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l0v3tast3 · 1 year

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pervy neighbor!toji headcanons !

toji sets his sights on you and just can't look away!

✎ tags: mdni!, smut, female reader, maybe tw for stepcest (toji dates your mom)?, age gap (reader is college age, toji is probably late-30's), kind of dubious consent, infidelity, loss of virginity, unsafe sex, kind of obsessive!toji, pet names, breeding kink, corruption kink, dacryphilia, reader definitely has daddy issues (but no daddy kink)

✎ word count: 5k words (might have gotten a little carried away. but it's proofread!)

✎ author's note: something about jjk characters makes me have the worst, filthiest thoughts i've ever had, but i'm not upset about it. also genuinely surprised that this turned out to be 5k words i thought it would be like 2k max ( 〃▽〃) . . . toji brings out the best and worst in me <3

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♡ when toji first lays eyes on you, it's sick how fast he starts thinking dirty thoughts. your mother and you are his new neighbors, coming over to say "hi" and introduce yourselves. your mother looked to be around his age, while you looked like you were probably in college (she must have had you when she was young like he had with megumi), but the way you half-hid yourself behind your mom wasn't helping you look any older.

♡ your mom makes you introduce yourself to him and you do so shyly, calling him "mr. zenin", barely making eye contact with the man that was a full head and a half taller than you. he smiles down at you and sticks out his hand, and after a moment you shakily take it, his engulfing yours completely. he could easily pin down both your hands with one of his. hell, he could pin down your whole body with one of his hands. he lingers a little too long, and you retreat a little further behind your mom after he lets go, your face an adorable shade of red.

♡ toji only half-listens to your mother rambling on, mostly just staring at you and being grateful that his shirt was long enough to cover his boner. he tuned in when she talked about how you went to college but still lived with her because it wasn't far. he also listened to when your mother mentioned her job took her across the country or even out of it a lot of the time. oh, so many thoughts were already forming in his head. toji could get quite creative when he wanted to.

♡ he can tell your mom is attracted to him when she juts out her chest and mentions her deadbeat ex-husband more than once. so he exchanges numbers with her and flirts a little. he's a single man, what else is he to do?

♡ toji figures out that, by the grace of god it seems, your bedroom is the one with the window directly across from his, and you don't seem to realize that your pink lace curtains are see-through. it really just kept getting better for him, didn't it? he absolutely watches your silhouette of you changing, watching your little figure take your shirt and shorts off, imagining he was in the room with you. if he were there, he wouldn't have to watch you put on other clothes. he would take off your clothes for you, probably rip them a little too (on accident, of course). he would make sure you didn't put anything on for a good long time, except maybe some cute lingerie. or a collar.

♡ he takes the time to work up to dating your mom. toji's a patient man, he can wait to get his hands on you. distance makes the heart grow fonder, right? and the better he gets to know your mother, the better he gets to know you, too. oh, she raves about you, of course! a model student and such a good girl, never getting into any trouble, always focusing on your schoolwork. you graduated top of your class in high school, and were on track to do the same in college. her baby was basically a genius! toji's heart swelled to hear about just how much of a good girl you were.

♡ it's not long before he's at your dinner table with your mother and you and a wonderful home-cooked meal. the woman that he's supposed to be looking at luckily talks enough that she doesn't realize toji is staring at you the whole time. you practically squirm in your chair under his gaze, hardly saying a word unless you were spoken to. he asks you normal questions, like how's school going, oh you're in your last year? any plans after college? he loves hearing your meek voice stutter out your answers. your mom has to tell you to speak up and you get that cute redness in your cheeks again, raising your voice just the slightest bit. you still called him "mr. zenin", so he tells you to just call him toji. you nod, but you don't actually say his name after that.

♡ at the end of the meal, he of course insists on cleaning up himself, and he's in the kitchen with a grin when he hears your mother telling you to help him clean up. you mumble something he can't hear, and your mom responds with "he is not scary, now go help him!" and he laughs a little. he'll make sure you aren't scared of him for long.

♡ you shuffle in with a few more dirty dishes and place them next to the sink, then look around for something to do before awkwardly picking up a rag and starting to dry what he had already washed. after a little bit of silence, toji strikes up some friendly conversation. "so, are you really liking college? your mom has been telling me all about how well you're doing. she's always talking about how much of a good girl you are," he says. the way your face once again got red was something toji needed to see more often. you seem to stop dead in your tracks and malfunction a bit when he calls you a "good girl", and you stutter something like "uh, yeah, it's- it's been good. she... actually said all that?" he wants to feel how you'll clench around him when he calls you a good girl as you take his thick cock. "yeah, she did," he says with a chuckle. "what? does she not say it to you a lot?" you shake your head no. poor baby, no one was telling you how great of a job you were doing. toji will, though. he'll praise you all night long when you manage to fit all of him inside you.

♡ he starts coming over more after that. he notices that (when asked first) you start telling him more about your achievements in college, like when you ace an exam or your professors write good feedback on your essays. and of course, he's always there to tell you what a great job you did; sometimes he adds in the words "good girl", just for fun. he even starts getting little smiles out of you, tiny at first, but they started spreading to your pretty eyes not too long after. you even start calling him "toji", finally. his name sounds so good coming out of your mouth, he wants to hear you say it while he's got his head shoved between your squishy thighs.

♡ it takes months, months of toji jerking himself off to every filthy thought imaginable about you, months of getting you to warm up to him, months of convincing your mother that he really was into her. it all pays off when the worst storm of the season rolls in. it's around 10pm when your mom calls him from halfway across the country, worried about you because she heard about the storm. apparently, you'll "freak out" if the power goes out. you get paranoid easily, she says. toji tells her not to worry, he'll check on you. he grabs his keys and coat and is knocking on your door within two minutes, albeit drenched in rain water. he sees you peak around the curtain of the window next to the door before you open it, asking him what he was doing here. "your mom asked me to check on you. says you scare easy." she was absolutely right, but you still huffed indignantly.

♡ you let him in, of course, and ask him if he wants a change of clothes. you say your mom probably has some of her ex's old clothes lying around that might fit him. he says sure and asks if he could shower, too. you stutter out a "yeah" and lead him to the bathroom, showing him where the towels and soaps were, accidentally brushing against him in the tight space. he can feel how intense your heartbeat is, just for a second. it makes toji want to smooth his hands all over your body, dig into the knots in your back and make it slow before he raises it even higher. you scurry off to your moms room to find a change of clothes for him.

♡ it takes you awhile to dig out something that might fit him, a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. it takes you so long, in fact, that he's out of the shower with just a towel wrapped around his waist, opening the door just when you're about to leave the clothes on the floor. he thinks your nose might actually start bleeding when you see him shirtless, and it's the cutest thing he's ever seen. part of him thinks it would be funny to just drop the towel, but you scare easy. you hand him the clothes and speed-walk to the living room before he can thank you.

♡ toji gets changed into the t-shirt that clings to his skin and the sweatpants that are loose but will definitely show the imprint of his dick as soon he sits down. luckily, your couch has pillows. he finds you in the living room, your legs curled up to your chest as you look through netflix for something to watch. he plops down right beside you, making sure to grab a pillow for his lap, putting a foot up on the coffee table. you ask him if he's staying, and he says of course, what if the power goes out? do you know how to use the circuit breaker? you say you sort of do. he clicks his tongue and declares he's staying. you just hand him the tv remote and tell him to choose something to watch. you always let him take the lead with everything.

♡ it takes a lot of back and forth of him teasing you for never knowing what to watch and you just repeating "just put on whatever you want!", and when you finally do decide on something, the power goes out. you let out a squeak and instinctively press yourself closer to him, but he's wrapping an arm around you and saying softly that it's alright, it'll come back on soon. he can see your worried expression from the streetlights shining in faintly, and he reaches up to lightly pinch your cheek, muttering that you're so cute like this.

♡ "you think- you think 'm cute?" you ask quietly, and he nods with a smirk. "mhm, think you're adorable. such a pretty girl," he says, leaning in just a little closer. his large hand that takes up half your face is in your hair now, tangling his fingers in it and playing with it a little. you're so warm, heating up the more he touched you. his other hand rubs your back, slowly going lower, inch by inch. he can see his touch having an effect on you, a very, very positive one. your breathing gets a little bit quicker. he can feel your heartbeat through your back.

♡ "think you're the prettiest girl i've ever seen." the hand on your back is coming back up, to your shoulder and grazing past your neck to cup the side of your jaw and stroke his thumb over your soft cheek. "do you not think you're pretty, baby?" you definitely notice the pet name, but you don't say anything about it, just look down and shake your head a little. "oh, princess, can't have that now." he guides your head back up to make you look at him again with wide eyes. "i can show you. you're gonna let me show you how pretty you are, right baby?"

♡ you give a tiny nod and he kisses you, and god, toji is in love with your lips. they're so soft and sweet, and he can't help but move a hand to the back of your neck to pull you in deeper, greedily swallowing the little noises you made. he finds it cute how you struggle to keep up with him, how a whimper escapes you when one of his overly-sharp canines catches your lip. he wants to mark you all over with them, claim every part of your body as his, listen to you yelp when he sinks them in almost too deep.

♡ toji draws away and laughs when you try to follow him, taking in your dazed look, red lips shiny with his and your spit and blown pupils. "aw, sweet girl, you already look so fucked out. haven't even done anything to you yet," he mumbles as he starts kissing down your jaw and around your neck. the pillow is gone and he's picking you up effortlessly to put you on his lap, facing him. he's obsessed with how small you are compared to him. you're trying so hard to hold back more noises, and your hands go to his broad shoulders, as if you were going to push him away (not that it would do anything, he's got an arm wrapped around your back now). but you don't, you just gasp out a whiny "what about my mom and you?" and he draws back a little to look you in the eye, lips hovering just over yours again. "'m just showin' you how pretty you are, baby. she doesn't appreciate you enough, does she? i can, so much better, princess. we can keep it secret, right?" he says, his voice low and rumbling and you look hypnotized.

♡ you nodded a little with an "mhm" and he smiles, kissing you again. he takes his time with you, as agonizing as it is, but he needs to work you open. your mom was going to be gone for another few days still, and he had already waited this long. when he pulled away again he went straight to kissing down the other side of your neck, using his hand still in your hair to move your baggy shirt to expose more skin. he uses the other one around your waist to press you into him a little more and down enough to feel his hard dick through your shorts and his pants. it forces a little gasp out of you and your grip on his shoulders tightens, balling his shirt. "toji, i've never- haven't done this before," you mumble. he knows, of course, he knew it from the start, could practically smell it on you.

