used to seeing the Iceman so openly affectionate. But Kimi doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“I’ll see you after,” he says, standing up and giving your hand a squeeze. His face settles back into cool concentration as he strides out to prepare for the race.

You settle in to watch qualifying, heart swelling with pride and love for your Finnish fireball.

***

“Kimi, the stewards want to speak with you about the incident with Perez on lap 37.”

Kimi’s jaw clenches, eyes flashing. “Typical,” he mutters.

You touch his arm reassuringly. “Go on, I’ll wait here for you.”

He nods, striding off to the steward’s office, race suit half unzipped and hair disheveled. You know he’ll be lucky to escape without a penalty. Kimi has never been one to mince words or hide his displeasure with other drivers. You can only imagine the icy staredown happening behind those closed doors right now.

Twenty minutes later, he emerges looking ready to smash a table. You jump up and hurry over.

“Well? What did they say?”

Kimi’s scowl deepens, if that’s even possible. “Ten second penalty. Ridiculous.” He spits out something in Finnish you’re glad you don’t understand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. You drove brilliantly today.”

He shakes his head and stalks down the hall towards the paddock. You scurry after him, nearly jogging to match his long angry strides.

“Forget it. Not your fault the stewards are blind.”

You slip your hand into his, lacing your fingers together. Immediately you feel some of the tension leave his body. He glances down at you, the hint of a smile breaking through the thunderclouds.

“Let’s get out of here,” you say gently. “I’ll make you your favorite dinner, open a nice bottle of wine ...”

He nods, expression softening. “Okay. Sounds good.”

You smile up at him, giving his hand a squeeze. The stormy Finn may have a heart of ice on the track, but you know better. He just needs a little sunshine sometimes.

***

You pause in the kitchen doorway, heart melting at the scene before you. Kimi sits on the living room floor, your baby niece perched happily in his lap. He bounces her gently on his knee as she squeals with delight, the hint of a smile on his usually stoic face.

“Faster Unca Kimi, faster!” She cries, unruly curls flying.

He chuckles and picks up the pace, eliciting delighted giggles from her. Your sister watches nearby, still looking a bit bemused at seeing the Iceman so good natured and playful.

Finally Kimi stops, feigning exhaustion. “Whew, that’s enough for Uncle Kimi,” he says, lifting her up and pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. “You’re too fast!”

She dissolves into giggles and wraps her tiny arms around his neck in a hug. He hugs her back, looking more content than you’ve ever seen him. Your heart feels fit to burst.

“Who wants ice cream?” You announce, carrying in two bowls.

“Me, me!” Your niece starts to squirm in Kimi’s lap, reaching eagerly for her treat.

He stands, swinging her up easily onto his shoulders. “Let’s go have ice cream on the porch, give your mama a break,” he says. She kicks her little legs gleefully.

Your sister shoots you a grateful smile as Kimi carries her outside. You grin and wink. Who would believe it — the Iceman, a big softie for kids. But you know better. Under that cool exterior beats a heart of gold.

***

The crowds pressing around the circuit are suffocating today. Fans shove programs and merch at you for Kimi to sign. One overzealous teenage boy tries to wrap you in an uninvited hug.

Suddenly Kimi is there, gently but firmly detaching the boy’s hands from your arms. His face is thunderous.

“Back. Off.” The boy stumbles away wide-eyed.

Kimi keeps a protective grip on your shoulder as he marches you briskly from the paddock. Once inside the privacy of the motorhome, he cups your face in his hands.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His tone is urgent.

You shake your head, still a bit shaken. “Just got grabby. Thank you for the rescue.”

Kimi exhales, pressing his forehead to yours. “I don’t like you getting swarmed out there.”

You smile wryly. “Hazards of being Mrs. Iceman.”

He brushes his thumb over your cheek. “I just want to keep you safe. Those crowds make me nervous.”

You kiss him softly. “I’ll be okay.”

His eyes bore into yours, icy blue melting into tenderness. “Still. Stay close to me out there from now on. So I can protect what’s most precious.”

Your heart flutters under his intent gaze. You lace your fingers through his, feeling infinitely cherished.

“Always.”

***

“Kimi, your phone is ringing again,” you call from the couch.

He doesn’t respond, gaze fixed intently on the TV as he navigates a difficult turn in his racing video game. The phone buzzes angrily on the coffee table.

With a sigh, you reach for it. The caller ID says “Bane of My Existence.” You frown. That’s the third call from her this week that he’s ignored.

“Kimi ...”

“Hmm?” He pauses the game and glances at you, eyebrows raised.

You hold up the phone. “It’s your PR officer again. Don’t you think you should answer and see what she wants?”

His expression clouds over. “No. Told her not to call me anymore.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” You keep your tone light and curious.

He shrugs. “Kept trying to get me to do stuff. Go to parties and all that.”

You bite back a smile, warmth flooding your chest. Your shy homebody of a husband, sought after on the celebrity circuit but wanting none of it.

“Well, I’m glad she hasn’t lured you away yet,” you tease gently.

The corners of his mouth quirk up as he takes the phone from you and sets it aside before pulling you into his lap.

“Don’t worry,” he rumbles, nudging your nose with his. “You’re the only party I need.”

You kiss him softly, heart overflowing. The glitz and glam means nothing to your Kimi. Home is where his heart is.

***

You awake to whispered voices and the smell of something burning. Bleary-eyed, you shuffle to the kitchen doorway.

Kimi stands at the stove, hair endearingly mussed from sleep. He’s scowling down at a frying pan, clutching a spatula like a weapon. Your brother leans against the counter, trying and failing to stifle laughter.

“What’s going on?” You ask through a yawn.

Kimi’s scowl deepens. “Trying to make you breakfast. Not going well.” He prods the blackened lump in the pan disdainfully.

Your brother snorts. “He nearly set off the fire alarm. I got here just in time.”

“I told you I don’t cook,” Kimi mutters, avoiding your gaze.

You pad over and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, love.”

He relaxes back into your embrace. Your brother mimes gagging behind his back. You stick out your tongue at him.

“Here, I’ll show you,” you say, gently prying the spatula from Kimi’s hand. “Just go slow ...”

Soon, the three of you are gathered around the table, eating the pancakes you made together. Kimi’s are a bit misshapen, but edible.

He looks inordinately pleased as you sample his. “Good?”

You beam at him and squeeze his hand. “The very best.”

His rare unguarded smile warms you more deeply than any breakfast ever could.

***

You awaken to the dipping of the mattress as Kimi slips under the covers. The red glow of his bedside clock reads 3:48 AM.

“Everything okay?” You murmur, rolling over to face him.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against his chest. You feel the steady thump of his heart under your palm.

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” His voice rumbles low near your ear.

You nuzzle into him, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin. “Worrying about the race this weekend?”

He exhales, his breath stirring your hair. “No. Just thinking.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, you lift your head to study his face in the dimness. His eyes shine in the faint light, gazing at you with an intensity that makes your own heart skip.

“What is it?” You whisper.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his callused fingers infinitely tender. “Sometimes I still can’t believe you’re here. That you’re mine.”

Emotion swells in your chest, words escaping you. You cup his stubbled face and guide his lips down to yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

When you finally draw apart, he pulls you close again, tucking your head under his chin. No more words are needed. You understand each other perfectly in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. Soon his breathing evens out in sleep, and you follow him down, still nestled safe in the circle of his arms.

***

You’re just drizzling the last of the chocolate over the molten lava cakes when you hear Kimi’s keys in the front door. A smile spreads across your face. Perfect timing.

He wanders in a few moments later, hair adorably rumpled, eyes lighting up when he sees you.

“Mmm, something smells good,” he says, crossing the kitchen to wrap you in a hug.

You kiss his scratchy cheek. “Made your favorite for dessert. Now go get cleaned up while I finish.”

He squeezes you tighter, stubble tickling your neck as he nuzzles into it. “Can’t I have you for dessert instead?”

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Go on, you. Plenty of time for that later.”

He steals one more kiss before sauntering off, a grin playing about his lips. You shake your head, unable to stop smiling. After all these years, he still makes your heart race as if you’re teenagers again.

When he returns, you’ve set out the seared salmon, roasted vegetables, and the two perfect chocolate lava cakes. His eyes light up.

“Have I told you lately that you’re the best wife ever?” He asks, pulling out your chair.

“Hmm, I think you could stand to mention it more,” you tease.

He takes your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. His eyes pierce yours. “You’re the best wife ever,” he says solemnly.

You lean in and kiss him, happiness bubbling up inside you. However many times he says it, you’ll never get tired of hearing it.

***

“So, what’s it like being married to the grumpiest driver on the grid?” The reporter shoves a microphone in your face, invasive and smug.

You recoil, blindsided. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, he’s not exactly Mr. Personality.” The reporter leans closer. “Does the Iceman thaw out at home or just freeze you out?”

Humiliation burns through you. Before you can respond, Kimi is there, gently moving you aside. His eyes are blazing.

“Don’t you dare talk about my wife like that,” he growls at the reporter. “You know nothing about our life.”

The reporter withers under Kimi’s icy glare. You feel a rush of gratitude for your protective husband.

Kimi turns to you, face softening. “Let’s get out of here.”

Once you’re alone, he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Sorry you had to deal with that. He had no right to badger you about our marriage.”

You lean into him, safe in the circle of his arms. “It’s okay. You came to my rescue like a knight in shining racing gear.”

He snorts. “Hardly a knight. But for you, always.” He kisses you tenderly.

No matter what the media says, your life together is not theirs to define. Your love writes its own quiet story each day.

***

You awake in the dark to a loud crash from downstairs. Heart pounding, you shake Kimi’s shoulder.

“Kimi, wake up! I think someone’s broken in.”

He’s up in an instant, alert and poised to strike. You hear footsteps creeping up the stairs. Kimi pushes you behind him and grabs the baseball bat by the bed.

The footsteps reach the landing and a shadowy figure appears in the doorway. Kimi flicks on the light, bat raised menacingly. You both freeze.

It’s Sebastian Vettel, eyes wide, hands raised in surrender. “Whoa whoa, it’s just me!”

Kimi’s shoulders slump as he lowers the bat. “Seb? What the hell are you doing here?”

Seb runs a hand through his messy hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was in town and my rental car broke down outside. I was hoping I could crash here tonight.”

Kimi sighs, shaking his head. “You couldn’t call first?”

Seb grins sheepishly. “Forgot to charge my phone.”

You step out from behind Kimi, laying a hand on his arm. “It’s fine, love. Let’s get some fresh sheets for the guest room.” You turn to Seb. “We’ll figure out your car in the morning.”

Seb’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thanks, I really owe you guys.”

As you make up the bed, you share an amused look with Kimi. Only Seb could turn up unannounced in the middle of the night and get away with it. But then again, that’s why you love him.

***

You’re waiting at the finish line, heart in your throat as the cars scream past for the final lap. Kimi is battling for a podium finish, but has fallen back after a poorly timed pit stop. He’s gaining ground fast, but is he out of time?

The crowd roars as the frontrunners cross the line. P2 … P3 … waiting for P4. Come on, Kimi.

Then you see it, the red and white Alfa Romeo flashing past the checkered flag, narrowly clinching third. You leap in the air, cheering loudly. Kimi did it!

You rush down towards the pits, arriving just as Kimi climbs from his car. His race suit is drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, but his eyes are bright. When he spots you, a grin breaks across his face.

You throw your arms around him, heedless of how sweaty he is. “You were amazing! I’m so proud of you.”

He lifts you off your feet in a bear hug, laughing breathlessly in your ear. The sound sends joy bursting through your veins.

As he sets you down, you cradle his stubbled face in your hands. “I love you,” you say fiercely.

His grin softens to something more tender. He tilts his forehead against yours, heedless of the crowds milling nearby.

“Love you too,” he murmurs.

The cameras flash around you, eager to capture this rare unguarded moment. But Kimi only has eyes for you. Third place has never felt so golden.

***

“Ugh, your wife is so annoyingly positive all the time. It’s nauseating,” the other driver’s girlfriend gripes to Kimi at a race afterparty.

You freeze mid-laugh, stung by her disdainful tone. Kimi’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“I would rather have a positive wife than a miserable cow like you,” he says coldly. “Come on, let’s go.”

He takes your arm and steers you firmly away. You blink back tears, embarrassed.

“Hey,” Kimi says softly, tilting your chin up. “Don’t listen to her. I love how positive you are. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad for spreading joy.”

You give a watery chuckle. “Really? You don’t find it annoying?”

“Are you kidding? Your light balances out my darkness perfectly.” He punctuates this with a swift kiss. “You keep me from being a constant grump.”

You laugh and swat his chest. “Impossible. No one can tame the Iceman’s grumpiness.”

He smiles tenderly and pulls you close. “You do. Don’t change for anyone else.”

***

You pace the bathroom floor, heart racing. The little white stick sits innocently on the counter, but its result will change everything. One blue line for negative, two for positive.

Three minutes have never felt so long.

When the timer finally beeps, you take a deep breath and turn it over with a shaky hand. Two blue lines stare back at you.

Positive.

Emotions swell within you — joy, nervousness, excitement. You and Kimi have been trying for a baby, but it still feels so surreal now that it’s actually happening.

You hear the front door open and Kimi call out your name. It’s time. Clutching the test behind your back, you go to him.

He must read something in your face, because his brows furrow in concern. “Everything okay?”

Your face splits into a teary grin. “Everything’s perfect.” You bring the test out from behind you and hold it up wordlessly.

Kimi’s eyes widen. For once, the unflappable Finn seems utterly flapped. “You … we ...” He stares at the two little lines, then back at you. “We’re having a baby?”

You nod, vision blurring with happy tears. With a joyful shout, Kimi sweeps you up in his arms and spins you around. His excitement is boyish and uncontained.

When he sets you down, he cradles your face in both hands. “I’m going to be a father,” he whispers in awe.

You put your hand over his, overjoyed tears spilling down your cheeks. “You’re going to be the best father.”

***

You fidget impatiently on the exam table, Kimi’s hand clutched in yours. After months of waiting, today is your first ultrasound. If all looks well, you’ll get to see your baby for the very first time.

“What’s taking so long?” You huff. Kimi smiles and presses a kiss to your temple.

“Relax, they’ll be here soon.” His calm steadies you, as it always does.

Finally the technician arrives and asks you to lift up your shirt. She squeezes cool gel over your swelling belly and begins moving the ultrasound wand through it.

The screen comes to life, showing grainy black and white images you can’t decipher. The technician frowns, adjusting some dials. Your heart leaps into your throat.

Sensing your distress, Kimi gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. Just be patient,” he murmurs.

After a few tense moments, the technician’s face clears. She turns the screen towards you with a smile. “There we are. There’s your baby.”

You gaze in wonder at the little shape filling the screen, tiny arms and legs visibly squirming. Your vision blurs with tears. That’s your child, your little miracle.

Beside you Kimi is utterly transfixed, eyes shining. “That’s our baby,” he whispers reverently.

He lifts your intertwined hands and presses his lips to your knuckles. “Thank you,” he says, voice husky with emotion. “For this gift.”

You have no words. You simply lean into him, his solid warmth anchoring you as joy washes over you both.

***

You stare glumly at your reflection in the mirror. At eight months pregnant, you feel like a beluga whale. Your ankles are swollen, your back aches constantly, and none of your clothes fit over your enormous bump anymore.

Voices sound from downstairs as Kimi arrives home. You feel tears prick your eyes. You don’t want him to see you like this, a beached whale in sweatpants.

Sniffling, you ease onto the bed and bury your face in a pillow. Kimi finds you there a few minutes later. The mattress dips as he sits down and rubs your back.

“What’s wrong, love?”

You shake your head, embarrassed. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Gently he turns you over, brushing the hair from your damp cheeks. “Talk to me,” he says softly.

A sob escapes you. “I’m hideous like this! I’ve gotten so huge. You must be disgusted looking at me.”

Kimi’s brow furrows. He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his earnest gaze. “Is that what you think? That I find you disgusting?”

Ashamed, you drop your eyes, fresh tears spilling over.

“Look at me,” he says gently. You do. His ice blue eyes pierce yours. “You’ve never been more beautiful to me than you are right now, carrying our child.”

He places a reverent hand on your belly. “You are giving us the most precious gift in the world. How could I not find you beautiful?”

His words pierce your heart. You cover his hand with yours. “I love you,” you whisper.

He gathers you close, dropping feather-light kisses over your face. “And I love you. Always.”

You cling to him, feeling foolish and so very loved.

***

A contraction rips through you, more intense than any before. You cry out, squeezing Kimi’s hand desperately.

“Breathe, love, breathe,” he coaches, face taut.

You gasp air into your lungs as the vice grip on your insides finally releases. Kimi dabs the sweat from your brow with a cool cloth.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “Our little one will be here soon.”

Even through the haze of pain, his voice anchors you. Your Kimi, always steady as a rock.

Too soon, another contraction wrings a ragged shout from you. Kimi never leaves your side, letting you nearly crush his hand as you ride out the agony.

“I can’t … I can’t do this ...” you sob.

Kimi presses his lips to your temple. “You can. You’re the strongest person I know. I’m right here with you.”

His faith buoys you, even as your body is wracked with wave after wave of excruciating spasms. Your world narrows to the circle of his arms.

Then finally, miraculously, comes the thin, piercing cry of your child. Your exhausted tears mingle with joyful laughter.

Kimi cuts the cord with shaky hands, eyes shining brighter than you’ve ever seen. When they lay the squalling, pink bundle on your chest, the universe crystallizes to this one perfect point.

Your family, whole at last.

***

You awake in the small hours before dawn, reaching across the cool sheets only to find Kimi’s side of the bed empty. Padding down the hallway on silent feet, you peer into the nursery.

Your breath catches in your throat. Kimi stands over the crib, your tiny daughter cradled against his chest. One large hand gently supports her downy head.

He’s speaking softly to her in Finnish, too low for you to understand. But the love shining through his voice brings tears to your eyes. Your tough, taciturn Finn transformed into a doting father.

As he lays her tenderly back in the crib, you hear him murmur in a whisper, “Don’t worry little one, your isä will always protect you. I promise you that.”

He tucks the blanket snugly around her and brushes a feather-light kiss over her forehead. The tenderness of it makes your heart ache.

You slip silently back to bed before he notices you, not wanting to intrude on this private moment between father and daughter. But the image stays seared in your mind.

When Kimi joins you a few minutes later, you turn and press your face into his chest so he won’t see your tears of joy. His arms come around you reflexively.

“You okay?” He rumbles.

You nod, a lump in your throat. Your family is so very blessed.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you push your daughter’s stroller through the chaotic maze of the paddock. She’s only six months old, wide-eyed at all the commotion.

Mechanics pause to coo over her, their grease-smudged fingers surprisingly gentle. PR people stop to fuss and take photos. Word has spread — the Iceman’s baby girl is here.

Kimi strides over, stooping to drop a kiss on your head and tickle his daughter’s tummy. His race suit is on, grey eyes intense and focused.

“Sure you don’t want me to take her while you concentrate?” You ask.

He shakes his head, a corner of his mouth quirked up. “I need to see my two favorite girls before I drive.”

Your heart melts. Kimi scoops her up, and she clutches at his nose and gurgles. Nearby, you hear shutters clicking madly. The Iceman undone by a baby — it’ll be all over the press tonight.

But Kimi only has eyes for his daughter, face soft in a way it never is before a race. With a deep breath, he cuddles her close and murmurs something in Finnish before handing her back to you.

You kiss his cheek. “Go show them how it’s done, Daddy.”

He winks and strides off towards the pit lane, determination in his stride. Your daughter waves a chubby fist as he disappears from view.

No matter how many races he wins, now his best trophy waits for him at the finish line. His family.

***

“Must be lonely married to a man called the Iceman,” the reporter says slyly. “He’s not known for being warm and affectionate.”

Anger flashes through you. How dare this stranger imply your marriage is lacking.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” you reply sharply. “Kimi is very attentive and loving in private.”

The reporter raises her eyebrows. “But his public image ...”

You cut her off. “That’s all it is — an image. Kimi deserves more respect than tired old stereotypes.”

Your voice softens as you glance to where Kimi is chatting with fans, his body angled protectively towards you.

“There is no one kinder or more loyal than my husband. He cherishes our family greatly, he just doesn’t flaunt it to the world.”

The reporter looks taken aback by your fervent defense. You almost feel sorry for her. She’ll never truly know the man behind the Iceman legend. But you do and you won’t tolerate anyone maligning him.

[noridal]

I was wondering why does having clean teeth feel so liberating? Then I realized it's because you no longer get shamed into quitting smiling.

[reidmania]

close to you | spencer reid

summary; you and Spencer aren’t technically anything — but you are so much more then nothing. He is wrapped around your finger, just as much as you are around his.

warnings; situationship!! more than friends, less than a couple! bau!worker reader, they both drink alcohol, mentions clubbing, its fluff more than anything, they are in love! fem reader. idk its pretty fluffy!! spencer a cocky teasing idiot umm reader is lowkey shy idk . slightest tiniest bit of angst if u drink a bottle of tequila and spin 26 times then squint.

an; fluff!! a rare occurrence for reidmania!! not proof read bc idc enough tbh!! thank u!!

Clubs were never your scene, its not that you had a problem necessarily with people who enjoyed it, you didn’t judge people who got drunk and hooked up with strangers or made an overwhelming mess of themselves.

It just wasn’t your scene.

The blaring music, way too loud. Sweaty dancing bodies tangled together in the crowd, the combination of different perfumes and colognes that filled their air overwhelming and leaving you feeling light headed in the worse way.

Why had you agreed to this? It was Penelope’s idea to go clubbing as a stress reliever after a particularly difficult case. You were going to say no at first, you really really were. You were gonna complain about it being a waste of time and energy to spend a few hours dancing and being hit on by way too old, way too creepy men.

But then Spencer agreed. Shocking. You were shocked and very stunned.

How could you say no now?

You stayed back as the girls of the team danced around other sweaty strangers, Derek was there too actually — spinning Garcia around with one hand, a drink in the other. You leant against the bar, admiring the sight before you.

You didn’t need to be involved or cascaded in by other random people. You were okay right here, just watching and appreciating the sight of your friends and the closest people in your life laughing and having a good time. You didn’t need anything more.

Until your eyes flickered towards the corner, where Spencer was standing, holding a drink in his hand — also just admiring the sight of your teammates on the floor. The pink glow of the lights that filled the bar leaving his face in a warm hue and highlighting every little feature. His sleeves rolled up over his elbows. Your eyes flickered down to his hands that wrapped around the glass he was holding. Gaze trailing along every vein that was exaggerated by the way his hand was placed.

Then your eyes trailed back up to his face, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw his eyes flicker towards you. There was something new — a look you hadn’t really seen before amongst his features. He offered you a gentle smile, as he tilted his head slightly encouraging you to come over towards him so you weren’t sitting alone.

Your legs moved faster than your head could think. You noticed this was a common thing. You were completely and utterly enthralled by Spencer Reid. Completely wrapped around his finger and he didn’t even know it. — Or maybe he did, you weren’t sure but you also weren’t sure you cared.

Anything he said, you believed. Anything he encouraged, you followed. Any small demand or suggestion and you were obligating without a second thought or an ounce of common sense.

“Hi” you mumbled out gently when you got close enough to talk to him. He smiled gently, tilting his head a little as he leant further against the wall. There was something cocky about the look in his eye and the way he raised his eyebrow at you.

“You doing alright?” He asked, carrying a hint of teasing in his tone and you were pretty sure you were about to pass out.

Maybe it was the few drinks you had, too many too fast as a form of coping with the scene around you.

You nodded. He grinned as his free hand reached out gently to brush a few stray hairs away from your face, then moving hair behind your shoulder, fingertips brushing against the skin of your neck. Your breath hitched at the feeling, his cold hands burning against the sensitive skin, leaving a hot trail in their path before his hand returned to his side.

God you could marry the man on the spot. Like genuinely, if someone gave you the papers you would be signing every single dotted line the document had to offer.

“Sorry.” He huffed out an apology and you wanted to kiss him to show him just how fine it was. How you felt your stomach burning — you knew that wasn’t just from the alcohol.

You shook your head, quickly. Craving his touch all over again as your eyes trailed down his forearms again. Did he roll up his sleeves just to drive you insane?

“Its.. Fine” You nodded slightly distracted — very distracted.

He snorted. Spencer Reid was oblivious 99% of the time — the smartest man maybe ever, a genius, a walking encyclopaedia, he was oblivious 99% of the time to social cues — what he wasn’t oblivious to, was you.

“Its fine?” He repeated back, his teeth coming to sink into his bottom lip as he looked down at you, eyes on your face as yours flickered from his hand to his eyes.

Eyes that were already on you.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you nodded, because it was fine. You assumed maybe the misplaced piece of hair was contrasting with his need for perfection too much of the time and bothered him to the point he just — needed, to do something about it. You missed the way his head tilted and his eyebrow raised. Until you didn’t.

He was teasing you.

“You’re an asshole” You mumbled out, rolling your eyes as you turned to walk away — noticing he was having a great time. but there was nothing malicious about your tone nor your words. There was nothing malicious you could say about Spencer even if you really really tried. Even if you said the meanest cruelest thing in the world your fond tone would give you away.

You heard his loud laugh, before he was reaching out to grab your wrist, pulling you gently back towards him, bringing you flush towards his chest as his hand moved from your wrist to your head as it rested against his dress shirt — his suit jacket hanging from the back of a chair somewhere.

His hand cupped the back of your head as his fingers carded gently through your hair. “No- Im sorry- Im sorry. Stay here” He said gently as his fingertips scratched against the back of your scalp gently. Whatever it was that was going on between you and Spencer — you just didn’t want it to end.

You hummed, hands pulling upwards to wrap around his mid-section, running gently up and down his back off the white dress shirt as you stayed in place against him. This was a lot better than sitting and watching your friends. Being close to him, in his arms, surrounded by his scent.

“Are you coming home with me tonight?” He asked gently, a soft whisper in your ear as if anyone else would hear over the loud music surrounding you. It made your heart flutter anyways — because it was meant just for you.

You nodded, you weren’t going to originally. Actually your body was aching for a good nights rest in your own bed, after being away for a week on an all too draining case.

Seemingly enough, your body ached more for the closeness with Spencer he was happy to provide.

“Yeah? Thats my girl” He said, voice gentle and quiet, just loud enough for you to hear as his lips pressed down against the top of your head, his fingers continuing to run gently through your hair and over your scalp, holding you close to him.

You let out another hum. Even though technically you weren’t ‘his’ girl — you were. Despite the lack of labels on the situation between you two, you were his girl. This was why you agreed to come out after Spencer did. This, being close to him surrounded by a scene neither of you particularly enjoyed — but with each other so it didn’t matter.

“Can we go?” You asked, tilting your head back in his hand to look up at him, he paused his gentle caressing against your hair as he met your eyes, he brought his hand away and instead to your jawline, fingers gently running across the soft skin of your cheek as he one handedly cupped your face.

He wet his lips with his tongue before getting out a soft nod, “Mhm, We can do anything you want sweet girl” He said gently, seemingly just as captivated by the look on your face as you were with the look on his. You knew his words were true. He would do anything you asked of him. He proved that time after time again.

Maybe on late nights alone in bed you would wonder a little too hard about the unspeakable chemistry that overpowered the air between you two, and remained unspoken but for right now, just being close to him was enough.

He was close enough.

[the-tarot-witch22]

Profession of your future spouse - Pick a pile

Pile 1/ Pile 2

Pile 3/ Pile 4

Hello everyone ! This is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!

Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!

How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to! You can choose more than one pile, it just means both pile have messages for you!

Note : This reading is based on my intuition and channeled messages from tarot cards.

I worked really hard on this pile please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!

Liked my blog or readings? Tip me!

Pile 1

The cards I got for you - ace of wands, 3 of cups, 3 of pentacles, the chariot

1. Creative jobs (Graphic Design, 3D, interior, photography, anything to do with creativity they might be into art too.) In which they have to use their hands, they can be good with their hands as well.

2. Event planner, wedding planner, some sort of celebrative type of occupation like a DJ, or they might own a bar.

3. They can be a teacher/leader/boss/ higher or upper position than you, project manager, they are very well respected in their work.

4. Leader, medics, a politician? something to do with ethical hacking or computer.

Pile 2

(The cards I got for you - 6 of cups, 3 of swords, 4 of swords, the star, or hierophant)

1. I feel daycare teacher, or babysitter in their free time, taking care of children's and animals, they might teach younger childrens.

2. Sports or athletic

3.Nurse, surgeon, therapist.

4. Teacher again or own an institute or teach somewhere online (they might know two languages)

5. Manager

Pile 3

(Queen of wands, The magician, two of pentacles, knight of swords)

They find hard to balance between work and personal life but they do it, flawlessly.

1. Model, (something to do with their looks) , confident job, like they need to be confident in their own body, even can be famous or a bit known in crowd.

2. They are very skilled they might have juggled many jobs and they are good in all type of things

3. Sales executive, Carpenter

4. Call center, the kind of work they need to give order to someone

5. Their work might require travelling.

6. A navy officer, cop

7. Advocate, CEO, business person

8. med field (ayurvedic type or medicine pharmacist)

Pile 4:

The cards I got for you - Ace of pentacles, 4 of wands, 8 of swords, king of cups and wheel of fortune)

The work they do might have them be overwhelmed orburdened, like stressful but they love their work.

1. Bank worker or finance like finance analayst, tech, data scientist, data analyst.

2. Wedding planner, or they work something in event planner.

3. counsellor in schools, or judge.

4. They might deal with criminals too in a way, or might involve to travel, military.

Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3

[itgetsdark-x]

Something In Your Mouth

Summary: what’s a little night out if not for a bit of teasing fun with your dad’s best-friend?

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, mentions of alcohol, age gap (Joel’s age unspecified), oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v (do better!!), edging, orgasm denial, forced orgasm (kinda), use of good girl etc, mild humiliation / degrading. idk i feel a lil unhinged with this one besties.

Characters: dbf!joel miller x (f) reader

Word Count: 5.3k

You pressed your glossy lips together to ensure that the hot pink covered every area of your pout and you smiled at your friend in the reflection of your bedroom mirror. 

“Girl, I’m telling you… Tonight is the night that I finally fuck Joel Miller.” You smirked, taking the bottle from your friend, Sasha’s hands and taking a long swig of the warming liquor.

“Ha! Yeah right… Are we on about the same Joel Miller here? Your dad’s friend, the single father himself and what’s that? Oh yeah, he’s ancient, old enough to be your own dad! He won’t touch you, jailbait, give up.” She laughed again as your flipped her off.

“Sash, I am in my mid-twenties, closer to thirty than I am twenty. Not to mention, I’m hot okay?! There are worse women Joel could sleep with. I’m just saying… I think it’s a good idea. I just get big dick energy from him y’know? I mean, have you seen his hands?! His fingers. I actually feel like if I don’t have him soon, I’m gonna go legally insane.” You huffed.

Sasha shook her head as you stood from your bed to get changed. You flung your comfy t-shirt and shorts into your friend’s direction and grabbed the outfit you had hung on your door. Tonight’s attire was an ensemble of a black leather skirt, hot pink tank top and your trusty platform Doc Marten boots.

“Be fucking real right now, that is not your underwear of choice for the evening!” Sasha all but screeched as she caught a glimpse of your undergarments as you began changing your outfit.

“What?!” You asked with feign innocence.

“You’re wearing a hot pink thong with matching bra. Please tell me this is not for Miller.” She sighed with exasperation, pinching at the bridge of her nose.

“Maybe it is… but hey, if Joel doesn’t want some tonight I’m sure some other lucky guy will appreciate the efforts I have gone to.” You shrugged, winking at your friend. “Now, how ‘bout you quit your judging and get changed so we can get to the bar! The girls are meeting us there.”

Sasha groaned with effort as she stood and joined you in getting changed.

———

The bar was busy, you were meeting your friends there to celebrate your upcoming birthday which meant your father was going to be there and in turn, so was Joel. You weren’t a complete idiot, you knew that trying to get with Joel was a huge risk for you both; if your father ever found out, you would most likely be forbidden to ever leave your apartment ever again and well, you couldn’t even imagine what your dad would do to Joel.

Which also meant you had to be calculated with how you went about it; no blatant flirting or teasing in front of your dad, you had to play your cards right, keep them close to your chest.

As soon as you and Sasha arrived into the dimly lit bar, your friends herded over to you and enveloped you in a big hug. You squealed with delight and greeted them all individually before your dad walked over, with the older Miller in tow close behind.

“There’s my princess, happy early birthday, sweetheart.” Your dad beamed, hugging you and kissing your temple.

“Thanks dad, and thanks for actually showing up! I know hanging out with us girls isn’t at the top of your Friday night agenda. Same for you Joel, thanks for coming.” You smiled bashfully at him before he closed the space between you both and gave you a quick squeeze.

Your head span and you could feel your heart threatening to beat right out of your chest, his heady cologne drowning your senses and driving you mad. It was an immediate effect and you couldn’t stop the way your core throbbed at the contact.

“Gotcha a drink darlin’. Happy early birthday.” He flashed a smile in your direction and gave you a glass filled with amber-coloured liquid. “Yes, it’s our favourite. Southern Comfort and lemonade.”

You grinned at him and took a swig of the drink gratefully, just as you turned to talk to your father again, you were almost certain you could feel Joel’s eyes raking over your body with hunger.

———

As the night wore on, the drinks flowed and the laughter grew rowdier and louder as the music in the bar was turned up. You were dancing with a couple of your friends, every now and then your eyes would catch Joel’s; he sat at the bar talking to your dad and nursing his whiskey.

“Sash, did you see the way he keeps looking at me? And earlier? Please tell me you saw that!” You whined.

“Ugh. God. I hate to feed your delusions but I did see it and I see it now. Even with your back turned, he’s watching you. Fuckin’ weird and intense, it’s like a predator with his prey. Waiting to strike.” She huffed, voice just loud enough for you to catch over the pop music playing.

“Okay… But why is that hot as fuck?” You laughed, throwing your head back as your danced. “I just need my dad to clear off, I love him but I can’t hit on his friend when he right there. That would be weird.”

You carried on dancing, with your friends and even with a couple of men when they tried it; you couldn’t help but notice the way Joel’s stare seemed to intensify when any man came near you, it made you smile to know that he was watching you.

One particular man caught your attention, he was similar to you in age, as far as you assumed and he was handsome, definitely easy on the eyes but nowhere near anywhere as good as Joel. He smirked at you from the bar and closed the distance between you until his hand was on your hip and he was dancing with you. You smiled sweetly at him, peering up at him through your lashes as you brought your thumb up to your glossy lips to suck on it seductively. You flashed a glance over to Joel who looked like he was ready to kill. 

Bingo. You thought to yourself and danced with the handsome male in front of you, the music boomed and you swayed your hips against him, you span yourself around so you could press your ass to his crotch and you smirked over at Joel once again who was now alone at the bar. Your fingers clutched your glass as you wrapped your lips around the thin, red straw and sucked up the cool drink. 

Joel quirked a brow at you, with a look that you couldn’t quite place, it seemed to settle somewhere between lust and utter disdain for you. You gave him a little wave and turned back to face the man you were dancing with, you looped your arms loosely around his neck and continued to dance along to the loud music. 

The nameless man leant down and whispered into your ear, the music distorted his voice but he said something about leaving with him which caused you to giggle. You got up onto your tiptoes to whisper back into his ear but felt a foreign hand pressed against the small of your back. The guy you were just dancing with backed away with his hands held up in innocence. 

“Hey!” You turned around with a deep frown. “Oh… hey, Joel.” You smiled.

“Your daddy left a little while ago, he saw you dancing and didn’t want to… disturb since you seemed busy…” He scoffed. 

“Well I was a lil busy, and now he’s gone. Whatcha want?” You huffed. 

“Don’t fuck around, little girl. We both know what you’re playin’ at.” 

“What?!” You asked with feigned innocence.

“Darlin’” he warned lowly in your ear, his voice sending shivers through you. “You’re out here, shakin’ your ass for everyone.”

“And? Last time I checked, I’m single, of age and having a bit of fun. Is that not allowed, Mr Miller? Not even on my birthday?” You asked sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him. 

Joel scoffed and rolled his eyes at you, this fake-innocence crap wasn’t getting anywhere with him and he knew you were doing it to get a reaction from him. 

“You’re being a little tease, darlin’ and I think you know it.” He growled, his voice low in your ear. 

You swallowed roughly, even with the drinks you had, your mouth suddenly felt impossibly dry with nerves. You shook your head to Joel and he just chuckled. 

“No, no… You know what you’re doing, I know you’ve been trying to get my attention all night and well, congrats. You’ve got my attention. So what now? What do you want, hm?” He asked, leaning back to gauge your reaction. 

“I — I, I want -“ You stumbled over your words dumbly, without a coherent sentence forming. 

“Hm?” He hummed, he took your hand and trailed it down his hard chest, down his stomach and let it graze across his crotch. 

Even with barely touching him, you could feel the hard length of his cock through the rough material of his worn jeans. You pushed your legs together in the vain hope of staving off the throbbing between them, you could feel your panties get slick as you imagined sinking to your knees and sucking Joel. 

“Funny, you seemed to be playing the big girl earlier, princess. Dancing with anyone, swinging your ass and hips for them. What’s the matter? Cat gotcha tongue now?” He smirked, his voice a soft coo in your ear. 

“I want you to fuck me.” You blurted out, unceremoniously and immediately, your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I mean, I uh — ignore me. I’m gonna go find my friends.” You muttered. 

Joel shook his head and held onto your elbow roughly. “Come home with me then, darlin’. My truck is parked out back.”

“You’ve been drinking, I’ve had some drinks. One, I don’t wanna die in your rust-bucket truck and two, this is stupid. I’m being stupid.” You spoke quickly. 

“Firstly, I’m gonna ignore you just called my truck a rust-bucket, that’s a whole other conversation and two, I’ve had two drinks, perfectly fine to drive. And as long as you’re sober enough to consent, and you do wanna do this. I think it’s a wonderful idea. Maybe just don’t tell your daddy.” He laughed. 

You nodded dumbly, words failing you once again and let yourself be led out of the bar by Joel; you briefly shot a look behind you and for a second, you caught eyes with Sasha who just smirked at you as you left. 

—

Joel opened the truck door for you to climb in, you grabbed the handle on the side and hauled yourself in; knowing your skirt would rise and give Joel a quick glimpse of your skimpy fabric. 

Joel had to all but bite back a groan as he saw the flash hot pink, the curve of your ass just enveloping the lace as you sat down. 

“Fucking hell.” He cursed as he closed the door to his truck and went to the drivers side. “You really are a naughty little tease, aren’t you?” He laughed. 

You shrugged at him with a sheepish smile; in truth you weren’t always this bad but tonight it got you exactly what you wanted and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

Joel started his truck and within seconds of driving down the road, you reached your hand across the bench to palm at his cock; your delicate fingers wrapped around his half hard length through his jeans and you couldn’t help but shiver in anticipation. 

He felt thick, even when only half hard and your mouth watered at the thought of his thick cock hitting the back of your throat. 

“Impatient much?” Joel laughed, flashing a quick smirk in your direction. 

“I need to taste you, like, immediately.” You hummed, you knew it sounded cringey and cliche but you needed it more than you could comprehend. 

“Maybe let’s wait until we are back at mine — fuck —.” Joel cursed as your fingers quickly undid his jeans and dipped into the waistband of his boxers, albeit a little awkwardly. 

“I’m sat here, and I’m wet. I’m talking, on the verge of dripping onto my thighs. I want you. In a way I’ve never wanted a man before so… how about you let me get you warmed up so when we get back to yours, you can have your way with me.” You reasoned, your voice blunt. 

Joel couldn’t argue with that reasoning so he gently lifted his ass off the seat to allow you easier access to pull his thick cock out from his boxers. Your fingers expertly wrapped around his length and you marvelled at the fact your finger tips barely met. You stroked his shaft a few times as you felt him fully harden under your touch. 

You couldn’t help but giggle; it was immature and girlish but in this moment, you felt giddy. You awkwardly repositioned yourself so you could duck your head down and suck the tip of his cock into your wet mouth. 

Joel’s fingers tensed on his steering wheel, you could hear the squeak of the leather protest under his grasp as you wrapped your mouth around the male fully and sank your head down, enveloping him further. 

You kept a hand wrapped around the base of his cock and bobbed your head slowly, a soft moan being muffled by the fullness in your mouth. 

Above you, Joel groaned deeply as your tongue swirled around the tip and you grazed your teeth gently against his frenulum. 