♡ "'s okay, princess, i'll go slow. i'll be so gentle with you, promise," he mumbles into your skin, his hands all over your body, in your hair and on your back and your arms and under your breasts, over your stomach. it's almost overwhelming to you. his hands end up grabbing you under your thighs, just below your ass, and you let out a yelp and wrapped your arms around his neck tight when he stands up with you. "c'mon, baby, can't show you how pretty you are in here." he brings you to your room, glad to see there's a little bit of streetlight coming in too here. he sits down on the edge of your cushy bed with you still in his lap, lathering your collarbone with attention.

♡ his hands are rubbing your hips, edging underneath your shirt and pressing you down more and more against his aching cock. "feel how hard you get me, sweet girl? 's cause you're so damn cute," he breathes, and he's so happy when you start shakily grinding down against him, your legs spread so wide by his. he's been waiting for this for so fucking long, and now he's finally in your room, finally inching your shirt over your head for you. toji's scar stretches with his smile when he sees you aren't wearing a bra, and he catches the arm that tries to cover yourself up. "mm-mm, princess, gotta see all of ya." he puts your hand back on his shoulder and uses his to grope the tit he's not sucking and nipping and licking at. your body twitches and a dainty hand goes to his hair, and you're finally moaning for him, whimpering his name when he tugs a little too hard with his teeth.

♡ the power comes back on on it's own just as your nipples are starting to get sore, your fairy lights taped around the edge of the ceiling lighting the room up with a soft glow. toji detaches himself from you and smiles. "can finally fuckin' see ya again, 'bout time," he mumbles, going right back to what he was just doing. you whine and your grip on his hair and shoulder get a little bit tighter, but his hands don't let you move in any direction except closer to him. he keeps going, too busy thinking about how gorgeous your tits will look when they're swollen with milk, how sweet they already are and how much sweeter they will be, until you tug on his hair a little and say his name between sharp breaths. he finally lets up and his hands go to your waist and hips.

♡ he helps guide you while you grind down on him, just taking in how you close your eyes and let out sweet little gasps whenever he bumps your clit through your shorts and underwear. "gonna let me take these off of ya, sweet girl?" he murmurs, his hands massaging your thighs and ass, waiting impatiently for you to nod again before he picks you up again and lays you down on your bed. he's just glad it's a queen size; enough space for him to fuck you most ways he wants.

♡ he follows your shorts and underwear down your legs with his mouth, committing all your embarrassed squeaks to memory. you try to close your legs once he has everything off but of course he doesn't let you. toji's smile doesn't leave his face while he's taking your thighs in his hands to spread them apart, leaving one to smooth a hand over your belly. "prettiest girl i've ever fuckin' seen," he says again, watching his hand go to spread your little pussy apart. his thumb grazes your clit and your hips jerk and he laughs. "so damn sensitive. never had anyone down here, baby, not even to eat this pretty pussy out?" you can't even look at him when you shake your head. if it's possible, his dick gets even harder. "good. dumbass frat boys couldn't ever do it like i can."

♡ once toji finally gets his mouth on your soaked cunt he doesn't think he's capable of stopping. you're practically dripping onto the bed, and he's there to lick every drop up, swallowing it happily and coaxing as much more as he can out of you with his tongue. your body is already writhing, you already have your hands in his hair, you're already crying out for him, and he's in a state of euphoria.

♡ he stops for a moment and you're about to ask what's wrong before he's muttering about how the bed is "too damn short" and you're being dragged down to the edge. your noise of surprise turns into a gasp when he starts sucking on your clit again, now kneeling on the floor. toji throws your legs over his shoulders and holds down the top of one to keep you in place, his other hand coming back to your pussy. his middle finger is slowly sinking into you and he moans into you when he feels how tight you are; his hand is never going to be enough to get himself off after this. when he starts working in a second finger you cum; you can feel it everywhere in you, taking over your body and your head (you think you may get addicted to this, to toji doing this to you).

♡ of course, toji doesn't stop after you've cum once. he gives you a little break, despite being so close to breaking himself. he's so close to letting himself loose on you, so close to digging his fingers in just bit too hard and sinking his teeth in too deep. somehow, he manages to just rub your hips and nip at your inner thighs. you mewl out his name and try to pull him back up to you but he doesn't budge, instead laughing and shaking his head. "not yet, princess, you're still way too tight." he pushes two fingers back in, his mouth hovering back over your clit. "wouldn't want to rip you in half, would we?" you stopped listening the second he started back up on your still-sensitive clit, throwing your head back and grabbing his hair again. "ah-h, toji, wait-!" he wasn't listening either.

♡ he doesn't let up until he makes you cum with three fingers (twice) and you're nearly crying from overstimulation. the only words you seem to be able to form at this point are "toji" and "please", and toji thinks this is his new favorite version of you. eventually, when he runs out of patience and he deems that it won't hurt that much, he finally lets you come down from the high he'd kept you on. he leaves one more mark on your thigh before he stands up to strip himself down quick, releasing a breath of relief when his aching cock is finally freed.

♡ it takes a moment for toji to decide how to take you. in all the months he waited and thought about this, he never could decide on this part. he would have you ride him, if your legs weren't still shaking. he decided to just say "fuck it" and go with missionary; easier to see your cute expressions like that. toji moves you back up the bed and climbs over you, smiling and cooing down at your watery eyes and his favorite shade of red painting your skin. he wraps your legs around your waist and brings his hands to cup your face again.

♡ "aw, what's wrong, baby? you were beggin' me for somethin' just a minute ago, what was it? hm, princess? c'mon, use your words." you mumble out a little "please", and toji shakes his head. "'please' what? you want more, 's that what you're tryin' to say? c'mon baby, tell me you want more," he says, one of his huge hands grabbing your jaw, putting the lightest amount of pressure on it. your eyes widen a bit and you nod, squeaking out a "more, toji, please!" and his cheeks start to hurt from how wide his smile grows.

♡ he took a moment to appreciate the view of his dick resting heavy on your stomach, a before-shot of how deep he'll reach inside of you. his head came to just below your belly button; toji could have came just from that. he notices you're still just looking at him and he takes one of your hands and wraps it around his cock for you, and you finally look down at it. he wishes he could take a picture of your face, it's both hilarious and incredibly cute. "toji, 's not- not gonna fit," you mumble as he moves your hand up and down it. he laughs a little. "we'll make it fit, princess, don't worry." he's gathering both your hands now in one of his and pinning them over your head. "it'll only hurt for a minute, then it'll feel so good, baby, i promise. not gonna want me to ever stop." toji rubs his dick through the folds of your pussy, covering it in your own arousal, his head brushing your clit and making you whine. "all ya gotta do is lay here all pretty and take it for me, you can do that, right baby? i know you can, bein' such a good girl for me." you're melting and practically dripping from his words and he lines his head up to start pushing into you.

♡ your hands squeeze his just about as tight as your tiny pussy does around the head of his cock once it pops in. toji kisses you and moans while you gasp, and he pushes in a little more, and you already feel like this would be enough. he's so thick; his fingers had felt so big to you, but now that just made you feel dumb. he draws back an inch just to push in two more and your legs are tightening around his waist. you're making cute little noises while he pushes your jaw up to mark more of your neck. he's everywhere, surrounding your entire body with his, not giving you an inch to move. you feel him everywhere, inside and out, and he's so deep inside you, and he still has a couple inches to go.

♡ his hips finally meet your thighs and toji thinks he's found heaven. he was so elated to have you how he wanted you, ecstatic that his months of work had finally paid off. he stops sucking on your neck to come nose-to-nose with you, his hold on your jaw loosening so he could thread his hand through your hair. "ohh, fuck, pretty girl, you're doin' so fuckin' good, bein' such a good girl for me," he breathed with a smile and hooded eyes. "does it hurt, princess? 'm sorry, it'll go away soon, baby, i promise. gonna feel so good in a minute. feels so good around me, so much better that i ever thought- shit, baby," he chokes out a moan when you're squeezing even tighter around him and you whine, trying to move your hips to get him to move.

♡ he starts moving, and he swears he tries to go slow, but it admittedly doesn't take long before he's really fucking you. "takin' it like a fuckin' champ, baby, my god. feels so fuckin' good. never leavin' this pussy, fuckin' never, princess. hah, sweet girl, don't squirm so much, how am i supposed to find all your good spots like that? that's it, baby, just take it for me. such a good fucking girl." his mouth gets filthy and it just doesn't stop running while he fucks any air and any thoughts out of your body. he's too deep, there's too much of him but it's so good that you just don't care. it's so much better than you thought it would be, toji makes it so much better than you thought it would be.

♡ you cum before long and he fucks you through it, holding your jaw to keep eye contact with you the entire time, obsessed with the tears threatening to fall from your wet lashes. he slows down as you come down and you think he's mercifully giving you a break when he pulls out, despite your cry of protest that he wants to make his ringtone. then he's picking you up and standing up with you to sit in front of your floor-length mirror with your back to his chest. "don't ya remember, baby? i gotta show you just how pretty you are," he says in your ear as he digs his hands into your hips and ass tight enough that there will definitely be bruises, but he's lining you up and pushing you down on his cock before you can whine about it. you're clawing at his arms and reaching behind you to grab his hair while he keeps sinking you down, and he watches with a salacious grin.

♡ "see, princess, see how pretty you are? bouncin' up and down on my cock like you were fuckin' made for it, you were, weren't you? fuckin' perfect fit. you look so perfect taking my cock, such a pretty girl. prettiest fuckin' girl i've ever seen. no, no, don't look away baby, watch how good you take my dick inside your tiny little pussy. that's it, princess. this pussy is mine now, right, baby? right? yeah, all mine now. gonna ruin you for any other man on the fuckin' planet."

♡ you came again and toji wasn't far behind you after that, practically using you like a toy at this point. you did your best to cling to him, but the only thing you could do in his hold was to watch and feel his fat cock bullying in and out of your pussy. babbles and moans were all you could manage now, and the only thing that would have made toji happier was if he had his phone in his hands to record it. he'd have plenty of chances later, anyways.

♡ "gonna let me cum in your pretty pussy, baby? aww, hah, too cock drunk to speak, huh? did i fuck you dumb already? mm, like you like this a lot, princess. so sweet for me. i'll fill you up with my cum as a reward, how's that sound? ha! your pussy likes that idea! squeezin' me so damn tight, you like that idea, don't you pretty girl? ohh, just be good and take it, just like that baby."

♡ he slams you down all the way on his cock and wraps his arms around you, grinding up into you hard, and you feel your belly get warm and somehow you feel even more full. you go limp against him, closing your eyes and whimpering with every twitch of his hips. it's just the mix of your heavy breathing for a few moments before toji's sitting back up from curling you both forward, looking in the mirror again.

♡ "aww, c'mon baby, you're letting it all leak out," he says, his voice gravelly and a bit heavier than before. when you don't open your eyes fast enough, his hand is in your hair and pulling it to make you look at where his cum is leaking out of you around his cock. and he's still hard.

♡ "guess i'll just have to fill you up again to make up for it, huh, pretty girl?"

#jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x female reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw stepcest #— lilly writes! ♡

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domain-expand-me · 7 months

Note

I've been going bonkers over Megumi x DILF!Reader because I know that boy has some serious daddy issues, having the reader being completely oblivious and doing things that definitely get the boy hot and nervous is MY SHIT.

I would love to see you expand on your writing about DILF/MILF reader with Megumi a bit more

Imagine

Megumi Fushiguro with a DILF!reader

Aged up characters, reader is in theirs 40s, cuz when i say dilf i mean it.

Imagine being the stereotypical dilf. Body broad and covered in a layer of fat, laying on top of strong muscles that comes from many years of physical labor. After moving into the house near the sorcerer campus, maybe after you got divorced, you somehow end up attracting the different sorcerers in the area.

But most of all, Megumi sticks around the most. You don’t truly notice at first, too busy digging around under the hood of whatever junker car you spend your time on, or banging around in your garage or shed like the most stereotypical dilf. But you start seeing him more and more, and at some point, you just start telling him to hand you different tools or help you out with your yard.

The first time you pat him on the back and praise him for helping, he goes bright red and immediately feels how hard he gets. Being oblivious and just thinking hes sticking around to be nice, you just ruffle his hair and move on, unaware of the way Megumi feels like his knees were about to buckle.

The other members from the campus notice pretty quickly where Megumi runs off to each day. Well, maybe not Yuji, but the others figure it out quicker than Megumi wants. Him returning with oil stains and wearing one of your ancient band t-shirts doesn’t help his case though.

Imagine Megumi realizing he has a huge daddy kink because of you. You jokingly say something like “who’s your daddy” after doing some kind of difficult task, and Megumi almost drops the toolbox he’s holding, blood rushing to both his heads, and he has to use the toolbox to cover the throbbing bulge in his pants.

Imagine Megumi coming to you for “dating advice”, since he wouldn’t be able to find it in himself to just make a move on you. Instead, he gets your dating history, and all the moves you pulled to get your ex. When he learns you are also into men, he almost has a heart attack. Maybe you’ve been drinking, having also offered Megumi some, since who are you to stop, and as you a slightly tipsy, you end up describing the best way to go down on someone in bed, and how to make a partner stay just from rocking their world on the regular.

Megumi ends up laying in bed later that night, teary eyed and huffing the shirt you let him borrow that day, his other hand tugging at his aching hard shaft, his entire body shaking and jolting from overstimulation as he made himself come over and over just thinking about you.

Imagine Megumi buying his first personal toy because of you. One day when you are laying by your pool, a pool you built yourself with Megumi’s help, naked as you assume you are alone, and you are too old to feel ashamed of your body. He gets a nice view of your cock, and even though its soft, he stumbles over his feet to hurry back to campus to take care of his very aching problem.

He spends a couple of lust fueled hours finding the perfect shape and size, getting a toy that has your skin tone. The next morning what one might call late post-orgasm clarity hits him. But when Megumi gets the package, he still squirrels it away, ashamed to use it. That is, until you just wind the poor boy up too much, walking around shirtless and sweaty, baseball cap on your head and shorts from your college days.

Imagine Megumi fingers deep in himself as he tries his damnest to suck down the entire length of the toy, tears gathering in his eyes as his gag reflex struggles against the silicone being forced down his throat.

Imagine Megumi clutching the sweaty shirt you had been wearing that day to his nose as he bounces on the toy, his own hard cock bouncing with his movements as he whines and whimpers, licking and sucking at the shirt that tastes and smells just like your sweaty manly musk.

Imagine how lightheaded he gets when he comes, having to choke down the noises he makes so as to not let everyone on campus know what he’s doing. Afterwards Megumi flops down on the bed, his entire frame shaking from the aftershocks of his orgasm as he pants into the sheets. His shaft gives another twitch when he takes another inhale of your shirt, the spikey haired sorcerer pushing himself up again, sinking down on the toy once more even as his insides throb from sensitivity.

Megumi would be too nervous and flushed around you to make a move on his own, at least when you are sober. But if you happen to be a little more than tipsy one day, sitting on your couch, trying to find something worth to watch on the tv, he might find the bravery and balls to crawl into your lap. If you ask about it the next day, he can just act like it was something your mind made up, right? So for now, he could indulge himself, grinding against you like a pup in heat, panting into your neck as your strong large hands grope at his hips and ass, your deep voice rumbling praise in his ear.

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semperamans · 2 months

Text

nsfw! age-gap! cheating! daddy-issues (kinda)! clo being absolutely insane over johnny again! why is this so long? why am i so crazy?

good morning i'm currently thinkin' about stayin' at johnny's house because betty is away n'someone has gotta help him watch the girls.

you've been the davis' babysitter since you were in high school - the girls were just babies, then - but now some years have passed n'since you've been here ya can't help but notice how attractive johnny is :( he's so sweet on ya, too. placin' his hand on the small of your back as he passes you in the kitchen while you're makin' the girls' lunches :( tellin' ya your hair looks pretty when you've got it pinned up like that :( he even makes ya dinner even though that's supposed to be your job, but "y've been workin' so hard, peach. know the girls are a lot. s'let me take care of ya." and oh he's so lovely. he listens to music while he cooks and wears an apron the girls got 'em for fathers day and he helps you with the dishes afterward and you are in love with him.

you've never felt like this before. your heart hammers whenever he returns from a long day of truckin' n'his sleepy eyes brighten at the sight of you standin' in the foyer with a beer and a smile. he's so thankful for you, he says. y'make life so much easier, he confesses. and ugh :( what are you to do about this? i mean, these feelings so new n'unfamilar and the only thing you've found that somewhat tames them is when ya stick your pillow between your legs in the quiet of the night n'imagine it's johnny :'( your favorite thing to think about is when ya caught him slippin' out of the bathroom with a pink fluffy towel 'round his waist. you'd never seen a man in so little before, my god, your heart nearly lept from your chest. your cheeks flushed and he apologized and you told him it was fine because it was then slipped into your room to ride your pillow until you couldn't breathe :'( johnny was so pretty n'yeah, you figured men his age didn't like to be called that, but it was god's truth. his chorded muscles dusted with hair and tattoos and scars made want drip down your thighs because boys your age simply didn't look like that :( they didn't smell the way he did; a delicious blend of smoke and spice and cedar. boys your age didn't care, but johnny did :( johnny lit a fire one night once the girls were in bed n'he toasted your marshmallows and asked about your interest n'what you wanted to be when you were older and you wanted to tell him that you would love to be his wife - but you couldn't obviously, so you told 'em about the classes you had taken back in high school. how there was this program and you talked and talked but he never seemed bored. didn't shoot you down the way your father had. johnny placed his big ole hand on your bare knee n'smiled while he told ya "ya can do anythin' ya set your mind to, doll. don't let nothin' stop you. i believe in ya. know you're gonna do so so good." his wedding ring - a cold metal band - bit into your skin almost like a reminder that johnny wasn't yours... but you could do anything, right?

"momma's comin' home tomorrow." johnny told the girls the next mornin' and you were sure your heart shattered all over the floor. the girls were happy, of course, but you couldn't even fake a smile. it had been so easy to play house with betty gone. so easy to fool your mind into believin' that this was your house, those were your dresses in the closet, those were your girls racin' off to the bus, n'that johnny was your husband. but no :( none of it was true n'soon you'd be back at your parents' house - back in the real world - n'it was just so unfair :( johnny seemed to sense that something was wrong. before he left, he placed a soft hand on your shoulder n'made you turn to face him, but you shook your head n'swore you only had a headache. he didn't believe you, the frown on his face made that apparent, but he didn't fight you. he just pinched the round of your cheek softly, told ya to have a good day, n'left.

is it strange that despite your sadness you still have to ride your pillow over the thought of what didn't happen? probably. as you whine and pant and writhe, you envision what would've happened if johnny would've cupped your cheek n'pressed his lips against yours :( you would have licked into his mouth :( would've let his saliva coat your tongue n'drip down your chin and he would have placed his hand 'round your throat to pull you closer :( he would tell you how pretty you are. how you just know him like no one else does n'he's a lucky old man that a girl like you wants 'em. you cum over and over and over to the thought of him takin' you on the counter, but it doesn't satiate the ache between your thighs. you're so frustrated and overstimulated and upset, but you've got a plan.

it takes a while n'when you finally creep into johnny's room the wall clock reads 2:45 am. it isn't the best idea you've ever had, but it makes so much sense in your lust-addled mind. johnny said he'd take care of ya, right? said he'd always be there if ya needed anything, right? well, you need help because "johnny? johnny? it hurts." :( n'he's an old man, y'know, so it takes 'em a minute to wake up. he's gotta grab his glasses n'slide 'em on, but then he sees you in your silk nightie and jesus christ.

"what's goin' on, sweets?" you've got tears in your eyes and your lips are bitten bright red and you look so pretty in the shaft of moonlight that spills through the window and onto johnny's bedding. you don't answer right away, just nuzzle your way onto his lap and brush your nose into his neck. he can hear the scrape of your soft skin on his prickly stubble and you sigh like it's everything you've ever needed. "tell johnny what's got ya so upset. c'mon." he wants you to look at him, but he wouldn't be able to pry ya off with a goddamn crowbar. you're latched onto him, snuffling into his bare shoulder all sad and defeated. poor baby.

"hurts." you repeat, sniffling. "hurts so bad."

"what hurts?"

the clock ticks and you hiccup and your fingers wrap around johnny's wrist n'tug it over where it lands on your knee, first, then you're pullin' him up up up and he should stop you because he knows where this is going, but fuck he can't. sure enough, you stop 'em right when his hand covers your cunt. it's warm. he can feel the warmth radiating through your thin little panties and his fingers twitch with the urge to touch, but no. that's not okay. he figures he hasn't taken a breath in a minute, so he releases a sigh that shudders n'he squeezes his eyes shut tight.

"peach, i-"

"jus' need to cum, please johnny." you take his face in your palms the way you so badly wanted him to do to you n'his hand still lays protectively over your clothed center and god you just want to kiss him. "please. i'll be good, so good. promise." when his eyes open he's blinking at you, pupils pulsing back and forth between your own, but then they flicked down to your lips n'you know you've got 'em. and maybe he was right. maybe you can do anything. "jus' hurts."

"yeah?" johnny turns his cheek, kissin' your palm and you fuckin' gasp because you didn't think it would be this easy and maybe he is in love with you. "why don't i take a look? wanna lay back for me?"

his scent tangles around you as you lay yourself back against the pillows, blinkin' down at him so wide-eyed and mesmerized. he's smiling at you :( thinks the heave of your chest is so cute n'you're just such a precious baby who needs his help :( that's all he's doin'. just helpin'.