“Oh fuck!” Joel cursed out, one hand coming down to grip into your hair tightly; he couldn’t help the way his hand pushed your head down further. “You look so good with my cock in your mouth. Fuck.” He praised, brushing some hair away so he could catch a better glimpse of the sight below him. 

You hummed in appreciation as you bobbed your head, your hand moving in perfect synchronicity with your skilled mouth. You removed Joel’s cock with a loud pop and you smirked at the male. You moved to kiss at his neck and your teeth grazed over his ear. 

“Tastes better than any sucker I’ve ever had.” You purred, your voice low and sultry. 

“You’re trouble.” Joel stated with a soft groan as your lips continued to kiss down his neck and your head travelled down south once more. “But you look so much cuter with something in your mouth, that’s its princess.” He cooed as your mouth sank around his cock once more. 

The drive back to Joel’s was a short one, even if he did contemplate driving around the block a couple more times just so he could feel your mouth around him for longer. 

Joel pulled into his drive, by this point you were sat up right and running a thumb along your bottom lip to tidy up your lip gloss. Joel tucked himself back into his jeans haphazardly before turning off the ignition to his truck. 

“Inside, quickly. I don’t need the neighbours seeing me bringing you home. You know how rumours spread ‘round here.” He mumbled and it was true, most people knew Joel and they in turn, knew your father. You could almost heard the whispers that would spread around this part of town if they caught wind of what you were doing with Joel. 

You hopped out his truck and walked to his front door ahead of him, making sure to keep a clear distance from the older male; no matter how hard your fingers were itching to explore his body. 

Joel held onto the small of your back as he quickly unlocked his front door and ushered you into the familiar space. 

“Upstairs. You know where my room is.” He stated bluntly as he removed his boots. 

You nodded without another word and silently went up the stairs; you may have been playing the confident card in the truck but now that you were here, now that you were in his house, your hands were shaking with nerves and anticipation. 

Joel entered the room a mere few seconds later and he smiled at you. 

“So you’re not that much of a little brat that you can follow basic instructions.” He cooed. 

You nodded, biting on your lip as you watched Joel effortlessly remove his t-shirt. Just as you pictured it; his chest was tanned and peppered with soft white hair. Further down his stomach as a groomed line of dark hair that disappeared under his waistband. 

“What’s the matter, little girl? Not so brave now?” He smirked, closing the distance between you to hold your chin roughly between his finger and thumb. 

He ducked his head down and kissed you roughly; it was an unceremonious clash of tongues as you kissed him back with intense fervour. 

“That’s what I thought.” He whispered against your lips and let go of your face. “Take off your clothes. Leave on your underwear, I wanna be the one to remove that from you.” He commanded, kicking off his own jeans and sitting on the edge of his bed. 

You suddenly felt self conscious, you could feel the burn of his gaze as you stood in front of him. You turned your back to him as you slowly undid the zip on your skirt and bent down to remove it. 

Behind you, Joel had pulled his cock from his boxers and was stroking himself as you removed your clothes. Once your shirt was removed, you span back round to face the male and gently crossed your legs as you watched him. 

“Fucking look at you.” He groaned, as his cock gently fucked into his fist. “Thought about your body so many times, knew I shouldn’t. Knew it was wrong but look at you, c’mhere.” He mumbled.

You felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment at his confession; it soothed your nerves as you realised the attraction was mutual between you both. Joel sat back a little and tapped his lap; you got the idea quickly and straddled him. 

You cock feel his swollen cock rub against your clothes heat and you whined weakly at the contact. 

“Please don’t tease me.” You whispered, looping your arms around his neck as Joel’s hands settled onto your soft hips. 

“‘M not gonna tease you…” he smirked, his eyes lit with mischievous intent. “But I bet you could cum just from rubbing yourself on my cock. Since you seemed to want it so bad at the bar, trying to get my attention. Well guess what, little girl, you got it. Now keep it.” He hummed. 

“Joel —“ you protested, to which he raised a brow at you in question. 

You pushed your hips forward so the tip of Joel’s cock nudged your damp panties, it nudged your clit and you gasp as you began to rut your hips back and forth. 

“Such a needy little girl, aren’t you? So needy for your daddy’s best friend that you’ll rub against his cock like a good little bitch.” He cooed, holding your cheek tenderly as his condescending words fuelled your hips to move faster. 

“Not enough.” You whimpered, your hands scratching at Joel’s back for more leverage. “Need you in me, please. I need to feel your fingers inside of me.”

Joel smirked and pressed two digits into your mouth without warning; you quickly sucked them in, your tongue swirled around them until they were coated with your saliva. 

“Is that what you mean, princess? My fingers are inside of you.”

You shook your head no as your hips moved desperately, the hot pink fabric of your lace thong was ruined; it was dark in colour as your arousal soaked the fabric. 

“Then what is it you mean? Tell me what you want.” Joel said quietly, removing his fingers from your mouth. A long ling of spittle keeping you connected to the older male. 

“Need your fingers in my pussy; need to feel them inside of me as I cum. P-please.” You whined, your voice sounded wrecked already as your hips stuttered against Joel’s cock. 

Joel dipped his fingers into the front of your lace panties, they were slick from your spit and they glided through your wetness with ease. 

He let out a moan as he felt your wetness soak his fingers further; his fingers circled around your clit with skill and your mouth fell agape with intense pleasure. 

You screwed your eyes shut as his fingers sped up to rub over your clit. 

“Oh that’s it, good girl. So wet for me, aren’t you? This all for me?” He hummed. 

You nodded, as your back arched away from the man so he could gain better access to your front. Joel continued to speed his fingers up; he watched your every movement; every heave of your chest, every gasp or twitch of your arm and he knew you were getting close. 

“Tell me when you’re going to cum.” Joel whispered, dropping his head down to kiss at your bra-clad chest. 

“I’m close, Joel. So fucking close.” You whimpered, you were barely making a noise. 

“That’s it, atta a girl.” Joel praised. 

“I — I’m gonna, I’m gonna, fuck!” You screeched, the raw noise ripping from your throat as Joel removed his fingers from your panties at precisely the wrong moment. 

He smirked at you, his mannerism teasing and cruel. 

“What the fuck?” You squeaked, your eyes wide and your chest still heaving. 

“Well I didn’t say you were going to cum, did I?” Joel stated. 

“Please.” You pleaded, your eyes searching for mercy in him. 

“Lay down on the bed for me.” Joel whispered, tapping your ass gently. 

You felt dumb, your body was tingling all over from the overstimulation and lack of orgasm and you moved without knowing how you were doing it. You laid down onto Joel’s bed, your back resting up against his pillows. 

It took everything in you to not turn your head into the soft pillows, breathe in his scent and fuck yourself right there. You felt like a horny teenager who couldn’t ever satisfy themself. 

Joel fully kicked off his boxers and knelt beside you, he motioned his finger in an upwards movement and you sat up for him. Quickly, he removed your bra and your chest gently fell from the hot pink fabric. He gently pushed you back onto the bed and then worked to remove your panties, they too were discarded with the rest of your clothes on the floor. 

“Now, where were we?” Joel smirked before he trailed his fingers back between your legs. 

Instinctively, you spread them for him as he worked over your clit again; within seconds, the pressure was there once again and you tightly gripped at the sheets below you. 

“Joel —“ you whined. “Please. Please, I am begging you, please let me cum.”

“Now where’s the fun in that, little girl?” He murmured menacingly. 

You closed your eyes and willed yourself to not burst into tears there and then; the pleasure you were feeling was intense, Joel’s fingers moved expertly to bring you close to your orgasm and then there was the humiliation of him denying you the thing you wanted most. 

Joel was watching you intensely, he was picking up on every little micro movement your body made or didn’t make, he was calculating when to stop his movements or when to speed them up. Bringing you right up to the edge, almost letting you peer over it but then pulling you right back again; never quite letting you topple into ecstasy. 

He had done this three or four times now and the noises that left your body no longer sounded like your own; they were wrecked sobs of desperation as your arousal coated your thighs and left a wet spot behind in your wake. You could barely remember your own name or where you were anymore; Joel had messed with your mind.

“Please.” You pleaded to Joel, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Please let me cum, I can’t — I can’t take anymore.” Your eyes were glassy with tears at the intensity of Joel’s actions and your own frustration as you experienced another ruined orgasm.

You knew if you really wanted this to stop, you could stand up, get dressed and walk away but you didn’t want that. Joel Miller had rotted your brain and you were fixated under him, completely at his will. 

Joel smirked at you again, that same look he kept giving you; it was smug, it was infuriating and it turned you on even more. 

“Look at you, princess. You’re a mess.” He whispered, his spare hand brushing a strand of hair away from your features. “So wet and messy for me, hm? Are you sure you can even cum now? Do you know what to do?”

You nodded eagerly at the older male, your eyes pleading silently as your mouth was hung open in constant pleasure. 

Joel didn’t say a word, instead he sunk two fingers into your hole without warning; his thumb circled your clit with intense pressure. It was like a million sparks erupted throughout your body; your back arched off the bed, your thighs fell open even further and your walls clenched around Joel tightly. 

You could feel yourself flutter and pulsate around the man’s digits as you came. Your eyes were screwed shut and your mouth was open, not a single sound fell from your parted lips apart from the start of a strangled moan. The pleasure, the pure ecstasy, was too intense for you to make a single sound. 

Joel pumped his fingers quickly, watching as you came on them. 

“That’s it, fuck. So good. Give me another one.” He growled, his arm shaking as he pumped his fingers even faster inside of you; his thumb pass over your clit with each thrust of his digits. 

You honestly didn’t know if you could give him another; your body was shaking as you laid there and took what Joel was giving to you. It was intense and never before had you had such a strong orgasm; there were still white flecks dancing around in your vision as your body built up to another orgasm. 

Your fingers were clawing at Joel’s arm and you were sure that you had broken his skin as you came on his fingers; there was no telling what would happen when he ripped another orgasm from you. 

“Be a good girl and then I’ll give you my cock, come on, princess. I know you can give me another one. I know you’re good enough for that.” He whispered. “Look at what you’re doing to me, baby girl. Look at my cock, it’s leaking for you. So good.”

You peered between your bodies and saw the head of Joel’s cock, it was flushed and there was a dribble of precum falling from the tip and collecting onto the sheets below. 

“Ki-kiss me.” You managed to squeak out, your voice shaking as you looked at the older male. 

He smiled and happily obliged, your lips met in a sloppy kiss as you felt your body shake more intensely. The tight coil in the pit of your stomach snapped once more and another intense orgasm rippled through you like a shockwave.

“Good. Good girl.” Joel praised against your lips as he worked you through your orgasm. 

He pulled his fingers from your hole and rubbed them speedily across your clit, you let out a yelp at the overstimulation and gripped Joel’s arm tightly for leverage. 

“I’m gonna —“ you managed to call out before he felt yourself gush onto the sheets below you. 

“Oh fuck.” Joel moaned, his cock jumping with arousal as you squirted onto his hand. 

“I’m so, fuck —“ you breathed shakily and held yourself up onto your elbows, tears staining your cheeks from the intense pleasure. “Joel, I’m so sorry. Fuck, let me clean up. Fuck.” You cursed, your body shaking as you went to sit up. 

Joel chuckled and gently pushed your shoulder back onto the bed with a shake of his head. 

“So sexy. Have you ever squirted before?” He asked, finally removing his hand from your throbbing pussy. 

You shook your head and he just grinned at you boyishly. 

“That’s even hotter, how did it feel, princess? Did you like it?” He asked softly, his fingers tracing soft patterns across your tummy. 

You blushed at his words and gently cleared your throat. “I did like it, I didn’t… well I didn’t know I could actually cum that hard. It was intense but amazing.” You said softly, looking up at Joel through your lashes. 

“I’m glad.” He smiled. “Look, we don’t have to — well, y’know, we don’t have to have sex. If you’re too stimulated or whatever. I can sort myself out.”

You quickly shook your head and pulled him closer to your naked body. 

“No!” You said quickly. “I mean, I am a little over stimulated right now but please, I need to feel your cock in me.”

Joel didn’t need to be told twice and he roughly flipped your body over so your face was against the bed. You gasped under the male, surprised by his strength. Behind yourself, you could feel Joel moving, positioning himself so his cock was nudging against your entrance. 

He thrust forward, filling you once again; you were all-consumed with just Joel. The heady scent of him lingered on the bellows below your face, you cunt ached with lingering pleasure of your orgasms and now, you could feel his large hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucked into you with fervour. 

“That’s it, sweet girl, taking me so well. So good.” Joel mewled, the praise sending heat through your body once more. 

Your fingers clung to the soft fabric of the sheets below you, and you couldn’t help the soft moans that escaped your lips as Joel fucked you. 

“So good. F-faster.” You whimpered. 

Joel obliged, he sped his hips up and dug his fingers into your hips so hard you felt as if you were going to have bruises there for days. 

Joel’s hips began to stutter, his groans grew deeper and you clenched around him, trying to bring him closer to filling you. 

“Such. A. Good. Little. Girl.” Joel groaned, each word accentuated by a deep thrust. “This is my cunt now, got it? Hm. All mine. Fuck, you’re so good for me.”

You nodded under him with a soft moan as he bottomed himself out in you, his cock impossibly deep as you felt it twitch before he coated your insides with his hot cum. You whined at the sensation and felt yourself flutter around his pulsing cock instinctively. 

“Shit.” He groaned, giving one final sloppy thrust before we collapsed down onto the bed beside you with his chest heaving deeply. 

You followed suit, your body finally giving out from under yourself; you grimaced as your body touched the soaked patch on the bed and you began to feel Joel leak from inside of you. 

“‘M a mess but so tired.” You yawned, scrunching your face in disgust. 

“Let me clean you up.” Joel whispered, stroking your cheek. 

He let out a grunt as he climbed off the bed, his limbs aching from the effort. He scooped your body from the mattress and carried you to the bathroom where he sat you in the bath. He turned the shower on and you hummed as the warm water hit your body, not caring your hair and makeup would be a mess. 

Joel climbed behind you and gently rubbed your shoulders as the warm water washed away the messes you both made. 

-

-

A/N: my requests are open again, I can’t promise I’ll always write them really quickly but please send me any ideas of stuff u wanna read <3 love u all <3

[helluvapoison]

Save Me

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

warning: violence n blood but happy ending

“Summon your blue blood master, whore.”

The demon carelessly drops your phone into the cage and it lands at your knees. You don’t remember if this was a ransom or a hit on your beloved. You can’t bring yourself to care because you know the minute he sees you in this state, none of it will matter.

Your tongue darted out and swiped over your cracked lips, gathering the copper taste of your own blood. The chuckle that you let out is dry, cut short by a cough that worsens the state of your throat. It highlighted the bruises littering your skin, especially those you couldn’t see.

He would.

“This is gonna end real badly f’you.” You tell the demon hoarsely, offering them the biggest, meanest smile you could muster.

Your thumb hits the call button without hesitation.

You hadn’t even uttered a single word.

Immediately the energy in the warehouse shifts. An undeniable chill crept in suddenly and seemed to chase off any light the windows provided. Someone may as well have thrown a blanket over the building. If not for your phone providing a faint glow, you wouldn’t have been able to see your labored breaths leaving your lips. Simultaneously, the shitty bones of the warehouse trembled, quietly at first then ramping up to a deafening sound that surely meant it would collapse at any moment. It wouldn’t. Not while you were there. Even if it was only your body for him to collect, no damage would come unto you by his doing.

The demon’s eyes narrow in suspicion, like whatever was happening was your fault and yours alone. Your crooked smile widens into a malicious forewarning for what’s to come. The grin pulls and tears the cut on your lip that had only just stitched itself together, stinging you in retaliation. You’re certain the light illuminating you from below, combined with the blood, has you looking positively mad.

“Told you.”

Lucifer was more than a king; he was the judge, jury and executioner for his subjects. It wasn’t often they forgot it but should they do something drastic, such as stealing his beloved, then he would make an example out of as many souls necessary. You knew this and you knew it well— you’ve been around every century or so when the newer sinners needed a refresher. This just so happened to be your first time being directly involved in why.

It must be then that the harrowing realization finally sets in. They’ve bit off more than they could swallow and now it was going to choke the life out of them. Or, more accurately, he would.

Apparently determined to get in what would surely be their final reprisal, they reached into the cage and yanked you forward by your neck. Your forehead quickly meets an icy bar, sending pain ringing through your skull in greeting. Trapped, a mangled cry rips through the room that you don’t recognize is your own. You writhe in the demon’s grip, struggling to claw at their wrists and face. Tearing at their skin, trying to make them even in wounds more than you’re trying to escape, you manage a particularly good swipe at their eyes that makes them reel back. In their stubbornness, they refuse to release you and your face is squished against the cage as they stumble and crash.

No, you realize. They were flung clear across the room like an unwanted doll, landing in, what was now, a pile of wood. Familiar eyes of ruby and gold steal your attention from the groaning demon. You blink furiously, forcing your vision to tell you true. Of course you knew he would come for you, that was never in question, but whether you would be alive or not for that rescue did cross your mind. Your body had already begun to relax, melting with the comforting warmth of your beloved’s presence. Lucifer’s gasp is rigid, his voice trembling in disbelief and rising fury but he manages a soft tone just for your sake.

“Oh, angel. My sweet, sweet dove. I’m here now, I’m here. I’m so sorry.”

Metal creaks under his palms but it takes less effort than opening a jar of marmalade. He’s obscenely gentle while plucking you out of the cage, acutely aware of the way your breath hitches at his touch. Those aforementioned bruises pulse with vigor, spreading a dull ache all over your body. Just as you suspected, Lucifer's eyes roamed all over counting each and every one. He’ll return the favor tenfold.

One minute Lucifer’s holding onto a fraying thread of mercy, studying your precious face and stealing the apple of your cheek. The next he feels tears slide under the pad of his thumb, swiping them into nothingness like he wished he could do your pain. Your relief is palpable in them, he can taste it on his tongue with hints of your fading fear. His golden pupils get smaller and smaller until they’re consumed entirely by red.

Logically he knows you’re right there in his arms but your weight isn’t grounding enough for him. He can’t see you anymore. All he can see is the ugly blotches that some pitiful excuse for future kindling dared to taint you with. Clearly they knew who you were and how important you were to the King of Hell, so the consequences of taking and hurting you had been glossed over but accepted nonetheless. An act against you is no less treasonous than an act against Lucifer himself; to spit at your feet would be to do the same to him.

“You’ve got guts to pull off a stunt like that, huh?” A terrifying grin cracks unevenly across his face and is shot over his shoulder at the demon that was struggling to pick themselves up. “Let’s see ‘em.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shield your face from a gust of wind. Upon opening them you realize you’re sitting on the ground alone. Lucifer unfurled his wings and launched himself over to the demon. They made it to their feet only to be launched into the wall and leaving a them-sized crater behind. Horrified and paralyzed you could only watch as Lucifer hovered over them, cocking back both fists and hurling them forward one at a time.

“I think there was one there, there— oh can’t forget here!”

Even while knowing what was to come, it still made your stomach lurch to see it firsthand. Teeth clattered to the ground in one punch, another and the demon’s eye was swollen shut. You were positive what Lucifer blocked with his body, the savagery you couldn’t see, was much worse. It shouldn’t bother you, not with how long you’ve lived down here but having blood on your hands, no matter how indirectly, made your stomach lurch.

“Luci—“ You croaked, your throat closing in on itself when you tried to speak. It was as if your body had sided with your beloved’s vengeance.

However the tiny sound managed to put a stutter in Lucifer’s next blow, his knuckles halting just before the demon’s face. A frustrated snarl rips from him and cracks through the silence like thunder, but the storm in him quiets before he turns to you. Wracked by guilt more than rage, your beloved can’t fully face you.

You try again, “Can we—“ only to be cut off by a cough.

“Stop—stopstopstop,” Lucifer whispers, voice getting closer, louder, “I’m here, I’m here. Don’t… don’t hurt yourself.”

True to his word, he’s right there. All it took was a blink and he’s kneeling before you, hovering his hands all over as if he’s not sure where to touch you. How can he comfort you when you’re bruised all over? You force yourself to continue, knowing he’ll keep his focus with you if you do.

“Jus’ wanna go home.”

Lucifer’s demonic features flare, hesitation on the tip of his tongue. Unfinished business never seemed like an issue before. With the bewildered look he gave you, you may as well have asked him to throw out his entire duck collection. The thought of using your voice again made your throat itch so you beseech him with your eyes, pinching your brows together and turning them up.

Scrunching his face once more he sighed heavily, seemingly defeated as his horns shrunk back into his skull and his tail retreated. Then your Lucifer returned to you at last, smiling softly, though guilt and regret swam in his crimson eyes.

“Home it is. Agh, I hate when you use your secret weapon against me. It’s not fair, I mean, how am I supposed to resist this face?”

You try to keep your own smile from spreading too far, opting instead to squeeze the man close to you to share in your joy. Lucifer was starving to do the same, holding you as close as he could without stressing your wounds. You could feel him inhale against your neck like you were air to him, filling him with relief and the ability to carry on.

When he pulled away you grew worried, especially when his smile dropped and he turned ever so slightly to the bloodied and battered demon.

“Congratulations, peasant, you’ve been pardoned. Courtesy of the King of Hell and his angel— who you will never ever even think of again. Right?” There was a pained groan from the demon that sent a dark chuckle bubbling up from Lucifer’s chest, “I thought you might agree. Do me a favor and spread the word? I’d rather not do this again. You know what I mean?”

There was a sharp edge to his grin for a moment too long but it faded by the time he eagerly returned his attention to you. The portal below whirred to life with a faint hum and sent pulses of warmth up into the air. You were completely and utterly wrapped up in your beloved that you hardly noticed. Lucifer mumbled into your hair how he would kiss your “boo-boos”, get you bandaged up and in pajamas in no time.

Hearing that, it was a liiittle hard to believe he was the same man that was seconds away from slaughtering someone for you.

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ thanks for voting everyone!

[terras-domain]

Who can't afford to pay the delivery driver extra and offers to "take their tip" as a tip?

Culture Shock

Miyawaki Sakura

California, USA

Le Sserafim just finished their second performance for Coachella. Whether it was loved or hated, the girls could only pat on their backs for their performance. A good night rest helps the girls sleep through the thoughts of their whole trip to a foreign country (barring Yunjin). The next day arises, and most of the girls are still sound asleep, but only Sakura was awake, maybe being the mom of the group really awakened her mom abilities to be up early and get a cup of coffee to start the day. Sitting by the kitchen counter, slurping her cup of black coffee as she scrolls through her Instagram, yet the negative comments starts to overwhelm her, making her hands slowly lose grip on her mug. Thankfully she managed to put it down safely before she drops it on the floor, that'll definitely be a mess. Before she closed the app, a post caught her eye. A post compiling a pictures of a bundle at a Target somewhere near California. Excited, she quickly googled the area, and lucky for her it's only 20 minutes away! "Oh, that's not too bad! I could get a taxi to get there." She monologued, but her mind shifted to the other members. Will they be fine without her? Eeeeh, they probably will, she thought. She got up to her room and quickly got herself changed, while her phone still rests on her palm, texting without looking. "I'm off to go shopping for a bit. Be good whilst I'm away okie~ 💜" and sent. She got herself ready, fully changed from her PJs and now in a presentable manner, ready to move out.

Kkura had to recap on how to book an Uber ride, because usually Yunjin does it and she barely focuses what the members do sometimes, so it took her a good minute to get to it. "Oh, that's pretty easy." She smiled, celebrating her victorious achievement by humming to Easy, reminiscing her wonderful time on the big stage. She wanted to scroll on her phone to kill time, but she remembered how crazy her social media feed at the moment so she decides to just fidget around, moving back and forth to look at the cool breezy morning, blowing her hair back as she enjoys the mixture of greenery and concrete. She must've spaced out too much since she didn't realized the Uber driver was already there. "Ahem, miss? Are you, Miyawaki?" A strong Californian accent jolted into Sakura's mind, popping the bubbles of her own world which made her realized she's been daydreaming and spacing out in to the view. "Oh! I'm sorry! Yes yes I'm Miyawaki." Kkura bowed repeatedly as she enters the backseat of the car, covering her face with her palms from the embarrassment. "So....Target right, Miss Miyawaki?" He asked, the taxi driver looking through his back mirror to see the flustered Japanese lady, her pale skin turning red from shame. Sakura only replied with a nod, which was enough for him to shift his gear from neutral back to drive to take her to her destination.

Judging by the way the driver wasn't fazed by the fact a singer that performed in Coachella yesterday made Sakura deduced that he doesn't know her. Cool, less talking needed for her. It's early in the morning anyways, so she couldn't gather enough social energy to be making conversations this early. The 40-ish year old driver seems like he knew the road in the back of his head, taking turns to maneuver the busy city life traffic. It was surprisingly short, a ride that was expected to be 40 minutes long due to traffic turned to a 20-minute leisure drive with the cab driver's help. "Thank you sir, how much did I owe you again?" Kkura asked, taking out her purse from her small handbag. "It's...30 bucks miss." He replied, looking at the meter counter, to calculate how much the lady needs to pay him. "Would you also like to lend a tip?"

"A tip?" Sakura was shocked, nearly jumped from shock from hearing the driver's request. The moment she heard the word tip, her mind immediately shifted to the night where she and Yunjin were sharing a room. Yunjin booted up porn on her laptop for them both to watch while touching each other. The scene included the woman sucking off the man's "tip", which made Kkura assume that's what the driver is requesting. Nervous, Sakura gave a reply, "I-I mean I would. But isn't it a bit too cramped here to be giving you a tip?" Her reply made the cab driver just as confused. "Huh? What do you mean, ma'am?" His confusion intimidated Sakura, making her heart beat faster. "O-oh, we can do it at the backseat of course! I forgot here it has more space."

The Uber driver got himself to the backseat to the backseat after parking his car. He was just trying to get some answers to the lady's answers to him asking for a tip. And this, was not what he expected. The moment he got in, Sakura helped him to sit up on the seat while she adjusted the front seat forward so there's space for her to kneel down. "Wa-wait, ma'am-" he paused as he stares at the japanese doing her thing, taking down his pants and revealing his cock. "I thought you wanted me to give you a tip?" She asked, looking up. Her eyes sprinkles innocence, that convinced the driver to understand that Sakura genuinely believes this is what he wanted. He meant money, but this works too. "W-well Miss Miyawaki, please give it to me." Sakura enjoyed the words that the man gave her, as her mouth starts to envelope his cock, beginning to suck on his growing shaft. The sight of a beauty like Sakura sucking him off made the driver extremely turned on, his cock growing bigger fast, he was ecstatic to see it. Sakura was into it, her lips wrapping around his size whilst her tongue worked his tip. The sensation was too good to hold on. "M-miss, I wa-wanna cum!" He grunted, warning Sakura who's running an assault on his cock. Sakura continues to bob her head back and forth on his cock, until eventually she takes it all inside her throat, taking it to the base as he came deep inside her throat, filling up the sweet japanese singer with cum.

Sakura's inviting lips traps his cock, not letting him free as he starts shooting cum, rope after rope of cum shooting in her mouth, reaching the back of her throat. "Fuuck...Miss. Your mouth game really surprised me." The driver panted, leaning to his seat as Kkura starts to clean her lips, licking the residue of semen and swallow. Sakura grinned as she grabs her stuff, and starts to leave the car. "It was nice meeting you mister, hope you enjoy your tip!" She waved goodbye as her hips sway, spending her day and money joyfully at the mall. Well now the US isn't as scary as she thought, heck she might've enjoyed it too much.

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

I don't kiss and tell

Little drabbles where creator!reader gets pregnant and the archons get into a witch hunt

Wc: ~600

Sumeru’s specialty tea is delicious, the lightest taste of anise and black tea with an array of spices that you couldn't even begin to pinpoint. The youngest archon besides you is talking your ear off about the origins and constitution of the tea, the exports it has and how it is different from the teas you tasted in Liyue. 

The only thing souring the atmosphere was the bickering and yelling voices from across the table

“Your dirty citizens are libertine enough to attempt to lie besides a god!” The electro archon points her finger at the anemo archon, her nose scrunched and her teeth bared

“Mine?! I doubt anyone would dare to! At most I imagine they wanted to be close friends!”

The tsaritsa rolls her eyes and mutters something along the lines of ‘very close friends it seems’

“You doubt? You don't sound too sure about that. I'm confident nobody from my nation would dare to make advances on them” zhongli blows on his cup and sips on it

“Didn't the trip get behind schedule around sumeru? I remember Neuvillette was stressed because the welcome had to be rearranged by a week” Furina grabs a piece of cake, playing with the cherry on top.

“ah?!” Nahida gasps as she is chatting with you. She taps her chin ”I can't remember a chance they had alone so I would say it's impossible”

“And why did the trip take an extra week? I was never truly sure about that” zhongli asks her 

“Oh, I was dead set on going to Aaru village and having a quick view to the pyramids” you chuckle a bit, seeing how nahida was upset at the accusations.

“Isn't it weird that Miss Furina is here too? Even if we named it archon meeting it's meant more as a head of state so I was expecting the great judge to be seated here” Raiden points that out

“E-eh?!” She gasps as she leans away from the purple piercing gaze “He was just unable to come so he asked me” 

“Isn't that convenient?”

The tsaritsa sighs and stops tapping her fingers on the wood table. Now looking at you she says “I'm sorry if it's too impolite but can't you cut us the chase and tell us who it was?”

You look away, a tiny strained laugh slipping through your teeth “I think I prefer his safety, thanks” 

“No, thank you”

“At the very least what nation is he from?” 

The next months there was special attention paid to particular carvings or newly acquired habits

“Isn't it curious how they are suddenly so in love with grape juice? Didn't your nation have a winemaker who preferred grape juice?” The tsaritsa asks, a stiff smile painted on her face.

“And didn't they also like a seafood soup that also happened to be one of your harbinger's specialties?” venti matches her energy, already fed up with the fourth accusation 

“Don't make me send someone to kick your ass again”

“I doubt a pile of ashes could put up much of a fight” 

“Our grace has been taking longer walks lately, buer, maybe they are trying to get closer to the dendro element” 

“they told me they wanted to feel the breeze better, that might be it, Beel”

“Why do I get dragged into every discussion?!” Venti yelps from the kitchen

“Doctor baizhu told me to keep an eye on them, the pregnancy seems to have made them crave rocks

“Isn't baizhu from Liyue, lord of Geo?” 

“And also ice cubes, tsaritsa. It reminds me, wasn't one of your harbingers also in Liyue at that time to close a deal with the Tianquan?”

“Why does everyone think is someone from my nation did it?!”

“Nation of freedom…”

“The biggest wine and sparkling wine importer…”

“You used your week to go bar hopping..”

“You are a weak and unimposing leader…”

“That part sounded more personal than anything!”

[bau-muffin]

“Pure Intentions”

Ship: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: E

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1,162 Words

Summary: You are an agent who is also spiritual and loves crystals. So, you decide to give your favorite boss man, SSA Aaron Hotchner, black tourmaline.

Hotch really didn’t know why insomnia had chosen to haunt him on a Sunday night, but he felt the full extent of it when he stepped into the bullpen the next morning. He wasn’t really given to vanity, but he felt like his eyebags were eye-totes now, and even though he had downed a cup of coffee before leaving the house, he felt like if he was still for even a second, he’d fall asleep.

Of course the weekend he had off was when his mind barred him from a good night’s rest- the night before work, no less.

He had not been at his desk for more than ten minutes when you bustled into his office, your smile wide as usual despite being almost eight in the morning.

“Good morning! I was going to wait closer to lunch, but then Penelope told me a case came in, so I decided to give this-“ you stopped to actually look at him, and even though an amused smile was pulling at his lips, he looked so exhausted. “I’m so sorry, I should have asked how you were doing first.”

“I’m not sick, just tired,” Hotch said kindly, “what do you have?”

“Black tourmaline! I know you’re not much of a spiritualist, but the low down on it is that it sponges up negative energy! And I mean… I know you don’t exactly have a choice, you know, to be or not to be around negative energy but…” you shrugged before admitting, “It also reminded me of you too. Also, again I know you don’t put huge stock into it, but I also charged it for you.”

You put the shiny black chunk on his desk, almost shyly. He picked it up, studying it and turning it over in his hands. You half expected him to pull his reading glasses out to look at it, and if he had- well, you couldn’t rightly be held responsible for the noise you might have made.

“This reminds you of me?” Hotch asked skeptically, his brows knitted slightly.

“Mhm! It’s a bodyguard type crystal. And… I guess you have that sort of… vibe? To me anyways,” you added on a little less than tactfully as you were visibly becoming fidgety, your hands smoothing down your skirt.

“You see me as the bodyguard type.”

You put your hands on your hips, an eyebrow raising. “Did you or did you not become overprotective when I said that my car alarm was going off in the parking lot and you insisted on stealthily going towards the car first with your pistol? Or did I hallucinate that?”

“I’ve seen some things in my time, and I know malevolent people would target a woman who’s alone when she’s leaving her workplace,” Hotch said defensively. You only smiled.

“Whatever you say. Regardless, that’s for you. Maybe, one day, I’ll get a keychain for you.”

“Thank you, that was… actually thoughtful and sweet of you. You’re right that I don’t put a whole lot of stock into this… sort of thing,” he admitted as he turned the crystal over in his palm again, “but I think… I think the weight of intentions are real.”

“Maybe those intentions will carry you home safe from this case, then. Judging from the groaning sounds coming from Garcia’s cave, I’m thinking it’s a doozy. By the way…”

“Mm?”

“Do you want me to make you a cup of coffee before you go in to briefing?”

“That would be wonderful of you, thank you. One sugar-“

“-and no cream. I know how you make your coffee, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner,” you teased.

Hotch shook his head. “The full government name.”

You turned to walk out when he called your name, and you turned back to him.

“Can you come to my desk for a second?”

You complied, going to his desk with a nervous giggle. You thought he was going to speak, but instead he simply rose from his seat and kissed your cheek.

You touched your flushing cheek with a slightly shaky hand. “What was that for?”

He shrugged. “Just a thank you for being as thoughtful as you are. Truly… you make working here a bit easier.”

“Aw, you’re going to make me cry, so I’ll laugh instead.” You were going to turn to flee, but boldness filled you and you leaned up to kiss his cheek, except he moved, and you kissed the corner of his stern lip.

“Uh-” you backed away from him.

“Don’t panic,” Hotch ordered calmly- almost too calmly- “it’s not your fault, it was mine for reacting too quickly.”

Your cheeks flushed hot red and despite his command to not panic, you immediately fled the scene, leaving behind a confused but slightly amused Aaron.

A few minutes later, JJ entered his office with his cup of coffee in one hand and sat it on his desk, the other arm full of file folders. She gestured with her head towards the bullpen, “Hey, um, Agent-“

“I know,” Hotch said with a minuscule smirk, sipping the coffee, and almost immediately moaned aloud. True to your word, you knew exactly how he takes his coffee. He kept glancing towards the crystal sitting on his desk, and when Garcia called for him to come to the briefing room, he carefully slid it in his pocket.

On the jet, after all the details of the case had been discussed, Hotch leaned back in the chair, his fourth cup of coffee of the day in his hand. Even though he made his coffee exactly the same as always, it didn’t taste nearly as good as the one you made for him. He took the black tourmaline out of his pocket and held it in his hand. It works on a jet, right? It’s closer to the sun, it has to be like the best charging method.

“What do you have there?” Rossi asked from across him, looking up from a book- a compilation of Garfield comic strips over the years.

“A crystal. I think it’s… black tourmaline?”

Reid, of course, overheard this and had to jump in with, “you know, within pagan and spiritual circles, black tourmaline has protective properties, banishing negative vibrations, and it’s also supposed to be grounding.” He looked at the crystal in Hotch’s hand. “Oh yeah, I’ve seen this crystal on that agent’s desk. She and Anderson talk about them all the time, and apparently she keeps some of them in her desk, as does Anderson.”

“She and Anderson are good friends,” Hotch volunteered. “She’s the one who gave this to me.”

“She’s a sweet girl,” Rossi commented, sounding too innocent for Hotch’s liking.

“She is,” Hotch agreed simply, not taking the bait.

He and “that agent” were going to have to have a conversation when he got back home- he was entirely too intrigued by you. Perhaps he could ask you what crystal was the best for asking someone on a date.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

Summary: A reimagining of how things would have gone if Reader had decided she wanted Fin — despite him being her friend’s father.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Heavy on the smut. 18+, minors dni. Some jealous and possessiveness. Mentions of forbidden relationships/affairs. If the choices Reader makes in this are something you’re against, I urge you not to read! 🫶🏻

Rita’s is like no other place you’ve been — or seen — before.

Is this what you’ve missed out on, trapped within the frozen maw of Windhaven? There is no place like this there, of such vibrancy and euphoria. The music, the coloured faelights, the energy — it all makes you feel…on top of the world.

Like there’s life outside the misery you’ve known.

Mor knocks a shot back, grimacing as she slams the empty glass onto the bar. A sudden burst of giggles leaves her as she says, “My father would have my head if he could see me right now. Literally.”

You don’t doubt that for a second, because Mor looks resplendent, not just in her natural beauty, but her joy. She has danced and drank and kissed and danced some more. And seeing her like this…it makes you glad that she convinced you to come out with her tonight.

“My father would have my head, too,” you tell her over the music. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, and she reaches for two more shots. “Here’s to saying fuck the males,” she knocks her glass against yours. “May they all perish.”

You’ll happily drink to that. With the alcohol that has you in its grip, you’re buzzed on thoughts of storming back to Windhaven and confronting all your demons. Confronting anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and made you feel less than you are. Your father. Lord Devlon. Azriel—

You banish that thought as the liquid slides down your throat with a satisfying burn. You are in Velaris, not Windhaven. A new place with new people, where anything feels possible. The thought is heady and dizzying.

Someone calls Mor’s name, and she glances over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes lighting up again. You truly don’t know how often she’s able to escape the Hewn City and get away to Velaris, but judging by the amount of friends she’s introduced you to tonight, she’s certainly made her mark here.

“Let’s go dance with them!” Mor yells over the music, grabbing your hand.

You think that dancing might be the answer to everything you’ve never known, and so you gladly follow; gladly throw yourself into the thrall of the busy floor.

But that’s when you see him.

Something…some deep power…compels you to look up. Coaxes your eyes to that area a level above, where the city’s VIP guests spend copious amounts of money on copious amounts of alcohol and drink it from their cushy velvet booths. They’re reserved for associates of the High Lord, a not-so-formal place to meet to discuss not-so-casual things.

But none of that matters. There could be an entire circus up there right now, and still all you would notice is — him.

He notices you, too.

The High Lord’s eyes zero in on you from up above. You watch, rooted to the spot, as he takes in the sight of you, from your braided back hair, to your painted face, your dress and the legs exposed by them. He looks like…like he’s finally setting his sights upon an image that was merely fantasy up until now.

He braces his arms on the balustrade. And he just stares.

You want to know what he’s doing here. Whether he’s at Rita’s for business or…or for pleasure. You’ve heard that there are rooms upstairs for people willing to pay the price. Perhaps there’s a lover up there with him somewhere, waiting to explore every last inch of that glorious, sculpted body—

The bleating jealousy that makes your heart twist is…unexpected. And not ideal; not one bit.

He is Rhysand’s father. Things may have been fucked up royally with Azriel, and you may have been burned by the experience — but Fin is Rhysand’s father.

Your friend’s father.

Your friend’s father who has just so happened to help keep you feeling alive these past weeks. With his layers-deep allure, the sweet, sweet words that roll off his tongue. His hospitality, his generosity. His kindness. All of it, you’d attributed to him being a natural charmer, a High Lord who knows precisely what to say, what to do.

It strikes you in that moment — just how much it’s all sunk its way into your bones and made you feel…dangerous.

He watches you like a cat with a mouse. Watches as somebody grabs your hand and yanks you into the tightly knit dancing bodies. The music pulses through you from head to toe, a frenzied tune of strings and keys that somehow come together to create the feeling of being borne aloft. Being on top of the world.

As you become lost to the sensation of dance, you’re glad to forget all your thoughts about Fin. You don’t want to wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t want to imagine what those strong, rough hands might get up to, where they might venture.

You become sandwiched between two males who dance with you in a way that makes you forget your wings were ever stolen. They touch you and touch each other, and you welcome it all, happy to be someone, somewhere, else. At least for a while.

But there’s suddenly a foreign touch to your shoulder. That of a cold, meaty hand that stills your movements and draws your attention. The two males happily slink away and begin grinding on each other, and you spin on the spot to find a tall, stocky male who looks like he punches people in the face for the hell of it.