"open up, c'mon." he says, patting your thigh n'your knees part at his words, revealing the wet center of your panties and johnny coos.

"y've been touchin' yourself? yeah? s'that what's got ya all wet?" you can't respond. you just throw your head back at the feel of his fingers tracing patterns along the slick, but johnny likes good girls, so he ceases his ministrations, and glances up at you expectantly. "tell daddy, c'mon."

"i-i have - have been touchin' myself," you breathe, suddenly bashful. johnny just hums, hooking his index finger 'round your panties to move 'em over and he can tell.

"mm." he probes an exploratory finger against your folds and you really think it's goin' somewhere until he situates your panties back in place, then rocks back onto the balls of his feet. "show me."

you positively balk in response, shaking your head quickly because that's embarrassing. no way. there is no way -

"wan' my help, yeah? gotta show me what you're doin' so i know how to fix it."

and - well, he's gotta point, you guess. so you let out a pitiful little huff, rolling onto your tummy, shovin' johnny's pillow between your thighs :( and oh he is mesmerized and fucked and so hard it's almost comical how his dick sticks up in his briefs. he watches you so intently: the way your nightie rides up your back revealing the cutest little dimples at your spine, the roll of your hips, the tightening of your fists against the sheets. you make these sounds, sounds that he's only ever heard when he had his ear pressed to your door and they are so beautiful. so this is what you were doing all those times? grinding your clit against the cotton pillowcases his wife picked out?

"i know what the problem is, baby." johnny says, placin' his large hand on your back to still you. your head luls, tear-soaked lashes fluttering at 'em. "y'need somethin' inside. think that's gonna help so much." he maneuvers you so delicately - like he's afraid you're gonna break. "get on top of me, peach. daddy'll show you how to do it right, kay? y'trust me? yeah?"

you do. you trust him. you love him. you're so in love with him.

"gimmie some sugar first. let me kiss ya." the kiss is a distraction because what comes next is gonna hurt because surely you've never had fingers any bigger than your own in ya, right? but johnny is easy with ya :( eases ya open and praises you for bein' so good :( then it's time. he's hoverin' over ya - mouthin' at your neck because you smell so good there - n'his cock nudges between your lips in a dull stretch.

"daddy's gonna show ya."

and he does.

#clo is insane #johnny davis x reader #johnny davis #tom hardy x reader #the bikeriders #the bikeriders x reader #tom hardy #the bikeriders smut #my johnny :'(#✍🏼

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gurugirl · 2 years

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Gurugirl's Wattpad & Tumblr Fic Recs

Anything you read in these masterlists won’t disappoint but I’ve picked my absolute favorites from each blog and listed below.

NOTE: I did my best to include all my faves here but I've probably forgotten a few. I intend to add to this list (may need to make a part 2 once I hit my mentions and link limits) because I'm always reading new fics so come back often!

Angst recs (all taken from list below but specific to the more angsty ones)

Daddy kink

Enemies to lovers

Summer vibes & party fics

Personal faves from my own writings

Other blogs I love

Tumblr

@1d1195

One Shot: Right Here: one bed, nightmares, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, childhood "friendship," coworker Harry, grumpy/sunshine (I'll let you guess who's who), etc. etc. etc.

@a-strange-familiar

Series: His Memories (3 parts): you and Harry broke up few months back but still love each other. And after all these months you see him again in a party. All memories you tried to push back in your head came back with a powerful speed.

@adorebeaa

One shot: Undo Me: YN reveals a kink in front of best friend!Harry, who is curious…

@awideworldoffanfics

Series: Milking the Grip (5 parts): Harry Styles is a single dad who golfs every Tuesday. Y/N is his babysitter who also happens to work at the golf course he goes to. They’ve never run into each other there. Until they do.

@be-with-me-so-happily

Series: My Way Back Home: YN is left to figure out what to do when the love of her life, Harry, does not remember loving her. (AU)

Series: Don't Worry Darling: Y/N has her first big break as an actress as she lands the leading role in 'Don't Worry Darling'. The only problem is that her co-star is Harry Styles, who she feels has a very big ego. Tensions rise the more they film. All kinds of tension...

One Shot: Friendly Favor: When YN's best friend Harry asks for a favor, she knows it'll be difficult, but she loves him too much to say no. However, it's a dumb plan, and those usually don't end how you think they will.

Series: Laceleaf: Gemma is definitely Cassidy James' favourite Styles family member, considering they are best friends and all. And especially considering that Harry Styles is Gemma's smug and self-centered younger brother. Her life isn't perfect, and neither is she, but she knows for a fact that anything involving Harry gets messy.

@bopbopstyles

Masterlist (anything you pick here will be a pleasure - seriously)

@fkinavocado

Series: Daddy Issues: in which you’ve got textbook daddy issues and when your tool of a younger brother brings a sweet doe eyed girlfriend home for Thanksgiving and you end up offering her a ride home, you meet just the man to fix them. (daddy!harry, dilf!harry)

Series: Hard Candy: in which Harry owns a candy store and he just loves giving good girls special treats… especially after closing time (candyman!Harry)

One Shots & Blurbs: Long Hair Harry One Shots & Blurbs

@freedomfireflies

Series: Playboy: Welcome to 1965, where the women are loose, and the morals are looser. Here you'll meet Michelle and Harry. You don't need to know too much about them. Just that they're both incredibly bold...and incredibly jealous. The summer of June 1965 was a rather wild one for the Playboy Bunnies but even more wild for our two dear friends. Stick around and I'm sure they'll be happy to tell you all about it. You just have to promise one little thing... Don't tell Hefner.

Series: Teach Me: 5 parts - Harry needs a little practice in the art of Eating Pussy, and who better to ask for help than his best friend?

Series: Mafia!harry: 2 parts so far - more to come - Your mafia boss boyfriend, Harry, has been a little neglectful of his most prized possession. But he's found the perfect way to make it right. Exhibition kink!!

@goldenbuckyyy

Series: Illicit Affairs: A series of events between your affair with Harry. (Cheating together)

@harryistheonlyoneforme

One Shot: Little Freak: pairing: dbf harry x reader (so hot - so many kinks all in one little shot - must read)

@harrywritingsbyme

Sneaking Around (a series of shorts): Best friends dad - FUCKING HOT

@helladirections

Series: Brother's Best Friend: Harry is YN’s brother’s best friend, and YN isn’t a little kid anymore. Ft. dom/sub, rough sex, and soft words.

One Shot: Under Summer Skies: Harry and YN are longtime best friends back for another summer as the Dream Team on staff. Featuring getting called out by 12 year olds, two dumb best friends who can’t see what’s right in front of them, and lots of stargazing.

One Shot: Moka Pot: Do you think you can maybe do y/n and Harry having a slow morning routine? Like drinking tea together, doing skin together, basically just doing everything together?

@itslottiehere

One Shot: I Don't Want to Hear About Him (angsty): bff!harry writes a song about bff!reader.. and her boyfriend.

@jawllines

Harry is Y/n's Criminology Instructor (2 parts)

Harry is a single dad and y/n is surprisingly good at babysitting (2 parts)

Harry & y/n are witches, they hate eachother, and something's coming (3 parts)

Y/n knows something she shouldn't and Harry does what on Fridays? (4 parts) - Boxer!harry

Harry is a grumpy mechanic and y/n just can't stop talking (4 parts)

@jarofstyles

King of the Jungle (multi part series): Y/N’s family works for a wildlife preservation society and Harry is king of the jungle or tarzan!harry

Lone Wolf (multi part series): Harry is a grumpy alpha who has given up on finding his mate or werewolf!harry

Beauty & the Beast (multi part series): Harry is a moody, withdrawn but successful creature who needs a companion who can tend to his… needs.

@lemoncrushh

Series: The Entertainer: Set in the 70s, Sky Jones meets Harry Styles, an up and coming musician and soon-to-be rockstar. The Entertainer Part II

One Shot: Dressing For Revenge: Still heartbroken from finding your ex cheating on you, you go to a nightclub with your friend Kelsie, where not only do you run into your ex, but also a handsome gentleman who’s willing to help you get over him. Part II

@lukesaprince

Series: Intruder: You were an outside hire for a promotion Harry wanted, and he despises you for it. The hatred is mutual since Harry is a bit of an asshole, until the day of an important presentation where the tension is finally dealt with - A very steamy enemies to lovers romance (domrry)

Series: The Roommate Series: After Y/N’s best friend and roommate Alex decides to move out, she’s desperate for someone to take her place. Alex seems to have found the solution in a British fresh-to-New-York musician who ticks all the boxes. He just happens to be insanely attractive and charismatic… what could go wrong? (friends to lovers)

Series: Fratboy!harry You Can Pretend All You Want: You hate fratboys and everything they stand for, so you decide to prove one wrong by sleeping with him… safe to say it backfires (fratboy!harry, enemies to lovers).

Series: Rich: Neighbour/Older!Harry. A Summer dogsitting job for Mr. Styles is a dream come true for any broke uni student. He's rich, gorgeous and finally fucks you after your weekly dinner together. A series that follows two neighbours who end up in a sexual relationship.

@moonchildstyles

Series: Aster: Harry is a tattoo artist and y/n just wants to know if he's like this all the time or if he just doesn't like her. tattoo artist!harry / lhh!harry

Series: Citrine: Harry's a witch and it's been along time since since he's been around anyone new, but there's no way he was getting y/n out of his head. witch!harry

Series: Chiaroscuro: y/n needed a job but this place is strange and the owner is even stranger. vampire!harry

Series: Prosecco: Harry is just on the edge of 30 and y/n is someone he's sure he shouldn't get involved with. until she seeks him out anyway, and he realizes no one has ever really shown her how she should be treated. older!harry

@0oolookitsme

One Shot: Dazzled: In which Harry has an uneasy feeling about Y/n’s new mission but the devil ignores his guts’ screams. But the vampire as well as his fiancé, Y/n, isn’t dumb and is quick to listen and take some weight off of his shoulders. They both soon find out, why, he was feeling uneasy.

One Shot: Anything For You... And I: SMUTTY!!!! Dwd!Harry x Dwd-Character!Y/n

@0nlythrowharrybeaux

Friends Share (2 parts):Harry & Y/N have been practically perfect roommates for several years but the appearance of a hot new neighbor creates an unexpected shift in their relationship.

Unavailable (2 parts): Y/N has a very specific preference for unavailable/inappropriate people and Harry is her therapist who is supposed to help her work through this.

@pleasingforharry

Moans & Elevator Music (2 parts): Y/N is in a rush for an interview at her new job, but her luck gives out when the elevators shut down due to a sudden power outage. At least she isn’t alone.

@purplekiwis

Breaking the Ice (2 parts): Hockey!Harry x Skater!Y/N It’s no secret that as a figure skater, you’re fed up with the local hockey team being treated like royalty… and your ex’s status as a player isn’t helping much either.

In the Witching Hours (will be 3 parts): Wizard!Harry x Witch!Y/N; Soulmates AU An emergency admission to the hospital gives rise to a series of strange events but luckily, there’s a cute, shy wizard around…

One shot: Tentmate: Friends With Benefits Y/N has always hated camping… until her and Harry got stuck together in the same tent. (This one is smutty AF)

@s-brant

Series: The Getaway Car: In a drug deal gone wrong, Y/N, daughter to a famous racecar driver, finds herself behind the wheel of a car with a gun to her head. A masked man named Harry demands she helps him evade the authorities, so she does the only thing she knows how to. She drives.

One Shot: Midas Touch: The night before they leave to spend Christmas with his family, a conversation with their friends makes Harry and Y/N confront the future of their marriage.

@stylesloveclub

Series: Pleasing: In which y/n is a broke waitress, and Harry is a Michelin star chef who thinks she’s cuter than a puppy.

@swiftmendeshoran

Series: Curvy Secret/No More Secrets Daddy: Dad's best friend (dbf!) Harry x plus size reader

@watchmegetobsessed

Series: The Sun Will Rise: You’re glad to be back at college and away from your family. Everything is back to its normal, but you have a little issue: you told your family you’d bring a date to your sister’s wedding, but you have no actual partner. An unexpected deal is made with the person you couldn’t even consider to be your friend: Harry can take the spare room in your apartment for the semester if he’ll be your date for the wedding. But can you actually live together with a guy who obviously dislikes you and you have no idea why? Can you fool your parents into thinking you’re dating Harry? And what will they think about him? Nothing is ever good enough to them, nothing that’s not as perfect as your sister, Alice.

Series: Wildest Fantasies: You’ve been struggling to finish your assignment for Professor Styles’ Creative Writing class. Inspiration is seem to be avoiding you, so to relieve some stress, you mess around with your roommates and write a rather dirty fiction of the hot professor everyone is into on campus. Due to a fatal mistake however, you end up uploading the wrong file as your attachment to your assignment and your wildest fantasies end up in the hands of the person they are about.

Good Girl (Part 2): sugardaddy!Harry / CEO!Harry x Reader

@writerpetals (writes optional male lead smut but you can easily imagine any male *coughharrycough* as the males are described as tall, well-built, with a nice head of hair - read anything this author writes - it's good, you will find almost any trope - ENJOY)

One Shot: Lakeside: werewolf!au, werewolf x reader

@zayndrivesmeinvain

Series (wip): The One That Got Away: In which Harry and Alena were college sweethearts, however, all of that has changed and the only thing keeping in contact is the fact that they have a child together. Is it possible for them to even get to a normal standing friendship or is that long gone? dadrry x oc | single dad!harry

i hit my link limits so was unable to insert link to part one of their series. check out their masterlist and you'll find it!

Wattpad

1-800-TITS = @1800titz (added May 21)

Series: The Devil is a Gentleman: "My name is Eros," the masked male cocks his head a smidge at her, and, if only slightly through the shadow casts between the parted zipper, Isla catches sight of a smile tugging at his lips on the latter fragment of his statement, "But you already know that. I'd hope, anyways. We've had a chat. Or two." His lips - his mouth. Isla ogles the latex through the peepholes of her own and wonders what shape the rest of his features take, what carves and forges his face, how his nose slopes, the assemblage of it all. "I think I recall, vaguely," she teases. "Mm. Vaguely. I'll take note of that. Well, although we are acquainted," Eros smooths his fingertips over the arm of the chair, a lavish facade of plastic masquerading. The latter fragment of his statement prompts the steady bump of her heart to spur behind her ribcage. "You will address me as Master." Isla swallows. Despite her prior train of thought looping so intently on the tracks to decipher what she believes he'd look like beneath his mask, it's entirely derailed by the serious note in his previously light cadence. She wonders how a mere introduction manages to send such a thrilling rush rolling down her spine. Eros leans forward, forearms braced to his splayed thighs, almost as if to bend to her level. "Or Sir. Master, Sir, it's all the same to me. Your preference." OR the one in which there's a sex club, Greek stage names, the exploration of boundaries, an open house, a pair of dress shoes, and two sides of the same coin.

_miiki

Series: Artwork & Aquarelle: "Sierra, you go with Harry Styles." I raised up my head at the words, giving my teacher an incredulous glance. "Do I really have to?" Was the only thing I managed to say. The teacher gave me an annoyed look. "Did you not understand? You go with Harry Styles." I turned my head to look at him. At the mention of his name he glanced up, and if his green eyes hadn't frozen me in place already, the unimpressed look he gave me would've done it right away.

Aggressivelyfriendly = @aggresivelyfriendly

Series: Who Names the Colors: In the last year, Joanne Smith Giles, has once again become Jo Smith. In another heartbreaking turn of events, she's also the single mother of an infant, again. She knows she can do this on her own, and better at 40 than 19, but it seems weird to be launching a son into manhood, a new career as an art professor, and changing nappies all in one day. She is so thankful when Ethan, her boy, comes home from Uni. Jo could use the help. His best friend, Harry, comes round too. And his launch into manhood may be another heartbreaking turn, for all of them

ErinAlterEgo = @yourwattpadmom

Series: Late night Talking: Alex is craving something at night, and it's not ice cream. Encouraged by her husband to explore a polyamory relationship to meet some of her more....eclectic tastes, she finds herself on a dating app for the first time in her life. She expected maybe some interesting experiences, possibly her first one-night stand ever. She didn't expect to meet a man who made her question everything about herself. Harry is on a new path in his life that is exciting and different than he ever could have imagined. He's looking for excitement, experiences, but definitely not love and attachment. When he meets Alex, he sees a whole new path that he's unsure he wants to go down, but finds it hard to resist.

Hitterj (love all of her stuff!)

Series: All This Time: The coming-of-age story of Harry and Riley who have known each other for years, but never actually knew each other. They've spent countless nights at the same parties, shared a few drinks and glances, they're even on track to graduate top of their class. What happens when out of nowhere they start to connect? Like an invisible string pulls them together, so they can experience life and love and heartbreak. Riley and Harry learn a lot about themselves, and ultimately have to choose what's best for their future no matter how difficult that can be. But does love find a way? After all this time?

Series: Kiwi: If you don't know about this one by now... go read it - super duper smutty and sweet and angsty

Series: Sweet Little Lies: All her life, Ivy Malone has known what her family was. She grew up in the deep, unforgiving world of the mob. Ivy hates her position in life, knowing that her life was never fully hers. Harry Styles was cold. He trusted almost no one, especially his family. He had learned quickly that everyone was waiting for him to fail... to fall. An empire built by his father from the blood and bones of those who stepped in his way was all he had, no matter how much he hated it. He had no choice but to carry on the legacy. And marrying Malone's daughter was the next step in fortifying their defense. With new rivals making a move for power and a mysterious figure haunting the crime families of Queenstown, Ivy and Harry have to learn to live together. A bad start leads them down a tumultuous, passionate, and downright dangerous path, but maybe they were exactly what the other needed to live the life they always craved.

MysteryMixtapes (Just go read all their stuff)

Series: Stall & Stall 2: Violence/gangs/dark

Series: Perspective: Have you ever met someone that made falling feel like flying?

Series: Unforgettable: "If it feels so right, how can it be wrong?"

Peanutboyfriend (read all of Birdie's stuff - you won't regret it)

Series: Aerial: In Malibu, California in 1965, a surfer and world-famous aerialist undergoes a chain of comedic and not-so-comedic mishaps that force him to re-evaluate who he is.

Petit_cerise

Series: Devil's Due & Devil's Desire: Harry Styles, the brooding and intolerable tattoo parlour owner, meets River, a stubborn and somewhat oblivious girl, who just doesn't understand the reasoning behind his nefarious ways but is determined to find out. River comes to realize that Harry's hiding something much deeper than expected... only once those secrets come to the surface, it's too late to turn back.

Sunflowersnstuff

Series: One Word & Wonderland: We're all mad here, it's Wonderland.

ThousandYearsOfHope

Series: Lonely Nights: Willow Mackey is a quiet girl, but she is fiercely loyal and will never lie to you. Harry Styles is her brother's best friend, and someone she'll always have a soft spot for. Grown up and no longer shielded by their ages, lines start to blur, and mistakes keep being made. For the first time in her life, Willow realises that sometimes, the truth is too painful to hear. But how could she ever say no to the one person that's always understood her better than she understands herself?

Series: Pretty Boy: One night of impulse shouldn't lead to much for Joni Lewis, but when she meets the alluring Harry Styles, an opportunity arises that she can't ignore. A Harry Styles short story inspired by Pretty Woman.

Writhali (I really like everything I've read by Thali)

Series: Ambit: Gangs/violence/action/SMUT - "Hell's boring, Birdie." He claims, that cold, dead stare back to his eyes. "And this, this is what I call a Monday night."

#gurugirl fic recs #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry x reader #harry styles fic #my faves

3K notes · View notes

jukeboxsweethearttt · 3 months

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Ok! My toxic request is just sugardaddy Rafe is maybe reader was second guessing the relationship, but Rafe manipulates her and reminds her that she couldn't survive without him. It was be amazing if there was smut too, where he's like mocking the reader and calling out her daddy issues and by the end she's inclined to stick with him.

Sorry if it's a lot I just dig this type of thing sm and you're one of the few writers who I feel get it

Luv your writing!! 💗

What’s A Girl To Do?

Dark!OlderSugarDaddy!Rafe x Fem!reader

Sugar Daddy Rafe credits to @starfxkr !💋

(loosely inspired by What’s A Girl To Do by Lana Del Rey)

cw:non canon,kinda coercion on Rafe’s part,smut, 18+,Kinda dark themes?,Manipulative Rafe,Daddy kink,reader is down bad and Rafe is deranged as always,Rafe feeds off of your daddy issues but I think that’s all lmk if I should add something!)

ps:TYSM it means a lot for you to say you enjoy my writing and thank you guys for 150+ followers i appreciate all of you so much!!

The sprawling mansion seemed to echo with your thoughts as you sat on the edge of the opulent bed, staring at the wall. The luxury that once felt intoxicating now felt suffocating. You had been living with Rafe for months, a life of extravagance and control, but tonight, doubts overwhelmed you.

Rafe entered the room, his presence commanding as always. His sharp eyes immediately caught the turmoil etched on your face. "What’s going on, Bunny?" he asked, his voice deceptively gentle.

You hesitated, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you. "Rafe, I’ve been thinking... maybe this isn’t right for me. I’m not sure I can do this anymore."