“Y/N?” He checks, and you nod. “The High Lord wishes to speak with you. Upstairs.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes searching for Mor and finding her just as she’s following a male and female to a cloaked-off area at the back. That’ll be her occupied for the remainder of the night. You’re officially going solo.

But not for long. Not as the bouncer juts his chin in the direction of the staircase and begins to lead you there. Perhaps it makes you a fool, but you follow without a word.

He pulls back a rope and gestures for you to go on up, and then he’s refastening it behind you and turning back to train a keen eye on the dance floor. It’s purely the alcohol that hits you with enough of an ego to climb those stairs like you belong amongst the chandeliers and velvet booths.

But you look good — amazing, even. You know you do. And looking like this, things like scars and other insecurities seem so trivial. You’ve taken back the right to feel as beautiful as you are. You wear your Illyrian features proudly, and you’re pretty and lithe and graceful—

And your heel catches on the top step of the staircase, almost sending you sprawling to the floor — if not for the warm hand that catches your elbow.

“Easy.” Fin rasps into your ear, setting you steady on your feet.

Your numbed, inebriated senses are not immune to the effect of his voice, it would seem. The deep baritone, rough as jagged rock, pushes its way into your skin, your veins, and spreads far faster than any alcohol could.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” you answer, and you’re unable to shove down the hysterical giggle that claws up your throat. “Fuck, you’re the High Lord.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “And you are drunk.”

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

“I’ll be sure to extend your compliments to Rita herself.”

Is that, you wonder, who he’s up here meeting? Perhaps the elusive Rita is a close associate of his. Perhaps they do deals in both business and pleasure.

And taking in your fill of the High Lord right now, in a dark button-up shirt and fitted breeches of a slate grey, you would not blame Rita one little bit.

Gods, he’s exquisite. Rhysand may resemble Roza more than he does Fin, but…with two parents of such stunning beauty, it’s no wonder your friend is as handsome as he is.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you make no secret of the way your eyes linger on him. Tonight is dangerous, and you’re enjoying it.

“Nor I, you,” he narrows his gaze down at you. “Imagine my surprise, considering that when I left the palace earlier this evening, you were curled up in the library with a book. And yet, here you are. Wearing…” mahogany eyes take in the short cut of your dress, “…that.”

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

“My niece ought to be more careful not to press her father’s buttons too much,” a muscle in his chiselled jaw ticks. “And I think you ought to be more careful not to push mine.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bold. So foolishly bold of you. You’ll regret it once sober, you’re sure. “Was there a particular reason you summoned me up here, my Lord? I was rather enjoying dancing.”

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

Before you can even finish the word, Fin’s gripping your elbow again, and darkness sweeps you away.

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

You feel the cosmic, air-light step from one place to another. Your stomach lurches, your head spinning. You can barely get a hold of yourself as you cling to Fin and prepare your feet to touch solid ground.

And then the darkness is gone, and you’re back in the toasty, warm glow of the palace’s library. Your knees buckle, trying to drag you to the floor, but Fin keeps you upright.

“What the…” you gawp up at him. “Why did you bring me home?”

He ensures you’re able to stand on your feet before pushing away from you. Doesn’t even look at you as he commands, “Get to bed.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Just as those males were enjoying you, too. You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. Get to bed.”

He strides towards the door, his knuckles white from how hard he grips the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. But sword or no, you refuse to give up so easily.

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

Fin stops. Goes still. And then he turns back to you.

His temper is clear on his face, but he doesn’t storm back over like you’re half expecting him to. Instead, his eyes shutter, and he seems to take a deep, soothing breath. When he’s looking at you once more, he flicks his wrist in your direction.

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

Immediately, you’re completely lucid, completely steady on your feet. Not a lick of inebriation remains, as if you had, indeed, slept it off.

“Did you just sober me up?” you’re outraged by the mere idea.

“Yes.” Fin admits shamelessly. “Now you won’t fall victim to a hangover in the morning — a favour from me, to you, and I ask you in return to get to bed. And don’t even think about trying to venture back out. I’ll know.”

Your blood boils. And the anger isn’t simply because of your ruined fun, but because…because it stings, the way Fin is treating you with such contempt. Scolding you like you’re little more than a petulant child. He’s been nothing but wonderful since you came to Velaris, and yet now, he speaks to you like…like most of the males back in Windhaven do.

It makes you see red.

“What right have you to dictate how I spend my evening?” you snap. “I was under the impression that my free time is my own, and if I wish to go and get drunk and dance like a fool, that is up to me.”

Cold, beautiful anger hardens Fin’s face. He stalks closer, squeezing the hilt of that sword so, so tightly. “What right have I? This is my home. My city. My court. I am your High Lord, and you choose to behave in such a way when I’ve opened my home to you and offered you refuge? When I’ve given you a place to run to and left my resources at your disposal?”

You rock back on the heels of your feet, staring at him. Every word lands a hit — as good as if he’d nocked them in a bow and fired them right at your heart. It stings. Gods, it stings. You want the careless oblivion of the alcohol back.

Because you grapple daily with the pain, the anxiety, of feeling unwanted. And you…you had begun to think that Fin actually cared for you. Actually enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

You’d begun to care about his thoughts and feelings where you were concerned. And begun to believe that it wasn’t just the hospitality and courtesy that he would dole out to any runt on the street.

His eyes seem to track the way your expression changes, your shoulders slump. You swallow. The anger is replaced, simply, by hurt.

“If I am a burden, my Lord, I apologise,” you rasp. “I don’t intend to be one. I appreciate your generosity, and I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

You hope you can keep your tears at bay long enough to escape to your room. You’re pelted with shame, embarrassment, hurt. You step forward and hurry past the High Lord, desperate to book it out of there, to get to bed.

But his hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to a stop. And he says, quietly, “wait.”

That hand on your wrist holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

You pin your gaze to the ground, unable to look at Fin. You hear him swallow.

“That isn’t—” his voice is gravelly. “I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t think you can speak. You remain a statue beneath his touch.

But so gently — such a contrast to the whirlwind of his actions before — he’s walking you backwards. Slow and careful. You feel your back hit the wall, and he lets go of your wrist and seems to curl his fists at his sides. There’s a desperation to the action that only then coaxes you to look up at him.

His expression is…pleading. For what, you’re not sure.

“You are the furthest thing from a burden,” he says, quietly, on an exhale. “Your presence here is very much welcomed, I assure you.”

You don’t dare breathe a word. Every last bit of your very sober courage is being thrown into maintaining eye contact. There’s none to spare for speaking.

But your lack of response seems to trouble Fin. His eyes rake over your face, searching for something. He swallows again.

And then his eyes shutter, and he whispers, “Mother above, what are you doing to me?”

You don’t know how to answer him — whether he’s even talking to you at all. He takes in a very slow, very deep breath, as though it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from…doing something. What, you’re not sure.

But you can feel it, sense it — the ferocity with which he’s swallowing down words and holding himself back. Like he wants so badly to say something, but can’t.

His eyes open, clearer than they were seconds before, and he says in a far gentler tone, “Get to bed, Y/N,” he inclines his head. “Sleep well.”

With tense, squared shoulders, he turns — and it’s you, this time, that stops him. You halt him with a hand on his arm, and you could swear you feel the muscles flex under his touch.

“Wait,” you say, not ready to let him go, not prepared to leave things between you like this. “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

His jaw clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why? We talk all the time, you and I. And there are clearly things you’re holding back from saying—”

Your words are cut short as he suddenly meets your gaze with the intensity of a blazing fire. You think it might burn you. You hope it will.

“It’s a bad idea,” he grounds out, gutturally, “not because of what I want to say. But because of what I want to do.”

“What—”

“You are my son’s close friend. You are Roza’s guest,” he tugs his arm out from under your hand. “You are far younger than I am. I am trying my hardest — I have been trying my hardest — to be a good male. And right now, a good male would take his leave and go to bed, so I bid you goodnight, Y/N.”

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Fin,” you grab for him again. “What if I don’t want you to be a good male?”

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

Words punch out of you with terrifying gall — and truth. “What if I want you to do those things—”

Quick as a flash, he’s pivoting, and he has the upper hand. Has you pressed so tightly up against the wall, his body boxing you in.

And gods, the feel of it might set you on fire. A brush of your hands, a kiss on the backs of your fingers — they’re nothing compared to the weight and press of his muscles against your body. You want your clothes to melt away, and his, too. You want your hands on his bare, hot skin.

“I don’t think you realise what you’re saying,” he growls.

“I do,” you breathe. “I am completely sober. Completely clear of mind. And I am telling you, Fin, I want you—”

A strangled noise is the only warning you get before the High Lord’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is pure power. It passes from him, into you, roils through your veins and makes you feel like somebody remarkable. It’s the cloak of darkness and the kiss of sin. Of somebody capable of very, very bad things.

And it’s immediately addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to get enough.

You claw at his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, and his broad hands cup your face as his mouth devours yours.

This kiss…it’s been building. The need for it has been working its way beneath your skin for a while. All the heated glances, the late-night conversations. All the thoughts, in the dead of night, of what Fin might be doing in his own bed. Wondering whether he was thinking of you.

It’s so, so forbidden. So wrong. But it feels so godsdamn right.

And the way Fin’s tongue slides between your lips and strokes into your mouth — it tells you that he feels it, too.

Your hands glide from his waist, round to his back, and you yank him harder against you. So desperate are you to feel him. Feel what you think you do to him.

He makes another low noise. And then he’s tearing his mouth from yours. But he lingers close, your foreheads touching.

“Better than I’ve been imagining,” he pants, his hands still clutching your face. “Much better.”

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” You know he has.

“I have imagined,” his thumbs sweep your cheeks, “doing all sorts of things with you, Y/N. Things that would make even the most salacious of a person blush.”

Such a relief — to know that it’s not all just some wild fantasy you’ve cooked up in your mind. That you’re not just some wayward, longing young female who craves the affections of an older male to patch her deep wounds.

No, it’s not that. It’s desire. It’s need. And it burns inside your veins until you think you might erupt into flames.

“I’ve imagined them, too,” you say, without a lick of shame.

Once again, his eyes are shuttering. Once again, he takes that slow, steadying breath. And as you watch him do so, you can’t bear the thought of him still grappling with right and wrong. You can’t bear the thought of him squaring his shoulders and walking out of here, leaving your lips bruised, your body aching, your heart hurting. You can’t bear it—

“I want you to do those things,” you lift your chin, gaze unflinching. “I want you to touch me.”

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

You have never seen somebody look so wild, so ravenous. There is heat everywhere, in his stare and in his taut body. His eyes flick down to your lips.

That mere glance at them is the deciding factor, it would seem.

He growls, the sound not at all one you’ve ever heard from a person, and he yanks you up into his arms and kisses you again.

So naturally, your arms twine around his neck, your legs locking around his waist. You can feel the strength of him against you, in the way he holds you. You can taste his crackling power.

He doesn’t falter in the kiss nor his steps as he carries you away from the wall, and you’re suddenly being placed down on the library’s desk, sending books and parchment and pens and ink pots flying. They all clatter loudly to the floor, and neither of you care.

But Fin does pull away to look at you, and there’s wicked, boyish charm in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitch up. He merely says, “Oops.”

You surge up and kiss him again.

He sighs into it, like your mouth is the answer to all his questions. And when heated hands land on your thighs, you part them, allow him to slot his body in between. The mere feel of it has you pushing up against him, finding him hard—

But again, he pulls away. He scans your face and rasps, “Tell me you’re sure.”

You do not balk from his intensity. From the fact that this is the fucking High Lord of your court, who was changing this world and building a reputation long before you were a mere thought in your parents’ minds. You do not balk from the fact that there are a million different reasons that this is wrong.

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

And that translates into your voice as you say, firmly, “I’m sure.”

You think you see the words course through his body. They change something — forever.

“This isn’t about Roza,” he breathes — breathes heavily, like it’s taking everything to tamp down on the desire to devour you then and there. To say what needs to be said.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

“It’s about me and you.” He destroys what little gap exists between your bodies, his hardness pushing through his breeches, right up against your centre. His hands brace on the desk, either side of you. “And gods, I want you, Y/N. I want you so much, I can scarcely bear it.”

“Have me,” is all you manage — before he strikes.

You think, hope, that his mouth might find yours again — but he’s barely brushing it before his lips settle on your jaw. His hands travel up your legs, fingers biting into the flesh. They find your hips, thumbs delivering explorative sweeps. They tug your dress up as they climb, exposing more of you to the warmth of the room. Exposing more skin that you know he wants to lay claim to.

And when the hem of your dress is ruched around your waist, you smile — at your little wildcard exposed. That he finds no underwear hiding what sits between your legs.

Your choice to forgo a pair seems almost foretelling, now — like some part of you knew the night would end like this, and you wanted to be ready.

Fin’s eyes dip to your slick, exposed cunt. The hunger in them is almost intimidating. You open your legs just a little wider—

But his rough hand is gripping your chin, almost hard enough to hurt. And he snarls deeply, “It drove me to madness — seeing those two males dancing with you. Touching you.”

Pleasure bolts down your spine, and from the way his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your arousal is consuming him.

“Did it?” you stare back at him, welcoming the discomfort of his brutal grip.

“I wanted them dead. I wanted to draw my sword and gut them for even looking your way. For touching what I want to be mine.”

That pleasure again — skittering over your skin. His words do something to you. You bite down on a moan.

“It is yours,” you tilt your chin up to him, smiling when he immediately glances to your lips. “Take it.”

“I warn you,” he lowers his face to yours, “I don’t like to share.”

“And I warn you, High Lord,” you watch as your words land, drawing a deep, raw scent from him. “Neither do I.”

With a growl, he snaps. The kiss he gives you is not slow or sweet. His hand continues to grip your face, and his mouth attacks yours, his tongue sliding between your lips. You can’t help your moan, this time, as his taste overpowers you — a taste that you can only describe as pure thunder.

But it ends too soon, as he begins to leave a trail of heated kisses and bites and sucks along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbones. Your head falls back, and the touches are like little zips of lightning — lightning cleaving through the night sky.

“Pretty dress,” he hums against your skin — and that’s all the warning you get before that dress is ripped apart. Torn to ribbons.

No part of you is left to Fin’s imagination.

He tears his mouth from you and steps back to drink you in.

Instinct roars at you to curl in on yourself and hide. To remember that you are scarred, and flawed, and not to the liking of many — including yourself, a lot of the time.

But something about Fin’s weighty, scorching stare stops you from moving a muscle.

You lift your chin and hide nothing as he takes his fill. His eyes travel a journey from the top of your head and down — down your face, your neck, your breasts. Down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Down to that fine dusting of hair on your pelvis that tracks a thin path to—

Fin drops to his knees with a low noise. His hands wrap around your legs and prise them further apart.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he levels his face with the very centre of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

The sight of the High Lord on his knees before you — on his knees for you.

As though he senses the direction of your thoughts, his eyes flick up, and he smiles.

And then he dives in.

His tongue wastes no time in sinking between your folds, licking a broad stripe right up the centre of you. At the first stroke, your head falls back, your arms wobbling where they’re braced on the desk.

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

His voice of pure High Lord power drags your eyes back to him. And thank the fucking Mother it does.

You see everything in the way he feasts on you. His tongue laps at your wetness, and it coats his lips, his chin, coats him in you. The damp heat of his tongue is liquid fire. It promises to scorch you, end you, and rise you anew like a phoenix from the ashes.

Your fingers sink into the strands of Fin’s hair and tug. Judging by the noise he makes, the way his pace picks up, you think he likes it.

He utterly fucking devours you, like he’s fought a centuries-long wait to do so. And whatever magic commands his mouth — you know you cannot possibly last against it.

“Oh, gods,” your moan breaks from you, hips bucking up. You think your voice might be loud, but you don’t care. “Fuck—Fin.”

It all happens at once — his name falling from your lips, the growl rumbling in his throat, the flicking of his tongue against your clit and the finger he plunges into you, curls inside you. Every part of it is lightning strikes to your veins, and you come apart, utterly break.

Your climax slams into you and steals your breath. You’re nothing but a gasping, panting, trembling shell. Your mind is somewhere else entirely.

With your head falling back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, chest heaving, you don’t catch the swiftness with which Fin stands, licking your wetness from his lips. With which his clothes are gone in a blink of an eye.

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

It’s the second time he’s said it. Your head lolls forward once more.

You swallow the breaths you’re still trying to get down. Try to stop your body fucking shaking.

But it’s no wonder it does, as you look at him.

Your High Lord is nothing short of exquisite. He is art. Your fantasies have done him no justice.

That golden skin of his seems to attract the glowing light of the room. It bathes him, but it does not steal the attention. It outlines every fine plane of his body, the sculpted muscles on show, the nicks of injuries that have scarred and silvered over time.

There is not a single part of him that isn’t pure, refined power. And when your gaze drops to below his waist…a shudder wracks through you.

His cock stands hard and leaking at the head. You watch, your mouth watering, as he wraps a hand around its length and gives a long stroke.

“Fin—”

“When you look at me like that,” he prowls closer, “there is no way I can consider this forbidden.”

He’s within reach. Your fingers inch towards him. You want to touch him, taste him—

But he curls a hand around yours and stops you in your tracks.

“Not tonight,” he says. Pure promise is laced within the words. “No playing tonight.”

As if he hadn’t just played with you. You want to protest, to get your fucking mouth around that considerable length, but his hand tightens around yours.

And then he’s flipping you over, so fast that you don’t have time to even register it. You land on your front, your belly and breasts pressed against the desk. Fin lays his palm against your back and drags it slowly down. And in the wake of his touch, he leaves kisses. Kisses to your shoulder, your back. They’re…soft. Tender.

“Have I disappointed you?” he murmurs against your shoulder, folding his body over yours. You don’t think it’s an accident that the head of his cock nudges that sweet area between your legs.

It’s all you can do to breathe, “I wanted to taste you.”

“And you will,” he drops the brush of a kiss to your skin. “But now is not time for that.”

You don’t need him to tell you what now is the time for. Not as his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he yanks you to the very edge of the desk, moving with you. The feel of him so close to where you want him is downright cruel.

“Have you thought about me fucking you?” he asks, those hands travelling to rove your ass.

Your nails bite into the desk as you answer, “Yes.”

“Did I make you scream?”

You bite down on your lip at the feeling of him spreading you apart, opening you up to him. “Yes.”

You feel it — his cock sliding between your folds. Not pushing in, but dragging torturously against your sex. From your entrance, up to your clit. The head of his cock pushes against it.

And the moan that rips from you is downright filth, as he rolls his hips and allows your wetness to slicken his length. It feels so fucking good. To you, and to him.

A breath shudders out of him, and he purrs, “Are you going to scream for me now?”

“Fuck yes,” the words tumble from your lips. “I want you, Fin.”

Just like that, his restraint snaps. The High Lord strikes.

He drags his length through your folds and enters you with a single, powerful thrust.

A shout leaves you, and you’re clawing at the desk, trying to keep your grip against the pleasure that courses through you. Fin fills you and stretches you. He pulls out and slams back in to the hilt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls, his hands sinking back into your hips. He begins a steady thrusting, sliding in and out of you with a drag that makes you feel every glorious inch of him. “Gods.”

“So good,” you pant. “Want you harder.”

The plea seems to make him groan, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. His hands bite into your skin as he fucks you faster, harder, your moans and pleas and curses falling from your lips without any nudging from you. The pleasure is all-consuming. In seconds, it’s buried within your veins.

“You like that?” The grit in his voice has you clenching around him. He’s so fucking filthy, so fucking sultry, as he snarls, “you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

Gods, yes, you are. Already, release is coiling tightly within you, and it’s a force entirely of its own right, inching closer and cresting the hill, ready to sink its claws into you. Fin’s cock hits deep, and out of nowhere, his palm is flying through the air and making contact with your ass cheek. That is all it takes.

The pleasure of it all is too much — the sting of the slap, the depth and thrall of his thrusts, the way he growls and grunts as he lays claim to your body, your pleasure.

You cry out, your orgasm blasting through you with unstoppable force. The long strokes of Fin’s cock fuck you through it, through earth-shattering pleasure, through what feels like a mind-altering experience.

“My filthy girl,” he pulls out of you suddenly, and though your cunt still clenches and twitches, desperate for more, more, more, he flips your trembling body onto its back once more and tugs you up, slipping back between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how relentlessly I’ve thought about making you scream for me like that.”