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint replacing his earlier concern. He moved closer, his towering figure casting a shadow over you. "Not sure you can do this?" he repeated, his voice laced with mockery. "Do you have any idea where you’d be without me?"

You flinched at his tone, your heart pounding in your chest. "Rafe, I—"

"Shut up," he cut you off, his voice cold and unyielding. "You’d be back in that tiny, shitty apartment, struggling to pay rent, probably working some dead-end job. Or worse, back with your parents, letting them control every aspect of your life."

Tears welled up in your eyes, but he showed no mercy. "You think you can just walk away from all this? From me? You’re nothing without me, Bunny. You need me. Who else is going to take care of you, huh?"

His words were like a slap in the face, and you sobbed, "That’s not fair."

"Fair?" he scoffed, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "Life’s not fair, princess. You should know that by now. I saved you from a life of mediocrity, and this is how you repay me? By second-guessing everything? By thinking you can just walk out?"

You couldn’t meet his gaze, your vision blurred by tears. "I don’t know what to do," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Rafe leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You know exactly what to do. You stay. You need me, and you know it. Who else is going to love you like I do? Who’s going to give you everything you want?"

His words wrapped around you like a vice, squeezing until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. He was right. You did need him. Without Rafe, you’d be lost. Your parents had already cut you off, and you had no real skills to fall back on.

He pulled back slightly, his expression softening just enough to seem almost kind. "That’s my good girl," he murmured, his tone now soothing but still laced with a sinister edge. "You’re too fragile for the real world. Let me take care of you."

You nodded slowly, feeling the last of your resistance crumble. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. "I’ll always take care of you, Bunny. Don’t forget that."

As you buried your face in his chest, the darkness of your doubts remained, but you pushed it aside. Rafe was all you had, and as much as it hurt to admit, he was right. You couldn’t survive without him.

The days that followed were a blur of forced smiles and silent tears. Rafe’s manipulation became more apparent, but you felt powerless to escape. He reminded you constantly of your dependency on him, his words echoing in your mind like a relentless mantra. "You’re nothing without me," he would say, his voice a haunting presence in your thoughts.

One evening, as you sat in the luxurious living room, the weight of your insecurities crushed you. You sat on the plush couch, your thoughts a whirlwind of doubt and fear. Rafe sat across from you, engrossed in his laptop, completely oblivious to your turmoil.

Out of nowhere, the words spilled out before you could stop them. "Rafe, I don’t think I can do this anymore."

He looked up, his expression shifting from surprise to annoyance. "Do what?"

"This," you gestured around you, tears brimming in your eyes. "This life. I don’t think I’m cut out for it. I feel... trapped."

Rafe closed his laptop, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. "Trapped? You feel trapped? Do you have any idea how lucky you are? How many women would kill to be in your position?"

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "I’m serious, Rafe. I feel like I’m losing myself."

His face twisted into a cruel smile. "Losing yourself? You didn’t have anything to begin with. I gave you everything. Without me, you’d be nothing. You were nothing before I found you, and you’d go back to being nothing without me."

His words cut deep, and you felt a sob rising in your throat. "That’s not true."

"Isn’t it?" he sneered. "Do you really think you could make it on your own? You’re a spoiled little girl who can’t survive without someone to take care of her. You’d be crawling back to your parents in no time, begging for their help."

You turned away, unable to face him, your body trembling with the force of your sobs. "Rafe, please, I just want to feel like I matter."

Rafe stood up, crossing the room to stand in front of you. He ran a finger along your jawline, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. "And let's not forget that without me, you'd be lost. You belong to me, and you’ll always belong to me. Don’t forget that you couldn’t live without me could you?"

His grip was firm, almost painful, and you nodded slowly, feeling the last of your resistance crumble.

Your eyes widened at his blunt assessment, but you couldn't deny the truth in his words. "No," you admitted softly, your voice laced with a mixture of desire and despair. "I couldn't."

"Good," he said. A triumphant glint flashed in Rafe's eyes, and he pulled you closer, his hand tightening on your arm. "That's right, you belong to me. And now, it's time for me to remind you just why you keep coming back for more."

He pushed you gently, guiding you towards the massive bed in the center of the room. Your heart hammered in your chest as you realized his intentions.

"Rafe..." you whimpered, your resistance melting away.

"Shhh," he soothed, his lips brushing against your ear. "Just relax and let me take control. I promise you'll enjoy every moment."

His hot breath on your skin sent shivers down your spine, and you surrendered to his desires.

Rafe wasted no time in undressing you, his experienced hands efficiently removing your clothing, baring your body for his pleasure. He took a step back to admire your naked form, his eyes roaming over your breasts, stomach, and legs.

"Perfect," he whispered hoarsely, his desire evident in his hooded gaze.

He quickly disposed of his own clothing, revealing his chiseled form. Your eyes were immediately drawn to his thick, engorged cock, standing proud and ready for you. You licked your lips instinctively, craving the taste of him.

Rafe didn't keep you waiting. He pushed you gently onto the bed, positioning himself between your spread thighs. "Now Bunny, I'm going to show you just how much you need me."

With that, he lowered himself, lining up his throbbing shaft with your wet, eager pussy.

In one smooth thrust, he filled you completely, moaning at the tightness that enveloped him.

You whimpered at the intense sensation, your body stretching to accommodate his size. Rafe gave you a moment to adjust, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

Then, he began to move, withdrawing almost completely before slamming back into you, his pace quickening with each thrust. You cried out, your body responding eagerly to his Dominance, your juices flowing freely around his invading cock.

"That's it, take it all," Rafe growled, his voice thick with arousal. "Feel how deep I'm burying myself inside of your warm walls. Not whining and bitching about the age gap now huh?"

His words sent you spiraling closer to the edge, your body shaking with anticipation. Rafe leaned forward, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue demanding entrance.

You moaned into his mouth, your hands clawing at his back, encouraging him to go harder, faster.

Rafe broke the kiss, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck.

He sucked and nibbled at your sensitive skin, marking you as his own. "Cum for me baby," he commanded, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in firm circles.

"Let me feel you tighten around daddies cock." His commands, combined with the relentless pleasure, pushed you over the edge.

"D-daddy!" you screamed, your body arching off the bed as you climaxed violently around him. Your pussy clenched and unclenched, milking his shaft for whatever he was worth as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

Rafe grunted, his own orgasm building as he felt the tight pulsations of your pussy milking his cock. "That's it, squeeze me dry," he groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep within you and unleashed his hot load, filling you with his seed.

Spent, he collapsed beside you, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. You lay there, feeling deliciously satisfied, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm.

Rafe ran a lazy hand up and down your bare arm, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Now, my dear, do you still doubt our arrangement?"

You turned to face him, your eyes sparkling with post-coital bliss. "No, Daddy," you purred, reaching out to trace his jawline. "I don't doubt it at all. I'm yours, completely and utterly."

A dark, possessive glint flashed in Rafe's eyes as he pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss that promised more sinful pleasures to come.

You wiped your tears, the darkness of your doubts still lingering, but you pushed it aside. Rafe was all you had, and as much as it hurt to admit, he was right. You couldn’t survive without him.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #dark!rafe

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the-colourful-witch · 1 year

Text

✨💀Draco Malfoy💀✨

It was time for the next phase. It took me a week to try and figure out what I wanted Draco to look like. I have seen fan art of him for years and I always think, and don’t shoot me for saying it, it’s not really Draco… 🫣

This is someone who grew up being incredibly spoiled and entitled, who thinks the world should revolve around him and is appalled when it doesn’t. I truly believe he is capable of redemption after the second wizarding war, but before that he is not a good person. I grew up in a city with a big university where a lot of stuck up rich boys go to college and I wanted Draco to resemble them a little. With their aristocratic haircuts and the whole ‘sticking your nose up in the air because you’re above all these peasants’ attitude.

So, here is my version of Draco Malfoy; mommy’s boy with daddy issues, but he does look good in his tailored clothes :) And I can totally see him turned into a ferret with his pointed face.

I also read a post a while ago that mentioned Draco is actually very good at school and has a flair for drama and creativity, which I totally agree with. All his iconic moments in the books just scream drama queen! I mean, he wrote a song for the entire Slytherin house to sing and he acted out Harry’s fainting fits for his friends... He could have a career in the arts, for all we know.

I wanted to incorporate that a little bit in this illustration; the attitude✨

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wintrwinchestr · 4 months

Text

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

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read this chapter on ao3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that?

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway?

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about.

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol.

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has.

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night.

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out.

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought.

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you.

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away.

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge.

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears.

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need.

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still.

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans.

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue.

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour.

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—”

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.”

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already.

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some.

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise.

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that.

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why.

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything.

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.”

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying.

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now.

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up.

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.”

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers.

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough.

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band.

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight.

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary.

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet.

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

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jinxhallows · 11 months

Text

kinktober #o17 | glory

KINKTOBER 2023 || jinxhallows glory (praise kink) || chan x fem!reader summary: you and chan met as volunteers for the local cabaret theatre, working as stagehands, but when it blossoms into something more, and the temperatures drop below freezing, chan figures out a way to warm you up, and fast... warnings: praise kink, and all that entails, plot heavy, fluffy, lots and lots of praise, 'daddy' petnames, non-idol AU

word count: 4k masterlist - click here

The first time he let it slip, you two were still just friends.

You both volunteered as stagehands at the downtown cabaret theater, and you had been sent out to purchase some last-minute supplies. Your coat was dripping wet over your arm from running through the rain, a shopping basket hooked in the crook of your opposite elbow, and you held the phone to your ear, spinning around to decipher the location of the checkout.

"Did you get the safety pins?" Chan's voice came through the phone.

You nodded, even though Chan couldn't see you. "Yeah."

"And-"

"I also got the glue gun sticks, an extra pack of AA batteries, and a small can of black acrylic paint," you rattled off.

"Good girl," Chan responded, genuinely impressed.

At the time, he had no idea that his words had a much different impact on you than he could have ever imagined. The idea of him praising you under very different circumstances had ignited a fire within you, one you couldn't ignore.

The season progressed and Chan worked up the courage to ask you out for drinks and now you two are barely two months into a very new relationship. Still working together, now as hired staff seasonally, at the cabaret theatre, you two are now working together on helping out with the production of A Christmas Carol. It’s two months until showtime, so you’re in the thick of things, managing a team of stage designers. Chan is managing the costume department and overseeing music direction. He has a brief gap between meetings, so he decides to surprise you by grabbing your favorite drink and muffin from the local coffee shop. After leaving a generous tip in the paper cup at the front of the register, he heads back to the theater through the brisk winter cold.

Chan enters the theater's workshop, finding you in your office. He closes the door behind him, greets you with a kiss and your drink, and then takes off his coat. As he hangs it on the nearby coat rack, you take a sip of the drink, savoring the warm, spicy flavors of your favorite spiced winter beverage. Opening the small, white paper bag, you take out your favorite muffin. "I needed this so badly. I was late this morning and couldn't grab breakfast."

"Why didn't you call? You know I could've picked you up," Chan says, sitting on the edge of your desk as you ease into your chair. You blow on your drink, preparing it for a sip. "Your car's been in the shop for weeks now. Any word on what's going on with it?"

You pause for a moment, taking a sip of your drink as you ponder how to address the issue. You've been avoiding Chan's questions about your mode of transportation since receiving the bad news. You're hesitant to reveal that you don't have everything under control, fearing it might push Chan away. After swallowing, you gather your thoughts and finally speak up.

"It's gonna be a while," you say, your voice tinged with a touch of uncertainty.

At this point, Chan has confirmed his suspicion that you're intentionally keeping this information from him. He nods, taking in your response, and glances at his watch. Fiddling with one of its links, he contemplates whether you've been together long enough for him to press you about these matters. He doesn't want to start an argument or intrude on your privacy, but he's genuinely concerned, especially with the weather getting colder and the distance you live from the theatre.

"That... doesn't sound good," Chan finally says, after you've taken another sip, looking back at you. You can feel the hesitation in his words and sense that he's holding something back. Your fingers nervously tap against your cup in an unknown rhythm that's stuck in your head. "Yeah, the engine, it's kind of... shot," you say, tapping the cup at a higher tempo. You find the lid of your cup more interesting than Chan's attempt to hide his shock. He knows he's not great at concealing his emotions, and he clears his throat, suddenly fascinated by his watch.

"Wow, that's... I'm sorry to hear that. Engine troubles can be expensive. You know if you need any help at all—"

"I'm just getting another car. I've been looking, but I haven't had the time yet, especially with the production coming up, so I've been taking the trains. I'm okay, though, Chan, really," you reassure him. Setting your cup down, you interlock your fingers, resting your chin on them, and offer him a disarming smile.

"Since you've had time to come visit me, I'm guessing you're ahead of schedule?" you inquire, relieved when you see his focus shift, steering the conversation in a different direction.

For now, you've evaded his questions again.

"Like a well-oiled machine. In fact, there's a little bit left over in the budget to get the fog machine fixed."

"Chan!" you laugh, "How did you manage that?"

"A few people owed me a few favors. I know how much you wanted to give those Ghost of Christmas Future scenes more ambiance." Chan embraces you, and you eagerly rush into his open arms, hugging him tightly, the scent of his shampoo and cologne filling your senses. When you let go, he slowly turns you around in his embrace, his arms encircling your body, your back against his chest.

"Thank you for this. Oh, Hailey will be so excited to hear this, and Thomas, we'll have to space out the set for Act Three, but that's no problem. I—" You stop yourself, your hand on your forehead as you catch yourself from rambling again. Chan loves seeing you excited like this, so he never stops you during your enthusiastic outbursts. You turn around, your arms resting on his shoulders, and you kiss him, expressing your gratitude with a hundred silent thank-yous.

Chan finds the courage to speak out, his hands gently resting along your waist. "Please let me give you a ride, at least to and from here. You live outside the city, and I'd feel better knowing you're safe in this cold." He anticipates a rebuttal and adds, "Just for the cabaret. Whatever else you do is your business, but if you did need me for other rides, I'd be up for it—just needed to get that out there," nodding affirmatively to you and himself.

You decide to accept his offer this time. You had guessed wrong; it had never left his mind the entire time.

"Fine," you roll your eyes with a small smirk, "I just know you live in the city, and that's out of your way."

"It's not, honest," Chan stands up and leans forward, kissing your forehead. "You're really special to me." With a smile, he heads out and adds, "I'll meet you in the lobby after rehearsal."

"You're really special to me..."

Those words reverberate in your mind for the next four hours of work. They're louder than the hammering of nails into wooden boards, louder than saws cutting through plywood, and even louder than the timpanis in the orchestra pit.

As you work, your head down while distressing the paint on the side of a fake building, you can hear Chan stopping and starting the musicians, going over pieces meticulously. It's hard not to lock eyes with him when he glances over at you occasionally.

Unbeknownst to you, Chan is entranced by the way you bring a vision to life, ingeniously assembling pieces that leave him baffled. He observes you walking among other stagehands, adeptly adjusting a streetlamp, your gloved hands confidently resting on your hips, toolbelt hanging down. You point, shake your head, and oversee adjustments, stepping back and tilting your head, scrutinizing it from various angles before granting it a thumbs-up.

Every so often, you cast an inconspicuous glance over your shoulder, but Chan has already shifted his focus long enough to deceive you into thinking he wasn't watching. He splits his attention between you and the piano, directing the musicians, a sight he relishes.

At one point, a designer stands beside the piano with a partially costumed actor, waiting for the right moment to approach Chan. The designer holds up a piece of velvet red fabric against the navy blue costume.

"Was thinking maybe this material?" the stylist asks.

"Nah, not really, the blue is better against the gold buttons," Chan nods, providing his expert opinion.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Thomas' voice teases, breaking your focus and startling you from your reverie.

"Oldest one in the book. And corniest," you quip back.

"Don't do it, boo. I'd be distracted if Chan were mine too," Thomas remarks, and you both sneak another glance in Chan's direction. "He is a delicious piece of sweet potato pie, ain't he?"

You nudge Thomas playfully, and both of you head backstage.

As the day concludes, everyone gathers around for announcements and updates from the director. Afterward, people begin to disperse. You're embraced by hugs from Thomas and other crew members who've become like family. The holiday break is upon you, and some are leaving town to enjoy their vacation. The lobby teems with people, and amid the crowd, you spot Chan. You hear him chatting with others, and as he finishes, his expression brightens as he spots you.

You’re really special to me… You give Chan a warm hug. It's cozy inside, a welcome refuge from the cold winter winds outside.

"Ready?" he asks with a grin.

You nod, and together, you make your way to the exit. The bitter cold greets you as you step outside, and the wind feels like needles on your exposed cheeks. You tug your scarf up around your nose to protect yourself from the icy gusts. Chan holds you even closer as you both step out into the open, and he opens the passenger door of his nearby parked car.

The car's interior offers immediate warmth, and you welcome it with relief. Chan yawns as the silence settles in around you. He had a busy but good day, and now he's just as eager to hear about yours, especially after getting lost in watching you do your thing.

"Are you sure you wanna do this? Like, drive me all the way home?" you ask, your voice tinged with doubt.

"Yes, I want to drive you all the way home," Chan says with a chuckle. He starts the car, shifting it into reverse to back out of the parking space. "And then I want to walk you all the way to your door, and then I want to kiss you, like we're a couple of teenagers from the fifties."

You laugh at his sweet sentiment.

"I'm serious! You make this relationship thing feel like it's worth something, like it's something I can do... forever," Chan says. He starts to feel a little self-conscious about gushing and quickly dials it back. "You're just... really special to me." There it is again.

"Chan," you begin, and there's a moment of hesitation.

"Yeah?" Chan's gaze remains fixed on the road, but he's eager to hear your words.

"I love you," you say, surprising both yourself and him with the sudden confession.

Each quiet second Chan spends frozen on the road ahead makes you want to backpedal. It’s too soon. Are you dumb? He’s gonna think you’re crazy. It’s not even three months yet.

“I love you too.” He says, and it comes out like his own kind of word vomit, at the tail end of his ruminating thoughts of whether or not you actually meant your statement. Then he guilts himself for doubting the expression of your feelings. Chan would just like to get out of his own head for thirty seconds.

"Ok, now that that's settled," you say, your humor helping to break the tension, and you settle into your seat with a sigh. "I'm sorry I get so weird about you helping me sometimes. I just feel like you have your shit together, and I'm still trying to figure it all out. I know you didn't sign up to get a girlfriend with a bunch of problems—baggage."

Chan snorts, a mixture of amusement and relief. He's glad to hear that this is what's been on your mind, that you've been carrying a self-imposed burden. He appreciates the vulnerability in your words. Sometimes he needs to feel needed, especially in a relationship.

"I'm not sure what your definition of having my shit together is, but this version of me, isn't it," he says with a smile. "I didn't sign up for a girlfriend with a perfect life. I signed up for Y/N, and all that comes with her. How dare you short me the fries to my combo?"

You both share a laugh, and as the car settles into the quiet hum of the engine, you notice snow falling and sticking to the slushy roads as you leave the city behind and enter the suburbs. You check the weather forecast on your phone, prompting you to speak up.

"There's a frost advisory tonight, love," you muse. "You think you should stay over tonight? The roads are gonna be awful."

Chan hadn't planned on it, but he realizes he has nothing urgent to rush home to, and he's getting pretty tired too.

"Good idea."

It takes another thirty minutes, but soon, Chan is pulling into your driveway, turning off the car and walking you to your door just as he said he would. He waits patiently next to you, his hands warming in his pockets as he looks around at the snow falling and piling up, covering the black streets in blinding white reflected against the streetlights.

It's a perfect night to snuggle with a special someone.

You turn on the music, an old Aqualung album filling the former silence, making the blanket of white outside look even more magical. You had never found yourself enjoying the quiet company of another until you started dating Chan. It's a new experience for both of you since you can get lost in conversation for hours. But with Chan, there's no pressure to keep coming up with new topics. It's one of the many reasons why he enjoys your company. He can just be himself around you.

You come over to join Chan as he sits on the floor against the couch. He initially begins to unfold his crossed legs to make room for you, but you extend a leg over his, straddling him instead, holding two cups of hot cocoa in your hands.

"Oh, well hello, beautiful," he chuckles, taking one of the mugs from you.

The way he says it makes your heart flutter, and you can't help but tease him. You sip your drink, looking at him with a mischievous gaze. "There's just something about the way you say those things to me."

"What things, baby?" Chan asks, playing along. He knows what you mean, but he loves hearing it from you. "When I tell you how pretty you are? How I get caught staring at you at work at least five times a day by the other volunteers?"

You can't contain your giggles, and he takes your mug and his, placing them on the coffee table as he cups your face. "I can feel how hot your cheeks are getting too."

"Because!"

"Because why? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't list every reason why I've fallen in love with you to your face."

You bite your lip, realizing Chan's winning the playful banter. He holds onto your hips, shifting himself underneath you and readjusting, all while focusing on being romantic rather than all the nasty things he wants to do to you with you straddling him like this.

He kisses you, gently at first, and then more passionately. "For one, you are beautiful. Anyone with eyes can see that..." You notice the drop in Chan's volume and the edge his tone gains, making you crave him in ways you haven’t been able t0 have him yet. “I like that.” “Yeah? You do? You should, ‘cause you’re a pretty girl, my pretty girl of course.” Chan's eyes linger on your lips, and you lean forward, capturing his lips in a single kiss that leaves both of you lingering, breathing heavily, your faces close.