Past words, you can only reach up and pull his head down to yours to capture him in a kiss. Your taste still coats the tongue that he slides between your lips. It spurs you on to deepen it, luxuriate in the feel of it. And you become so lost in it that you tug hard at the strands of his hair when he enters you again in one great, sweeping thrust.

His arm folds around your back, hand grasping at your shoulder, and it seems to afford him perfect purchase to pound into you. Sounds fill the air of his skin slapping against yours, of the breaths and moans you huff into each other’s mouths. You think the two of you, together, might be loud enough, forceful enough, to bring the City of Starlight to rubble around you.

Fin’s lips tear away from yours, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are growing quicker, sloppier, reaching a feverous pinnacle that will surely break.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, Y/N,” his sweat-slick brow presses against your neck. “Taking me so well like this. Squeezing me like this. You’re going to make me fucking blow.”

You want that — more than anything. To feel the power of him spilling into you.

You squeeze your thighs against his, dragging your free hand — the one not sunken in his hair — down the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his waist — to his ass, where you dig your nails into the tight, toned flesh and encourage him to pump into you harder, faster. The feel of it makes Fin shout.

“Come for me,” you choke around your pleasure. “Please, Fin…want you to come.”

An animalistic growl rips from him, and he slams into you one, two, three more times, and then stills, throwing his head back with a roar that shakes the library. Hot, thick ropes of his seed seem endless as they’re unleashed inside you.

The force of it shatters you both, you think. With his trembling as thorough as yours, your nails are still raking over his skin as his brow presses to the crook of your neck. Strands of hair stick to the back of his. Your fingertips smooth over them tenderly.

It feels like eons that you stay there like that, holding each other up from collapsing under the weight of your mutual release. You want to hold him like this, always. You don’t care what others may have to say about it, what they may deem to be wrong about it. You want him.

He pulls back, as though sensing the thought. Meets your eyes. For a beat or two, he simply studies your face, something like clarity on his own.

And then he dips down and drops a kiss to your brow. Such a tender act, in the wake of such passion.

 No words are needed. Not as he scoops you up into his arms, leaving behind the mess the two of you have created. There’s a flash, and he’s winnowed you to your bedroom. A fire roars to life immediately. Fin places you down on the bed.

You watch through hooded eyes as he makes his way into the bathroom. Moments later, he’s returning with a warm, damp washcloth, and he perches beside you.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, and you do.

The High Lord of the Night Court is gentle as air as he takes care of you, wiping between your thighs and delivering soft, soothing strokes to your skin. A pleasant soreness sits in your lower belly. He leans down and presses a kiss there like he knows just that.

And then he’s sitting up, and it frightens you — the thought of him walking away, of this ending here and now.

So you lay a hand on his arm, breathing, “Stay with me.”

He pauses, eyes roaming your face like he’s assuring himself you mean it. And then he dips his chin.

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The need you and Fin have for each other is…insatiable.

Every moment he’s away, you’re thinking of him, longing for the moment he’ll appear in your room and rip your clothes off. If anyone else in the palace — staff, servants, associates — are aware of what’s going on, they don’t give it away. And that suits you just fine.

You can’t get enough. You’re giddy with it. Giddy from the multiple, interesting circumstances you’ve landed yourself in.

Like when you lured him out of a meeting and dropped to your knees in a fucking broom closet, taking his cock into your mouth until he was canting his hips forward and spilling down your throat. Or when he fucked you on the balcony of his personal quarters, your body pressed up against the balustrade, the two of you open to the elements and your moans loud enough to reach the stars above you and the city below you. Or when he took you to watch the ballet, and up in the cushy surrounds of your private viewing box, you watched the performance with him deep inside you, his fingers indolently playing with your clit, his low voice in your ear reminding you to keep quiet.

It’s…exciting. Enthralling. It changes everything.

And as he pulls out of you now, sweaty and panting, and collapses beside you in his bed, you’re not sure you could ever tire of this feeling.

He wants you. He wants you so ferociously, like nobody has ever wanted you before.

As you catch your breaths, he props his head up with his hand and stares at you through hooded eyes, glazed with lust. He leans down and grazes a kiss to your mouth.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he ponders as he pulls back, moving a hand to brush his fingers over your breast. “All this need — wanting you constantly.”

You lean up on your elbows, tilting your head, “Do you want it to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

Never. Never is a very long time. It makes your stomach flip — the enormity of it.

Fin circles the tip of his forefinger around your pebbled nipple, watching with predatory fascination as he adds, “But this will, inevitably, blow up in our faces at some point. We haven’t exactly been secretive — not that I want to be. But people will talk.”

You lean up to brush your mouth over his. “Let them talk,” you say, and kiss him.

Immediately, he melts into the kiss. Your mouth seems to have an effect on him that you never thought yourself capable of. Always draws a long, pleasured sigh from him as he sinks into it, welcomes it.

He kisses you and kisses you, so greedily, so desperately. His hand snakes up to cup your cheek. He’s already hardening against your leg.

But he pulls away, dropping his forehead against yours. And he breathes, “Make a bargain with me.”

You trace a thumb over his bottom lip. You’ve never made a Night Court bargain before; never had reason to. “What bargain?”

“When this blows up in our faces,” he grips your hand, folding his own over it, “we face it together. You and I.”

“You and I?”

“You and I” he kisses your hand. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I don’t try to be. I can be brutal and callous, and I can lie and play games,” another kiss. “But not with you. Never with you. I will look after you. Take care of you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

Words that you’ve always longed for someone to say to you. Words that should not be taken lightly, should not be said without meaning.

But you know he means them. You can tell he does.

You watch closely as your fingers interlace with his. And you whisper, “Together?”

Fin’s thumb sweeps over yours. “Together. We’ll face it together.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

A flash of splintering pain zips around your midriff. You glance down to find the tattoo now inked there. The black line that draws a perfect circle around your waist, like a trail of night-kissed lightning.

You look up at Fin to find a roguish smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

And then he’s leaning down and pressing kisses to that circlet signifying your promise to one another. Kisses the entirety of it, flipping you on your front in the process.

And kisses lower, until you’re screaming for him again.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

[thriftedtchotchkes]

his favorite girl, part ii

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: keeping things professional only works if both parties are in agreement. after a heated first lesson, it's clear you and joel aren't.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, guitar teacher!joel, age gap (30 years), slow-burn, smut, angst, m&f masturbation, mentions of regret and shame

word count: 3.6k

series masterlist | part i

Adrenaline hasn't stopped pumping through your veins since you left your guitar teacher's house. Joel's house.

It's hard to even think his name now that you know what it's like to moan it for him, to feel his body tense and tighten like nylon strings as you tune him to your pitch. The things that man could teach you with all of his experience and endless patience...wait, no. No.

How to play guitar—that's the only thing you need from Joel Miller. Nothing else. God, what the hell is wrong with you? That stupid daydream has been running through your head on a loop ever since you got home and it really shouldn’t be. It was a mistake, one that almost cost you your entire future, and yet you’re still so hung up on it.

On everything you learned during your short, disastrous guitar lesson, the intimate knowledge you’ll never be able to forget. Like the fingering for the chord he showed you, or that he makes the neediest sounds when his body's pressed up against yours and his fingers are so close to where you need him, inches away from—

Stop.

The freezing cold shower you just took is about to be rendered useless at the rate you're going, and tomorrow’s lesson won’t be far behind if you can’t get your shit together.

But you can’t stop yourself from wondering—how much of it was real? You toss your hair over your shoulder, ignoring the icy droplets trickling down your back, and the bruise you’d imagined he left isn’t there. Instead, the mirror taunts you, reflecting smooth, unmarred skin that only serves as a harsh reminder of your fuck-up.

You’re more disappointed than you should be. It would've been the only piece of physical evidence you had proving what happened earlier wasn't all in your head. That maybe he reciprocates even a fraction of what you feel. But it's for the best. Now you can move on and focus all of your mental energy on staying present tomorrow so he won't rescind his offer to continue your lessons.

You'll have to keep things totally professional. The diligent college student, eager to learn and dedicated to her studies—that’s you, all right. It shouldn’t be that hard to stay focused for one measly hour, not when those thick, talented fingers of his are so captivating and capable of so many useful things. Guiding you through the next few bars of that song, slipping beneath the waistband of your—

Fuck it, you're doomed.

There's no way you can handle this. He's just too distracting, and you're way too easily distracted. Judging by the way he reacted to your inappropriate behavior earlier, you're starting to wonder if he can handle it himself. He was a little too quick to touch you, to sit so close that you could feel every instruction he gave you rumbling in his chest.

That familiar heat’s starting to build in your belly, and you know it’ll boil over the second he’s within reach again. You have to get this in check before you see him tomorrow or you’ll be royally screwed, and not even remotely in the way you’d like to be.

But it’s getting harder by the minute. It’s all too fresh in your mind, and you can practically still feel the drag of calluses across your skin and the weight of his arm slung over your shoulder. His fingers twitching in your desperate grasp like he was just itching to trace a knuckle down the soaked fabric between your legs.

You don’t remember how or when you got into bed, but you suddenly find yourself lying on top of your damp, unfastened towel, your bare breasts exposed to the cool air of your bedroom, and your fingers grazing your hardening nipples as you snake them down your body.

The second your fingers slide through your embarrassingly wet folds, you're a lost cause. God, that's good. You're so wet for him, and he's not even here to see you, to feel what he does to you.

You press down on your clit and pretend it's his solid chest tucked against you instead of your shitty dorm mattress, and his rough fingertips swirling masterful circles around your slick nub before dipping achingly slowly inside you.

Shit, you're going to cum soon, so much quicker than you normally do. But maybe this is exactly what you need to get him out of your system. Maybe cumming as many times as you can to the thought of your hot, middle-aged guitar teacher is all it'll take for you to finally get over this stupid, dangerous schoolgirl crush. To get on with your life and earn your fucking college degree.

Joel Miller. You erupt around your fingers with his name hot and heavy on your lips, but it’s…not enough. It's fine, that's totally fine. You'll just go again. As many times as it takes.

But by your third orgasm in as many hours, you realize you’re only making it worse. The aching emptiness you feel every time you cum is almost unbearable. Even as you fuck yourself on three of your fingers, desperately trying to fill yourself up the way he would, it's still not enough.

It’s not him.

God, what are you supposed to do now? Can you really face him tomorrow knowing that you spent the entire night gushing around your fingers, pretending they were his?

And what if he tries to touch them again? Shit. Shit. You just keep making dumber and dumber decisions when it comes to him.

So...maybe you can forgive yourself for making one more. You know that you couldn't have imagined everything earlier. That dark, hungry look in his eyes when he told you flat out that he didn't pull away from you on purpose—he has to want you as much as you want him. Right?

He just needs a nudge in the right direction. A green light so he can push aside those polite, southern manners just long enough for you to both get what you need. Then, you can continue your lessons distraction-free.

After all, you did your finger exercises tonight just like he told you to, and teaching is always more effective with a little positive reinforcement.

Yeah, this will totally work.

Joel’s been rock hard ever since you left his house.

He’s still sitting on the couch in the same spot you occupied just a few hours earlier, his mind running a mile a minute, hands clenched painfully at his sides so he doesn't touch himself.

Christ, you're young. Much too young to be this desperate over or to consume his every thought the way you have since you shoved his hand between your thighs, moaning his name like his fingers were already buried in your tight cunt.

He can't do this. His own fantasies are starting to concern him. He's never this vulgar. Not since he was a stupid kid in high school, picking up girls and bragging about it to his buddies. But that's how you make him feel. Like a stupid, horny kid.

C'mon, dirty old man. Get your shit together.

This is why he never should've agreed to start taking on students. The second you walked through his front door, he should've known he was in for it. Those bright eyes, ever-observant and eager to learn, and delicate hands, clutching the handle of a guitar case much smaller than his own. He wanted to help you with your class, he really did.

Wants. He wants to help you, but he feels like he can't trust himself around you anymore, if he ever did in the first place. Still, he made his old bandmate—your professor, now, he guesses—a promise that he didn't intend to break. Not until he actually met the student in question and discovered, to his horror, that you were his every wet dream come to life.

When you picked up your tiny guitar, a baby version of his own Taylor six-string, and began to strum clumsily with your beginner's touch, he couldn't help himself.

All he could think about were those dainty fingers wrapped around his cock. Teaching you how to stroke him just right, his hand guiding yours up and down his length the way yours were shifting up and down the neck of your guitar as you hopped from fret to fret.

Shit, he's fucking hard.

It's not going away anytime soon, either. Maybe if he just...takes care of it. Jerks off, quick and dirty, thinking about the smooth pad of your thumb circling the head of his cock while he leaks precum onto your fingers. He'd cum so quickly imagining himself splattering his release across your plush lips, his name on the tip of your tongue.

His jeans are halfway down his thighs before he can think twice about it, and he hisses in a sharp breath when he finally begins to pump himself, tight and focused toward the tip just like he'd tell you to.

He was right. He's not going to last long. That's probably a good thing. The faster he can get you out of his system, the better, and then he can forget all of the things he did to you. He's more than ashamed at how quickly his balls start to tighten when he remembers how intimately you let him touch you. How fucking crazy you drove him.

The living room fills with the echoes of his stuttered groans and skin slapping against skin as he frantically fucks his fist, lost in the memory of his lips dragging across your bare shoulder and the heel of his hand grinding into your soaked, clothed pussy.

Then, he hears it so clearly through the haze of his pleasure—your voice whimpering his name, begging him to take care of you. He barely has enough time to tug up his shirt before he's cumming hard across his stomach and dribbling down his knuckles. Christ, you'd look so fucking good on your knees right now, sucking the release off his fingers.

Not good.

What the hell is happening to him? This desire, this need, it isn't who he is. And all of it over a beautiful girl. A very, very beautiful girl. He sighs, running his clean hand frustratedly down his face, fighting to ignore the cum drying uncomfortably on his skin.

It's not just that, and he knows it. It isn't your youth, either. It's...your passion. Your kindness and determination, even in the face of adversity.

It's you.

But he can't have you, no matter how much he aches to. You deserve better than an old, washed-up musician with bad knees and high blood pressure. You need someone who can really take care of you, and he's already decided that isn't him.

Come tomorrow, he'll keep things professional like he said he would. He'll keep his distance and teach you everything he has to offer. Be the guitar teacher he should've been from the beginning.

You're both adults, perfectly capable of controlling yourselves long enough to get through an hour-long lesson.

Yeah, this'll work.

You're late.

Not a great start to your second lesson, but then again, that seems to be your M.O. these days. Not this day, though. Today, all of that changes.

You take a deep, steadying breath before your fist connects with sun-bleached oak, and do your best to focus on the warm, mid-September breeze instead of the impatience and anticipation threatening to swallow you whole.

Now that you're back here, standing on his porch, you're beginning to realize you're actually excited to see him. The anxiety you felt last night has given way to a strange sense of relief and a fresh wave of want. It's like your body can sense him and all of the things you're about to learn and experience.

His broad figure comes into view through the foggy glass paneling of his front door, and then after a strenuous 24 hours, your guitar teacher is within reach again—Joel. His name is Joel. You’re going to have to get used to saying it without your breath catching in your throat or he’ll know. He'll see your intentions clear as day and you'll never get to moan it for him again.

“Hey, you, uh...ya made it," he says breathily, frowning down at his watch. He's panting, and there's a gentle flush spreading from his cheeks down to his neck, disappearing under the collar of his navy blue T-shirt. “I was startin' to get a little worried there."

You smile apologetically, turning to nod back at the piece of shit Chevy parked in his driveway. It's old as dirt and somehow always manages to act up when the weather gets too hot.

"I had some car trouble," you tell him sheepishly, throwing a disdainful look over your shoulder before facing him again. "I should've called. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, offering you a small, if not subtly strained, smile in return. You can tell he's relieved you didn't call, even if he's too polite to say it.

"S'alright, m'just glad you're here now," he says tightly, shifting from one foot to the other as he continues to stand awkwardly in the doorway.

Well, this isn't good. You can take a pretty decent guess as to why he's acting so strange, but you're not sure how to even begin diffusing the situation. Inviting yourself in wouldn't be a terrible first step, but he already seems nervous as hell, and you're afraid he'll spook.

He's still thinking about yesterday. It's evident in his stance and the tension visibly building in his biceps and shoulders. What you wouldn't give to relieve some of that stress—but you can't do much of anything while you're still stuck at an impasse, sizing each other up for two very conflicting reasons.

Hiking your guitar case higher up on your shoulder, you gesture as delicately as you can to the door he's still hiding behind.

"Is it okay, um—should I...come inside?" you stumble over your suggestion, your words conveying none of the confidence and allure you'd hoped for.

Come on, buck up. Be the girl who made him question his self-control; the girl who made his eyes turn so dark, you thought you'd lose yourself in them and never find your way out. You meet those same eyes again with a playful darkness of your own.

"Or did you wanna continue what we started yesterday out here on your porch?"

He does startle at that, but luckily it's the push he needs to finally let you into his home.

"Y-yeah, yes. M'sorry, 'course ya can," he mutters, shaking his head as if he'd been in a trance the entire time. "Didn't mean to keep ya standin' there. Come, uh...Christ, come on in."

Good. Entranced is good.

He holds the door open for you like a perfect gentleman, and your chest drags across his as you squeeze past his large frame and into the entryway. It’s an unsubtle and potentially cheap move, but neither of you pretends it wasn’t on purpose. He sucks in a harsh breath, seizing up until you're past him and taking in the quiet comfort of his living room.

Last time, you'd been too distracted to notice all of the little details and odds and ends that make the space so distinctly Joel, but now that you're really paying attention, it's...charming. The stacks of CDs next to his guitar stand, some in cases and some not, and the varying brown tones of his shag rug and leather couch feel warm and inviting. Just like the man who spends his days and nights here.

Being here suddenly feels intimate in a different capacity than before. Heat begins to bloom in your chest instead of between your legs at the idea of creating music together, a variation all your own, heavily influenced by the history all around you. The abrupt shift takes you by surprise, but it's not unwelcome. If anything, it increases your sense of urgency.

So you let it draw you in, back to where your next lesson and, hopefully, everything you have in store for Joel will take place. That same cushy spot you dreamt about all night while you fucked yourself with your fingers, and that he, unbeknownst to you, lingered while he fucked his fist to thoughts of you.

Looking back over your shoulder, you catch him watching you. There's a curiosity there and an undercurrent of something darker that makes your stomach swoop. He's still flushed, even more so than before, despite his AC kicking to cut the heat and oppressive humidity you brought in with you.

But then he blinks and it's gone again. Left in its place are the kind, if not extremely guarded, eyes of your patient guitar teacher. He's so good at that. Maybe a little too good.

You twist around, heaving the soft case off your shoulder so you can plop down on the couch. He winces out of the corner of your eye when you land on his spot, and his fingers twitch restlessly at his sides as you pull out your guitar and set it across your lap. Lifting an eyebrow, you wait for him to make a move, but he seems stuck in place. Conflicted, almost, like he's fighting himself.

You need him closer. You need him to loosen up. Most of all, you need those thick, insistent fingers inside you before you lose your damn mind.

"Joel? You coming?" you ask expectantly, moving your hands into place over the frets and strings.

At that, he downright grimaces but nods nonetheless. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like self-admonishment as he putters across the room to pluck his guitar from its stand.

Instead of sitting beside you, he pulls up a chair in front of you, putting enough distance between himself and the couch so you can heed his instructions, but not be tempted to touch. Whether that's for his benefit or yours, you're not entirely sure, but you shiver at the thought. He notices.

"Y'need me to turn down the AC? 'Cus I can handle that real quick before we get started," he sounds a little too eager to get away from you again, so you hurriedly reach out to grab his hand before he can make his escape.

"Woah, hold your horses. It's totally okay. I'm not cold, I promise," you try to reassure him with a chuckle, attempting to soothe the palpable tension in the air. Those rough, time-hardened fingertips brush against the delicate skin of your inner wrist, and you instinctively tug him closer.

But he resists. He carefully pulls out of your grasp and sits back down, returning to a safe distance and refusing to make eye contact.

That's not a good sign. At all. You can't help but feel a little ashamed at his reaction. It was never your intention to push him, but you also hadn't expected him to be repelled by just the sight of you.

Maybe you misunderstood your last conversation? Or maybe it really was all in your head, even after you stopped daydreaming. It's entirely possible you only saw what you wanted because you wanted him. You bite your lip anxiously, shifting away to offer him more space.

"Hey, is everything okay? You seem kind of...off today," you press him hesitantly. "Look, if this is about yesterday—"

"S'nothin' like that. We agreed it was water under the bridge, right? Two adults keepin' things professional," he cuts you off, kindly yet firmly dismissing your concerns.

He meets your eyes again, and they're clearer, now. His voice, too—unwavering and more sure than it's been since you got here.

Oh. This is a reminder. A gently worded warning for both of you.

Okay, that's totally okay. It has to be. He's right, anyway. You keep forgetting how important these lessons are, and he's just being the reasonable, responsible adult who wants to keep you on track, no matter how nervous you make him.

Shit, you wish that didn't turn you on so much. You tell yourself to ignore it. Your mission's a bust, anyway, and he's clearly not interested. You ignore how badly that hurts, too, while you're at it.

"Yeah, of course. Totally professional," you repeat back dejectedly, and you will yourself to mean it. But he never makes it easy, does he?

"That's my girl," he smiles so, so handsomely, and you're forced to bite back a frustrated groan.

How he manages to look so genuine and innocent while he says things like that, you'll never understand. What's worse, you have no doubt he actually is.

Joel Miller. 56 years old. Your generous guitar teacher whose only goal is to share his craft in that syrupy sweet twang that sounds like the sweetest music to your ears.

Just your luck.

thanks for reading & stay tuned for part iii <3

(dividers by @saradika & @inklore)

[trendywaifus]

jane’s first morning with you | cw: none. gn! reader

— swear i tried to clean up!

jane stirrs, thin sheets rustling as her tired limbs stretch across the soft mattress. the scent she grew to love smells faint in her nose. instead, it’s replaced with a delicious smell of eggs, sausages, and. .blue berry pancakes? eyes flutter open to the morning glow seeping into the room. she lazily turns her head to her nightstand to check the clock. 7:30am. jane sits up with a yawn, stretching her arms over her head. “ this is a first. . “ she murmurs, sliding her legs off the bed and stands up. a nimble hand skims through fluffy onyx locks as she walks out of her bedroom and follows the smell.

for some reason, her usual empty home feels more lively and homey. the air feels warm and she feels like a kid walking to the kitchen for breakfast. jane stops at the doorway once she catches a glimpse of your figure pacing around the kitchen to prepare everything. there’s something warm hugging her heart, introducing to her a feeling she finally gets to experience; unadulterated endearment. jane was used to being alone, only having herself to take care of. although it’s weird to have another person in her home like this, the fact that that person is you makes it feel like everything is a perfect dream.

“ oh, jane! “ you throw her a quick smile as you put a fresh batch of pancakes onto a plate from a pan. “ sit at the table! i’m almost done with breakfast. “

she crossing her arms with a playful smirk. “ oh alright. though, i’m surprised you know how to cook, you never mentioned to me that you can. it smells good so far. are you making eggs, sausages, and blueberry pancakes? “ she inquire as she walks over to the rounded table in the small dining room and takes a seat in a chair. there’s already silverware waiting on the table for her.

“ you never asked, but yeah i do. “ you reply, sliding the eggs and sausages onto a separate plate with a spatula. “ and yup, you’re right. i wasn’t exactly sure about what a rat thiren’s diet was so i tried to make the breakfast simple and nutritious. is that fine? “

small amounts of blood rushes to her cheeks. jane chuckles and rests her chin on her opened palm. “ that’s totally fine. i don’t really have a consistent diet due to my workload anyways, sweetheart. “

you sighed, walking over to the refrigerator to pull out a cart of goat milk. “ goat milk. .huh. “ you mutter under your breath, analyzing the cart. jane’s ear wiggle as her smile grows an inch wider. “ well, i know and that’s going to change. the fact that you have a bunch of snacks and energy bars in your basement says enough. “ you grab an empty glass from a cabinet and pour a considerate amount of milk in it.

“ i mean, you don’t expect me to run around without my energy bars, right? i need my energy after all. “

“ hold your horses. i never said you couldn’t have them, i’m just saying i’ll cook you meals so you won’t need them as much, hun. “ you explained, grabbing the two plates and placed it in front of her. jane stares down at the breakfast meals. it smells very good and looks properly cooked. even the sausages are nicely sliced into pieces. the portion however, is a bit too much.

you hand her the glass of goat milk and some syrup with a quick kiss on the cheek and sat beside her. “ are you done cooking? “ jane suddenly asks, teal hues looking over at you.

“ i am, why? “ you answer back with confusion.

“ i’m the only one with breakfast in front of me. did you really cook this just for me? “ she asks again with curiosity behind her tone.

you nod your head, “ mhm. i only want to know how my cooking taste for you since again, i’ll be the one making you meals for now on. “

“ . . .i see. “ jane mutters, taken back by your genuine care for her. she grabs the fork and spoon and starts to eat the eggs and diced sausages first. a surprised hum leaves her lips as she chews. the eggs are cooked to perfection and the sausages are tender and chewy. “ judging by those wide doe eyes of yours, you like it so far? “ you smile brightly, absolutely overjoyed that she’s enjoying your cooking.

“ . .it is. the best thing i had in a while, sweetheart. thank you, seriously. “ jane swallows her food, looking at you with a smile full of adoration. is it possible to fall deeper in love with someone you already love? she wonders.

“ hehe, yeah? if you think that the eggs and sausage are good, you should try the pancakes! it’ll blow your mind like boom! “ you made a goofy boom gesture and jane nearly burst out laughing. she hopes most of her mornings will be like this with you. full of warmth and laughter. “ really now? i guess i should hurry up and try the pancakes then. “

jane grabs the knife and cuts through the fluffy pancakes like butter. before she can stab it with a fork, you stop it. “ wait, wait—lemme add syrup, you like syrup on your pancakes, right? “

“ hmm, i do. but i never tried this brand of syrup before. when i was “ working “ as a store manager of a grocery store, they have given me a surplus of goods. so some of these brands i’m not so familiar with. “

“ do you wanna try it then? “

“ sure, my dear. “

you take the syrup, open it up, and pour a nice amount of the thick liquid all over the blueberry pancakes. she pierce the pieces of pancakes with the fork and puts it into her mouth. explosions of delicious tastes floods her tastebuds as she chews. everything is practically melting on her tongue all at once. will you really be cooking something like this now for her? you watch her cheeks turn a darker shade of red, her turquoise eyes brightens with awe, both her tail and ears flutter.

“ now that’s a even better reaction coming from you—mmph? “

jane press her lips against yours in an unexpected kiss. the sweet taste of the sugary syrup and blueberry pancakes explores your tongue. chu! she pulls away after a few seconds, smiling smugly at the dumbfounded look on your face.

“ now that’s a way better reaction from you. how about you share this with me? it’s even more delicious if we eat together~ “

[seichira]

door into your heart.

haitani ran has never had to fight for a girl’s attention. well, at least before you came along and changed the game. it is his first time trying to win someone’s heart, and he’s getting more desperate the longer you keep him on the ledge.

pairing : bonten!ran haitani x college!reader

content : mostly fluff, kinda angsty, swearing, mentions of violence, and basically ran just trying to get the girl.

ran thinks it’s absolutely insane that a girl has got him wrapped around her little fingers, and he knows it, he just willingly submits himself to it.

let’s start from where all the glitches in the universe as he calls them, started. meeting you.

you see, ran haitani is used to women throwing themselves at him. the man can get whatever and whoever he wants at a snap of a finger.

his childhood was rough and all he had was rindou—and he’s not a saint not to enjoy all of life’s perks now that he’s reached the top, isn’t he? admit it, he has been through enough shit to take it easy for once.

they started off ruling ropponggi, having a bunch of men do whatever they command. they lived off the glory of winning street fights and taking down gang leaders after gang leaders.

it was cool, alright. but looking back, that place seems to be just a playground compared to the chokehold they have on the entire country. japan is essentially theirs.

when a person is on top of the world, no words could possibly describe the feeling of being a king. ran haitani himself found himself at that position.

however, the thing about reaching the top is there is nowhere else to go. what follows after is boredom, ennui, and just… rotting away in the repetitiveness of the days. killing, manipulating, torturing, stealing.

he was getting sick of it.

at the height of his much-too-early midlife crisis that he believes came early because he is going to die earlier than everyone else, he flew back to tokyo in hopes that he can drown himself in alcohol at some bar that has no connections to bonten.

he hops out of his ferrari that he parked on the other side of the street adjacent to the local bar, and he is just about to cross it when he hears an exasperated grunt and a loud sound of metal nearby.

the first instinct was ignore it, but another grunt came and he finally snapped his head towards the direction of the disrupting noise in this peaceful part of town.

there, ran sees you struggling to pull the storefront rollup gate down. judging by the apron you seem to forget to remove, it is easy to deduce that you are a barista at the coffee shop you’re currently trying to close for the night.

being the brute that he is, ran keeps his distance from you and remains standing near his car, leisurely watching you struggle.

he chuckles to himself. that shit is cute, he thinks.

it is your first time having to work the closing shift and you had no idea how heavy these things were until you tried it. when all hope leaves you, you groan and sit on the pavement to wait for some energy to come back before trying again.

that is when ran haitani finally decides to spread out his imaginary angel wings and come to your rescue. he approaches you slowly and his footsteps make no sound at all, making you flinch in surprise when the gate suddenly closes and locks on where it is supposed to be.

you look up at the man who just saved you a ton of energy and time, and you stand up to face him. it takes you aback, though, with the way he towers over you. people can be this tall?

but if you were taken aback, the man in front of you is completely blown away. your hair is messy probably because you just finished a shift, you are wearing a simple polo shirt beneath your dirtied apron, paired with skinny jeans—and the man thinks, what a fucking beautiful woman.

this man has seen all kinds of women in the fanciest of outfits, and yet, here he is, totally mesmerized by an obviously exhausted girl trying to make money.

“phew. thank you! you totally rescued me because i was just about to run away and possibly get fired for leaving the coffee shop open overnight.”

he shrugs at your gratitude because he literally did nothing. the gate weighed like paper to him. not only is he not used to saying you’re welcome, he also does not really do much things to receive a thanks.

still, he says, “you’re welcome.”

“have a good night, mister!” you say to finally walk home since it’s a fifteen-minute walk from there.

you work two jobs to get yourself through university after deciding you won’t ever burden your parents anymore, so it is justified how you just want to lay down on your bed on a friday night.

ran finds it too much of a waste to let such a pretty girl go just like that, which is very uncharacteristic for him because he never does that when he knows there are others out there in his disposal.

but he can’t let you walk away.

“wait, miss.”

you turn back to look at him, “hm? yes?”

fuck, even her voice is cute.

“this… coffee shop. why’d you have to close it yourself? you don’t have security guards or something?”

you shake your head like it’s the most normal thing ever, “nope. the owner can’t afford something of that sort. the business is financially tight after the new coffee shop nearby opened.”

“which one?”

you state the name of the coffee shop that almost put you out of a job. thankfully, your boss liked your work ethics enough to keep you in their staff.

“thanks again, mister. i have to go home—”

ran scrambles his brain to find another excuse to keep you for longer. at this point, it is already unusual to him how you still haven’t asked his name. he cannot believe that he’s doing so much just to continue talking to you.

“you’re walking home?”

“yep! it’s good exercise, you know?” you giggle before pointing at the black ferrari just a few steps away. “i believe that’s yours?”

he nods. “looks sick, doesn’t it?”

“looks like someone’s got trust funds,” you joke. it earns a laugh from ran haitani, a man who hasn’t laughed in ages. holy shit, he utters in his head.

“not trust funds, honey. i don’t have a rich mommy and daddy. worked like hell to get that shit.”

your eyebrow raises, and you smile. “well, something must be very wrong with this life because i work like hell and i’m nowhere near affording that!”

it intrigues him, how you talk like you’ve got nothing on you but be lighthearted about it. when he had nothing, he was miserable. how could you smile like that? much more so, smile so beautifully?

“want me to drive you home? it’s dangerous in this part of town. don’t want you to go missin’ on me before you get to afford a ferrari.”

you are quick to turn him down with a flick of your hand, “oh, no thanks. i’m grateful for your help but who knows if you’re the dangerous part of town?”

he laughs again because you are absolutely right, but you have no idea that no harm will ever come close to you when you’re with him.

“you can call anyone and give them all my cards so they’ll know who took you home. safely.”

“i appreciate it, but really, it’s fine. there are some catcallers here and there but believe me, i can trashtalk them just as fine.”

his brows furrow at the thought. it makes him uncomfortable knowing you have to go through that, and you’re used to it.

“you sure?” he asks again but does not impose because he understands your doubts. it truly is hard to trust someone nowadays.

“i am.”

you walk home after waving goodbye to the tall, handsome, purple-haired man with a clean cut—ready to forget him.

with all the good intentions left in his heart, he waits a few seconds for you to be at a safe distance before he quietly follows you home. just to make sure you get there safely.

true enough, there are a few men loitering along the streets. when they call you names and shout lewd remarks, ran is just ready to intervene.

but you flip off the men and shout, “you filthy fucking pigs! this is why you lead such petty little lives without a wife to love you!”

once he sees you get inside the apartment complex, he shoves his hands in his pockets, approaches the men and gave them a few threats and injuries. afterwards, he walks back to his car.

you were right—this was good exercise.

ran abandons his earlier plans and heads home for the night. and if it isn’t clear, he thinks about you the entire drive home until his eyes drifts off to sleep.

that was how you met ran haitani.

the next events were just batshit crazy. the nearby coffee shop closed down and business was back as usual. your schedules were changed into something that will allow you to have some time to study and even rest. in the blink of an eye, as if something shifted, everything was suddenly convenient for you.

but behind the scenes is ran haitani.

alongside all of the crazy happenings in your life, ran haitani never leaves you alone. literally the next day after your first encounter, he shows up at the coffee shop you work at with an irritated look on his face.

“what’re you so grumpy for? where’s the smile you had on last night? didn’t expect to see you here, mister. would you like to order?”

“why did you arrive just now?” he looks at the nameplate you just clipped on your apron, and it wasn’t there last night. “y/n.”

“what do you mean?”

“been waiting for you here for two hours already, thought i’d come by and see if you were able to make it home alive last night.”

you stifled a laugh, “obviously, i did. and i only start here very late at night. it’s a part-time. i study in the good part of the day and i work a waitressing job at a pub, then this one.”

his eyes widen, and the one thing he immediately thinks of is how you do not have to do all that if he just gives you what he has. he has more than enough money to last lifetimes. giving you some wouldn’t hurt, right?

he is not even surprised when you turn that offer down. he’s disappointed, but he saw it coming.

after months of clinging to your side like a leech, the man is irrevocably in love with you. like down bad. like there-is-no-getting-out-of-this in love.

seriously, how could he not?

he sees you work so hard, so independently, and face so much shit the world throws at you and still have the will to be fucking smiling at him?

when he told you about his work, which took him about three months to finally confess to you, your answer was, “i stand corrected. that is good exercise.”

the man was BAFFLED. you accept it, just like that? no judgments? no shouting? no cursing? no condemning him for all of his sins?

you continued, “i know how hard this life is and i won’t blame people for doing what they have to do to survive. i’d rather not get involved with that, ran, so keep me away from it… but as for you, i don’t mind.”

you said all that but when he confessed his feelings for you the very first time, you turned him down. it was for a good reason—you had to graduate and earn a degree so you can finally have a good-paying job. being in a relationship with anyone is putting that at risk, and it was a risk you couldn’t take.

he understood.

the second time he confessed, after a year, he was at your new apartment that you purchased all on your own. it was small, but it was yours, so he loved it.

this time, he was sure that you loved him too. the problem is, you told him that you want him to court you first. until you give him your sweet yes, every interaction has to be friendly.

ran didn’t understand, but it was what you wanted, so he courted you in ways that he absolutely had no idea how, but had to try anyway.

“court me, and i’ll see if you deserve me.”

well, no shit. he has been courting you for a year now.

everything is slowly falling into place. your job is getting stable. your apartment is getting filled with more upgrades. you don’t have to live off cup noodles anymore (although ran made sure you lived well with all the help you accepted from him after he met you). the bills are paying themselves.

but you won’t give ran the time of day. you were such a tease. brushing your hands with his but never truly holding it. hugging his huge figure but never fully embracing him, except on your graduation when he was the only person who went to congratulate you. speaking with your lips close to his but never kissing him.

being with him but never telling him you love him.

but you are. you are in love with ran haitani. you are aware of the things he does for you, and they do not go unappreciated.

the flowers he casually gives you even without an occasion. visiting your place just to cook your meals when you are too lazy to feed yourself. taking care of you when you are sick and even when you aren’t. spending all his money on you albeit discreetly so you won’t scold him. quitting the vices you hated. being your personal driver. leaving important work behind when you need him.

basically being there.

being present.

being your person.

you finally decide that it is time to give in to what you want. to love him without inhibitions. life has been hard enough and it is about time to just… give in to all the things you were deprived of.

ran is an impatient man, and you think it should be humanity’s greatest feat that he was able to wait for you this long.

you know better than anyone that he can wait for as long as you need him to, but the wait ends now. you cannot wait anymore, and neither can he.

sitting inside the car, stopping at the basement parking, ran waits for you to step out first because you made it clear that while you two are just friends, he will never be allowed to open doors for you.

“ran?”

“yeah?”

you unbuckle your seatbelt to lean forward and kiss him on the lips. he freezes at first, and the thoughts wilding inside him screams, what the fuck?! is this really fucking happening?!

when he recovers just as you pull away, he pulls your nape and deepens the kiss. he pours out all the years he spent waiting to cross this line on this kiss.

and you return all of them.

he pulls away to rest his forehead on yours, “what’s the meaning of this? are you… what is… is this what i think this is, baby?”

you nod with tears on your eyes.

“you can open my door for me.”

[leknaur]

Slut; jungkook

Jungkook x reader

Angst with happy ending

Inspired by slut from Taylor swift

Jungkook stood on the edge of the rooftop, gazing out at the shimmering lights of Seoul. The city was alive with energy, but here, high above the streets, it felt like another world. A world where the noise faded, where the only sounds were the wind and the distant hum of traffic.

His phone vibrated in his pocket for the hundredth time that evening, but he didn’t check it. He knew what it would be—more messages, more warnings from his team, more gossip filling his social media feeds. He was tired of it all, of being watched, of being judged for every move he made.

Tonight was supposed to be an escape. A few hours where he could be himself, where he didn’t have to wear the mask of the idol everyone knew. But even here, in this private, exclusive place, the weight of the world pressed down on him.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes finding her in the crowd. She stood at the bar, sipping her drink, pretending not to notice the glances thrown her way. But he saw the way she held herself, the way her eyes darted nervously every few seconds. She was always aware, always on guard, because of him.

They hadn’t meant for it to become this complicated. What started as a simple connection had grown into something neither of them could walk away from, no matter how much easier it would be. But the world didn’t see it that way. To them, she was just another fling, another woman who had caught his eye and would soon be discarded. They didn’t know the truth, the depth of what they shared.

And when the media found out, they branded her with a word that cut deeper than any insult: slut. It echoed through his mind, a constant reminder of the price she paid just for being with him.

He clenched his jaw, anger and guilt twisting in his gut. He hated that word, hated how easily people used it to tear her down. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve any of this. But he didn’t know how to protect her without letting her go, and the thought of losing her was unbearable.

She caught him looking and gave him a small, reassuring smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. Jungkook felt his resolve falter. What kind of life was he offering her? A life in the shadows, where they had to sneak around like criminals just to steal a few moments of happiness.

But then he remembered the way she made him feel, the way she saw him—not as Jungkook, the idol, but as the man underneath. The man who was scared, who was lonely, who wanted more than the life he was living. She was his sanctuary, the one place where he didn’t have to pretend.

He pushed off the railing and made his way to her, ignoring the looks that followed him as he crossed the room. When he reached her, he didn’t say anything. He just took her hand and led her to a quiet corner, away from the prying eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, almost drowned out by the music. “For everything.”

She shook her head, squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to apologize. I knew what I was getting into.”

“But you shouldn’t have to deal with this.” His voice cracked, the frustration bubbling up. “You shouldn’t have to be labeled just because you’re with me.”

She looked at him, her gaze steady and full of understanding. “People are going to talk, Jungkook. They’re going to say whatever they want. But it doesn’t change what we have. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

He wanted to believe her, to believe that they could make it through this. But the doubt lingered, the fear that one day, the pressure would be too much, and she would walk away.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked quietly. “Being with me?”

She didn’t answer right away, and his heart sank. But then she reached up, cupping his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

“Never,” she whispered. “I don’t care what they say. I love you, Jungkook. And I’m not going to let them take that away from us.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, letting her words wash over him. In this moment, it didn’t matter what the world thought. It didn’t matter what they called her. All that mattered was that she was here, with him, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

Jungkook opened his eyes, finding strength in hers. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, holding on as if she were his lifeline. Maybe they couldn’t control what people said, but they could control how they lived, how they loved.

And he was done hiding.

As they stood there, the city spread out beneath them, he made a silent vow. He would fight for this, for her, for them. No matter what it took, no matter what the world threw at them, he wouldn’t let go.

Because she was worth it.

[girlgenius1111]

do you want my attention?

R and Mapi decide to fuck around at the club and make their respective girlfriends jealous. It ends... exactly how R wants.

Smut! This is not proofread [if you see errors no you didn't]. It's also pretty rough smut. Please enjoy :)

You had arrived at the club, a gay bar in the heart of the city, dragging a still somewhat reluctant Alexia in with you. You'd barely greeted the rest of the girls before Mapi was dragging you off to the bar with you to get everyone drinks. Once you were out of earshot, she turned to you with her signature smirk, and told you her idea.

You were on board with the idea the minute the words left Mapi's mouth. The team had a rare weekend off, playing on Friday and not playing again until the following weekend. You had all convinced your captains [Alexia more than the others], that a night out would be good for everyone. You were excited; it had been too long since either you or Alexia had the energy to do something together other than attend practice, or lay exhausted on the couch together.

It had also been a while since you and Alexia had gotten up to... other activities. Alexia specifically had been so drained that you guys had only the energy for soft, sensual sex, and even that was happening infrequently. Which you definitely enjoyed, but you also really, really loved it when Alexia got rough with you. And it seemed like Mapi's idea would be your best bet to getting Alexia to fall back into her more dominant role. You deduced that Mapi was after the same thing you were. Judging by the way Ingrid's sharp gaze raked over Mapi's outfit, black leather pants and a tight maroon corset top, you figured she already had a pretty good start.

You also knew you had Alexia's eyes on you, in the possessive and protective way she watched you whenever you guys went out. She was a worrier, and she was also deeply territorial. You were surprised she had let you walk away with Mapi, considering how full of gay women the club was, and the way your tits were framed by the top you were wearing- lacy, kind of see through, and decidedly too small for your chest. Alexia didn't look bad herself, wearing a tight, short, black dress that was completely open in the back, forcibly reminding you that she was not wearing a bra.

It didn't take long before you found yourself on the dance floor with Mapi, ready to put the plan in place.

"Ready?" She asked.

"Si, as ready as I'll ever be," you replied, well aware of what consequences you would be facing in the coming hours.

Your teammates were spread throughout the club, some dancing, and some not. You had left Alexia standing at a table with Ingrid, Caro, and Patri, who were not dancers, slipping away with Mapi before your girlfriend could object. You had both made sure you were in view of the little group.

You and Mapi took it slow at first, dancing a safe distance away from each other. After a few pop songs had played, a slower, much sexier song came on. You felt Mapi's hands land on your hips, pulling you back slightly into her, dancing against you. You didn't really enjoy it- you were truly only interested in having Alexia's hands on you. You could tell Mapi felt the same way about Ingrid, because her movements were slightly hesitant and stiff. Still, you both pushed through, getting into a rhythm and dancing up against each other to the slow beat of the song.

"She's already staring, chica," Mapi spoke softly into your ear, pressing her head against yours, giving the look of a much more sexual comment. You brought a hand up to press hold Mapi's head where it was, peeking over at your girlfriend. Mapi was right, Alexia was staring. Maybe glaring would have been a better word. Her green eyes held a dark look, and you noticed her hands clenched on the edge of the table. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, as she shook her head at you, a clear warning on her face. You had to fight a smile at your success.

Maintaining eye contact, you grinded back into Mapi, pressing your ass up against her front. Her hands tightened on your hips, moving in sync with you. Alexia's expression hardened, and she took a long sip of her drink; it looked like it was alcohol, which was alarming consideing Alexia normally didn't drink during the season. If this was an indication of how jealous you'd made her, you suddenly had a few regrets. Sober Alexia was possessive, and she could be rough when she wanted you. Drunk Alexia would fuck you into the mattress until you could barely move.

You and Mapi continued to dance on each other, bodies swaying to the beat of the music. You looked briefly at Ingrid, suddenly worried you'd make her mad at you, but her eyes were locked on her girlfriend, making a face very similar to Alexia. Deciding to egg them on even more, you placed one hand over Mapi's, moving it tantalizingly slowly up your body, until her thumb was grazing your breast. You closed your eyes, ignoring the burning gaze of Alexia, and leaned your head back to rest on Mapi's shoulder.

"Shit. Incoming," she whispered in your ear, "that didn't take long."

You opened your eyes to see Alexia making her way through the crowd toward you, eyes locked not on your face, but on Mapi's hand resting at your chest. Ingrid was following not far behind her. You braced yourself, knowing Alexia would be pissed. You knew both her and Ingrid would clock what you and Mapi were up to immediately, but just because they knew you both were fucking around, you knew you'd both still be in trouble. Mapi seemed to have the same thought because you felt her suck in a deep breath as your girlfriends arrived at your side. You weren't done acting like a brat, though, and you were determined to drag Mapi down with you.

"Come to dance?" You asked the girls standing opposite you, allowing your lips to curl into the smile you'd been fighting all night. You were met with the hardened gaze of Alexia. The way she stared at you... you knew you were wet already, just from that.

"I think we've had enough dancing," Alexia spoke through clenched teeth, hand came to latch onto your wrist, grip tight, as she yanked you away from Mapi and into her side. She began to pull you away from the dance floor, and you let her, glancing back at Mapi to throw her a smile. She stood completely still, seemingly paralyzed by the way Ingrid was silently looking at her. You hoped they wouldn't do it in the bathroom of the bar again, but the look on both of their faces told you that it was unlikely they'd make it all the way home.

Alexia, however, dragged you right out the door, not stopping to say goodbye to anyone. She pushed you up against the side of the bar, her arms coming up to rest on either side of your head, blocking you in.

"Why are we leaving? I was having fun," you pouted. You knew you were pushing her, but you couldn't seem to stop yourself.

She moved her to press her lips against your ear, blonde hair falling into your face. It smelled like coconut, and the light contact of her lips on you had you completely distracted from the world around you.

"Fun," she murmured, her voice raspy enough to know that she had been drinking, and that she was turned on," I don't know that I would call that fun." She pulled back, fixing you with a harsh stare. Her hands fell from the wall to rest against your side, touch featherlight.

"What? We were just dancing." You really should stop, but the urge to play dumb was too strong.

"Dancing, si, but dancing like you wanted to fuck her? Not so fun, cariño." Her voice was sweet, but there was a sharp undertone to it that had you shivering with excitement.

"Well you wouldn't dance with me..." you responded, letting your gaze fall to the ground. Suddenly, you were feeling incredibly insecure. the thoughts that had been swirling around in your head recently came to the forefront. What if she hadn't been tired, and she just didn't want you anymore? Her hand came up, catching your chin almost instantly, and guiding it back up until you were making eye contact with her again. Her gaze had softened slightly, and you knew she had realized that she'd been distant recently, that your actions tonight were not entirely unprompted.

"Have you been feeling needy bebé?" Her tone was soft, and you leaned into her touch, nodding. "What are you supposed to do when you are feeling needy?" She asked, clearly awaiting a response.

"Ask for what I want..." you responded, still slightly self conscious.

"For what you want?" She questioned.

You sighed, knowing what she was looking for. "For what I need, Ale."

"Si. You're supposed to tell me when you need me. Not go around dancing like a whore with your friends, trying to make me jealous." You blushed, suddenly aware that you were still in public. Alexia didn't stop there though, leaning closer until her lips were almost brushing yours. "If you wanted it rough, amor, you could have asked. You'll get it rough, I'll give you what you want, mi niña bonita, but only if you listen to me." You nodded eagerly at her words, and she smiled down at you, pecking your lips quickly, before turning around, grabbing your hand, and beginning the walk back to your apartment.

-----

You expected her to be all over you the minute you both walked into the apartment, but she casually walked into the kitchen, hand still intertwined with yours. She pulled out a bar stool from the counter, dropping your hand, and pointing for you to sit. You were confused. And horny. But you weren't feeling like a little brat anymore, you just wanted to do what Alexia wanted you to do, so you sat, waiting patiently for her as she rifled through a cabinet. She returned to your side with a glass of water wordlessly placing it down in front of you, leaning against the counter next to you and running her fingers through your hair. You looked at her, raising your eyebrows in confusion.

She smiled at you innocently. "I want you hydrated. You're going to need the energy," she said casually, still gently untangling your hair with her fingers. You almost chugged the water in an effort to move things along. You were almost done when she pulled your hair into her hands, smoothing it back into a ponytail. You felt goosebumps raising on your neck, highly anticipating what was coming. Alexia liked your hair down, and she only tied it back for specific reasons. You liked these reasons.

"Bien?" she asked, ever the attentive girlfriend, even when it was clear that she was about to wreck you. You nodded your head. She grabbed your hand again, leading you back into the bedroom. She sat you on the edge of the bed, looking down at you. "You know what to do if you need to stop, si?" You told her you did, and she smiled, satisfied, before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving you sitting on the bed. Not really knowing what she wanted you to do, you opted to sit and wait. She returned a couple minutes later, and your jaw dropped at the sight of her.

Alexia was completely naked, muscular body on full display, with an enormous dildo strapped to her waist. It wasn't one you'd seen before you and you wondered briefly if she'd spent the last few weeks waiting for you to act in a way that would warrant the use of this new toy. She crossed the room quickly, placing her hands on your shirt. Instead of taking it off, as you'd expected, she tore the fabric easily, tossing the two pieces behind her, eyes fixed on your chest, expression completely blank. You gasped, slightly indignant because you really liked that shirt, but then her hand was wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, but enough that every thought in your brain promptly fell out.

"Something to say bonita," she purred.

"N-no." you responded, voice slightly choked, but not from the hand on your neck.

"Good," she replied, "now take your pants off and get on your knees."

You rushed to obey, almost tripping as you stumbled out of your pants and underwear. She reached a hand out to steady you, before pulling it back, deciding that now wasn't the time to be nice. You kneeled down then, on the carpet at the foot of the bed, and looked up at her.

She looked beautiful. She always did, always took your breath away, but something about looking up at her when you were on your knees at her feet filled you with desire. Her blonde hair fell loose around her shoulder, and you desperately wanted to run your fingers through it. Her eyes looked dark in the dim light of your bedroom, and you felt yourself get even wetter. You were dripping, and she hadn't touched you. She grabbed the back of your head then, pulling your forward, and guiding you to take the strap into your mouth.

"Suck," she commanded, and you did. You ran your tongue across the tip, taking more and more of it into your mouth. It was big, bigger than anything you'd taken before. You hollowed out your cheeks, bobbing your head back and forth, raising your eyes to look up at Alexia. She must have liked that, because suddenly she was pulling the strap out of your mouth and bending down to kiss you.

It was a rough kiss, not needing any time to warm up. Her tongue was in your mouth instantly, pressing insistently against yours as her hands gripped the sides of your face. You moaned into the kiss, feeling yourself growing unsteady on your knees. You weren't going to move though, not when she'd put you there.

Alexia pulled back, grabbing the dildo and put it back into your mouth, thrusting in and out roughly. She'd never really done this before, fucked your face with the strap, and you could see her eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, even as she licked her lips at the sight of you, brows furrowed. You grabbed the back of her thighs, attempting to encourage her, even as you gagged against the strap, saliva running down your chin.

"Look at you, taking it so good. If only you'd been this good all night, hmm?" her words were slightly shaky, and you knew she wasn't as affected as she was pretending. She kept going for a few more minutes, only stopping when your eyes really began to water, and you started to sway, clearly losing feeling in your lower legs. She pulled you to your feet, supporting your weight, and pushed you back onto the bed, until you were laying with your legs hanging off the end. She remained standing at the foot of it though, and she nudged your knees apart, looking intently at your core.

"You're dripping, cariño. Is it for me? Or is it for her?" her voice was dripping with jealousy, and you knew then just how much your actions at the club had affected her.

"You, Ale, only for you," you gasped.

"I don't know if I believe you. You're going to have to prove it to me," she stated, and you nodded eagerly.

"Anything, Alexia, anything you want." She raised her eyebrows at you, a predatory grin spreading across her face.

"Anything I want?" She questioned, voice dangerously soft. You nodded in response. You thought she was going to touch you, finally, but instead she pulled away, walking across the room to sit on the couch. She reclined, relaxed, legs spread, fake dick sitting obscenely between her legs. You whined quietly, leaning up onto your elbows to look at her.

"I want to watch you fuck yourself." She said, and you frowned, entirely uninterested in that request. "Now," she said, her words leaving no room for debate. You sighed, scooting back up to rest against the headboard, spreading your legs. You brought one hand up to play with your nipple, allowing the other to drift over your stomach, slowly moving down to your center. You were incredibly turned on, and you let out a keening whine the minute your fingers brushed over your clit, unable to control yourself. You began circled the bundle of nerves, closing your eyes and falling into the movements. You got worked up fast, your hips moving in sync with your hand as you grinded against it.

"Can I put my fingers inside?" you asked, desperate for more stimulation.

"No." she responded, and your eyes snapped open to look at her. She was still sitting on the couch, except a large smile now adorned her face. "Come for me like this, and then you can use your fingers." You groaned, but began to move faster against yourself, fingers circling frantically as you neared the edge. You kept your movements going until your hand was aching and your hips were jerking up into your hand. You fell over the edge with a moan, eyes falling shut. It was not satisfying, no where near what you wanted, but you still pulled your hand away, not wanting to overstimulate yourself already.

You were planning on taking a minute to catch your breath, but Alexia spoke only seconds after you came.

"Inside now. Come again and then I'll touch you." You sighed again, wishing for her hands against you now, but did as she said, dragging your fingers through your folds, gathering the abundant wetness, before sliding two fingers into yourself. You didn't need to start with one, so wet you were already craving a third.

You moved your fingers in and out of yourself, curling them to brush against your spot just right. You were so wet, every movement of your hand made a sound. You continued to pump your fingers in and out, of yourself, bringing your other hand to rub at your clit, quickly approaching your orgasm again. You normally didn't come this fast, but the feeling of Alexia's eyes on you, knowing that once you finished, she'd touch you, was sending you hurtling towards the end.

You sped your fingers up, fucking them so hard your hand made a loud sound when it met your body, opening your eyes to make eye contact with Alexia. She was rubbing her thumb over one of her nipples, eyes focused on your core. They moved to meet yours as you came again, letting out a loud moan of her name. Again, it wasn't as satisfying as it could have been, and you just wanted Alexia to fuck you. You fell limp against the bed, closing your eyes briefly as you quickly returned to the present. You didn't notice your girlfriend standing from her seat and making her way over to you.

Again, Alexia didn't allow you much of a break, grabbing your ankles and pulling you to the edge of the bed roughly. You opened your eyes, looking up at her and she looked down at you, a hungry look in her eyes.

"Flip over." She said, her voice once again commanding. You did as she asked, rolling onto your stomach. She pulled your hips up so your ass was in the air, and without any warning, brought her hand to slap roughly against your ass. You gasped, jerking forward into the mattress. She smacked you again, and again, setting a rhythm. Her hand landed on you at least 15 times, and you were moaning without shame by the end of it. Alexia knew how much this turned you on, and she was apparently trying to get you as worked up as possible before she fucked you.

She stopped then, running her hands gently over the red skin. You were desperate, pushing your self back into her, overcome with need for her to touch you.

"What do you want, bonita?" she cooed, still not touching you where you wanted her.

"You, Ale, your mouth, your cock, anything, just please touch me" you begged, breathless.

Suddenly, her mouth was on you, hands spreading your cheeks apart, and her tongue was running through your folds, mouth lapping at the slick there. You whimpered into the mattress, pushing back against her face. She brought a hand around, pinching your clit between her fingers harshly, while moving her tongue in and out of your entrance. Her mouth moved fast in tandem with her hand, and you neared your 3rd orgasm quickly, letting out cries of her name as you got closer.

"Fuck. Gonna come, baby." You figured you should warn her, thinking she'd probably stop. She didn't, though, speeding up her movements even more, sending you over the edge for the 3rd time. Pleasure rolled over you in waves, but suddenly her mouth was gone, and she was pushing the strap into you slowly. You gasped, sucking in air, feeling the dick stretch you. Even after 3 orgasms it was still tight, and you appreciated that she was letting you get used to it.

Just as you'd had that thought, she bottomed out in you, and you tried to relax, getting used to the size, before she was pulling all the way out and thrusting back into you. Her hands moved your hips back against her, and you cried out at the feeling of being completely filled.

"That's it, hermosa, just take it. So good for me." You moaned at her words, and she took a hand away from your hips to land another smack on your ass. You rocked back against her, burying your face in the mattress as you gasped with each thrust. The filthy sound of her hips meeting yours filled the room, as did the wet sounds of the dildo pulling in and out. She kept fucking you, bring a foot up to rest on the bed, allowing her a deeper angle, and she sped up, frantically thrusting in and out of you.

"Come again. Now" She said through gritted teeth, and you knew she was feeling pleasure from the strap rubbing against her with every thrust. At her words, you fell over the edge again, not even aware that you'd really been close. Apparently, you came when she told you to now. She moaned when she realized this, her pace only slowing slightly. You whined, really and truly overstimulated at this point.

"Shhh, come on, amor, you can give me one more." she spoke gently, flipping you back onto your back without pulling out. She leaned over you, pressing her forehead to yours as she sped up again. You let out another whimper, not sure if you could take another orgasm. Your legs were shaking, wrapped around Alexia's back, and you felt all fuzzy. You felt yourself getting worked up again though, her words enough to get you going.

"I know, bebé," she murmured, "you can take it though, be a good girl and give me another one," she slowed down slightly despite her words, and you brought a hand around to grip at her ass, encouraging her to go faster as you nodded desperately against her. She sped up again, pressing a deep kiss to your lips, before pulling back. She lifted your legs up to rest on either shoulder, absolutely railing you. She'd never fucked you this hard before, and the sounds you let out were completely filthy.

"Shit. Fuck- ple-please don't stop, so close, so fucking close" you managed to gasp out. She brought her hand to rub at your clit again, fingers moving so fast it was almost painful. The pleasure was rising again inside of you, but it felt different this time, more intense. You knew what was coming before it happened, but ti still surprised you. Your hands gripped the sheets as you felt yourself come again, the force of it pushing the dildo out of you, liquid squirting out of you onto Alexia.

"Fuck bebé, so fucking good for me," Alexia said, continuing to rub her fingers over your clit, coaxing another splash of liquid out of you. You pushed her hand away, whole body shaking as you curled up on your side, face pressed into the mattress. You felt brainless, completely fuzzy. You weren't really sure if you were even conscious, body completely overwhelmed from all of the stimulation.

You felt Alexia's gentle hands on yours, pulling them away from your face. You wanted to open your eyes and look at her, but you were so exhausted, so out of it, that you kept them closed. You heard her speaking to you, but it didn't really sound like words. One of her hands stroked your cheek softly, and you forced yourself to open your eyes, recognizing a slightly panicked tone in her voice.

You focused on her, laying with her face only inches from yours. Her eyes were wide, and you realized she'd asked you a question.

"Hmm?" You managed to ask.

"Are you okay? Was that too much mi amor?" She sounded a little frantic, and you forced yourself to respond, and ease her worries.

"So good, Ale. God. I can barely think." She didn't look particularly reassured at your words.

"But are you okay?" Gone was dominant Alexia who had just literally fucked every thought out of your brain, replaced by concerned soft Alexia who looked like she'd do just about anything to make you feel okay.

"Si, I'm good, promise." You stated even as your eyes started to drift shut. She smiled in relief, moving forward to pull you against her chest. You relaxed against her, so sleepy, so comfortable, and she rubbed your back softly.

"Te quiero, mi bebé perfecto, te quiero mucho." She whispered the words into your hair, and you snuggled closer to her, barely mumbling a "te quiero, Ale" in response against her chest. She chuckled at your sleepy state, and you felt it more than heard it.

"Rest, mi niña, I'll clean you up in a bit, vale?" You nodded against her, immensely glad you'd followed Mapi's plan.