"Call me your pretty girl again, and you might start something you can't finish."

"Who says I can't finish it, pretty girl?" Chan counters with a sly smile, his lips dangerously close to yours.

Chan is the next to initiate another kiss, drawing you into a passionate embrace. His hands trail up the bare skin of your back, hidden beneath your hoodie, leaving a trail of sinfire in their wake. You lean your head back with a gasp as he hums against your neck.

"Listen to those breaths you take, so sweet for me," Chan says, eager to hear more of your reactions. He sucks hard enough to leave a bruise under your collarbone, making you gasp in response.

"Oh my God, Chan, I—" You start to express concern, but the juxtaposition of his arousal and your own, both concealed beneath clothing, interrupts your common sense. He shouldn't be marking you up like this. You realize you'll need to wear a turtleneck or a collared shirt to cover your collarbone. “B-Be careful-”

"I'm sorry, baby. You're just so intoxicating, you know that?" Chan manages to peel himself away from devouring you for a brief moment, a feat that takes immense self-control. "And you have the most adorable smile."

You try to hide your smile, but he pulls your arm away. "No, let me see it. Look at how you get when I compliment you. I can't tell if you love it or hate it, but it's damn hot seeing you get all shy like this. Makes me want to say more, see how else your body responds to me."

"I think it's turning me on," you admit, your voice slightly shaky, and a coy smile forms on your lips.

“You think?” Chan states more than questions, running his nose and lips against your chest, peppering kisses up your neckline. He sucks again, leaving another mark, this time closer to your jaw. You moan in response, and he tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck as he pulls you in for a kiss. Your lips bruise against his, swollen as he pulls back, looking up at you as if you were Aphrodite herself.

“Thank you, babygirl. I’m sorry I left a couple of marks.”

“It’s okay, you should leave a couple more.”

So Chan does just that.

You hold onto his neck as he moves forward, pressing you into the floor, lifting your hoodie up and sliding it over your arms so he can lay more open-mouthed, deliciously wet kisses down to your navel. He dips his tongue in, taking your piercing between his teeth. Your back arches, and he's going for your jeans, ready to unbutton them, but he stops, sitting up on his knees.

Chan knows if he goes any further, it would be akin to dragging him from quicksand.

He has to ask first.

“We’ve never gone this far,” Chan says, feeling somewhat awkward for not just outright asking you. You realize, of course, that you two haven't gone this far, but Chan wants to ensure you're comfortable. How much further are you willing to go? Chan can easily wrap things up right here, but the way you're writhing underneath his lips every time they press into your skin, leading further and further down south; Chan needs you to tell him otherwise. “I want to go further,” you say, your thumbs hooked into the top of your pants. “You told me you'd finish it, didn't you?”

You assist him in getting your bottoms off, and he nuzzles against the damp fabric of your panties, taking in your scent. “Had no idea you’d smell this amazing,” Chan says, pulling your panties aside to slip a finger in, curling it up. “You must really want me, hmm?”

“Mhm, I do.”

“Can you take more fingers, baby?” “Yeah, I can,” you nod fervently, vigorously, eager to feel him spread you further. Chan gets two more fingers inside of you, and he pulls the panties even further around your lips, leaning down to kiss and suck your clit. He enjoys the way his saliva catches the light as you buck your hips up.

“Prettiest pussy I've ever seen, babygirl. Are you going to let my cock feel it too?”

“Yes, please, daddy?”

Chan has to process the fact that you've called him this. He nearly short-circuits.

“You must want to be my good girl tonight,” he says as he pulls off his hoodie, tossing it aside and unbuttoning his pants.

“I'd give anything to be your good girl, Chan.”

“Anything?”

His fat cock slaps against your wet slit as he holds it firmly. “Anything.” you begin to twist your hips, attempting to grind in a way that will make him slide inside you. You're wet, it's spread everywhere, slicking your inner thighs and cheeks. All it takes is one good thrust, and he can –

“I want this, right here,” his firm taps stop you in place, and his eyes lock onto yours as he pushes his cockhead between your folds, stopping as soon as he's sheathed inside, feeling your walls begging for more. “You feel so wet, baby. Is this for me?” he asks, inching inside until he's halfway in. Chan wants to stop, but the sensation of your walls squeezing him proves to be too much, and he bottoms out inside of you.

“Yes!” You cry out, stronger and louder than you intended, spawning Chan to thrust again, rutting into you. He doesn't always go deep; in fact, he's stroking you at just the right angle to make you see stars as you drag your almond nails down his back, feeling his muscles tense under your touch.

“S-sorry,” you hiss, your head falling against the floor as you cum around his cock. “Keep it up, baby,” he encourages you, “You look so good taking me like this right now, so fucking good.”

"I-I look—"

His firm grip on the strands of your hair at the nape of your neck forces your gaze upwards, compelling you to meet his intense, smoldering eyes.

"Beautiful," he breathes as his thrusts take on a deliberate, measured pace. Each motion propels you closer to the precipice of another orgasm, and you can barely keep your eyes open. His hand presses flat against your head, angling it so you can witness the raw, primal connection between your two bodies. "You look beautiful, say it." You gasp and muster the strength to whisper, "Beautiful," as he introduces two of his fingers to your lips. You eagerly accept them, your tongue tantalizingly caressing the pads of his digits, still bearing traces of your earlier essence. He withdraws his fingers and expertly circles your clit with confident, steady pressure, evoking whimpering pleas from deep within you.

"Such a good girl," he praises with a low, smoky voice, pride lacing every word. "I'm so proud of you, baby. Can you cum again for me? I just wanna see that face one more time.” He wants to etch the vision of your blissed-out expression into the depths of his consciousness, ensuring it's the first thing he sees every morning as he awakens with thoughts of you. Instinctively, you attempt to shield your contorted, furrowed brows with your hands, but Chan swiftly restrains your wrists, pinning them above your head with a powerful grip. His other hand intensifies its attentions to your clit, moving more vigorously. He pairs this with shallow, accurate thrusts,each one striking your g-spot with unerring accuracy, causing you to unravel until you could think no more. You’ve been fucked dumb, for the first time in your life. As you gradually return to your senses, you struggle to find words or even make sense of how another human being can make you feel this extraordinary.

Amidst the haze of your post-orgasmic stupor, a lucid thought pierces through: sex is a potent, heady concoction, a force to be reckoned with.

Then, the second wave of awareness washes over you when you hear Chan's voice, close to your ear, whispering those two potent words, "Good girl." - fin

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undressrehearsal · 2 months

Text

right back where we started

summary: ellie is on tour as the opener for a popular band. she begrudgingly passes through the hometown that she had sworn she would never see again and runs into the one good thing she left behind.

tags: some sad stuff, ellie has daddy issues, mentions of alcohol, modern au, not rockstar ellie but that same kinda genre???, no smut in this one sorry this is all setting the scene, this is another shorter one 3.6k words

a/n: listen. I'm gonna level with yall. life's been fucking insane. it's been what 3 months since I posted something?? and it's because 1. my fiancée and I are buying a house 2. and planning a wedding 3. I work 45 hour weeks (at a job I hate so much omg) 4. I'm writing a book and 5. I'm preparing for a p major surgery (I go on tuesday)

so yeah, life's been insane. but I missed writing fics. I'm writing my book so I never stopped writing but writing a lil fun fic just hits different yk?

anyway enjoy and look forward to a few (I'm thinking 3?) parts of this

love yall. reply and lmk if you wanna be added to my tag list. also I'm posting this on my phone so the formatting might be fucked lmk

part 1

Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she had been in this city.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She could remember exactly the last time she had been in this city. She had watched it disappear in her mirror when she had driven her bike west three years ago in search of the horizon. She had hoped she would find something more once she got there - more than the dingy dorm room she had loosely called home and the classes that had made her eyes glaze over; something more than playing at the bar’s open mic nights, her guitar hard to hear over the noisy din of drunk students and drunker professors; something more than a future that had been planned for her by the time she was in high school.

Her dad had kicked her out after she dropped out, of course, but that was fine. She had planned to leave that night anyway; she had kept a packed bag hidden underneath her bed for months. She hadn’t seen him in three years, either, and she planned to keep it that way.

But when she woke up and saw the city outside the bus window, silhouetted against the rising sun, something in her chest rose to her throat and refused to be swallowed back down.

She hadn’t missed it - but as she looked down at her shaking hands, Ellie figured her body must not have gotten that memo.

The band she was traveling with were still sleeping; she could hear the singer snoring in her bunk, could see the bassist's leg sticking out into the aisle. She had never been a morning bird - back at her shitbox apartment, you'd rarely catch her up before noon - but something about being stuck on a bus for days made her restless. It was her first time touring - after three years of playing at open mics and taking small jobs singing at the senior center - and she wasn't used to feeling her own bed constantly shifting beneath her.

Which is how she always ended up pacing the length of the bus, tapping her fingers against her thighs as the confined world around her slept, waiting desperately for the driver to pull off to whatever venue they had booked. She wasn't sure what the band did before their shows in the evenings, but she didn't stick around long enough to ask. Maybe it was rude, but she couldn't force herself to hang out with the band who only chose her because their usual opener had “flaked” on them - which was how they described it when the opener couldn't travel with them for several months after their mother had just died.

So, yeah, Ellie couldn’t find it in herself to feel bad about it when she rushed off the bus as soon as it parked, not even sticking around to let the band know where she was going. They wouldn't care either way. Hell, they were probably so hungover they wouldn't wake up until their show started in several hours.

The driver - his name was Zachary (never Zach) and he was the only one who paid her any mind - helped Ellie hoist her bike down from the rack on the back of the bus. The band had teased her about bringing it, bitching about how it showed she didn't want to hang out with them. She had been tempted to tell them they were right, but she couldn't really risk losing the first real gig she’d gotten. She lifted the seat and dug her helmet out, waving to Zachary as he disappeared back into the bus to get his own well-deserved rest.

The purr of the bike was a familiar comfort beneath her. Lowering the visor of her helmet to block out the sun, she squinted at the streets sprawled before her. She realized, with dizzying familiarity, that she was in the next neighborhood over from her old apartment. Hell, she had watched a few shows at the venue she was playing at - something in her stomach clenched.

Fuck, she needed coffee.

With the wind cold against her bare arms, Ellie let the world fly by, the city waking up around her. Her phone remained snuggly in her bag; she didn't need directions here, the familiar streets leading her down well-worn paths, winding all the way back to a life that was no longer hers.

It was muscle memory that led her back to the coffee shop she had frequented as a student. She looked up at it, a glow around its worn brick from the rising sun, and something tightened in her chest. They had replaced the patio chairs - the old ones had been practically falling apart three years ago - but otherwise it hadn't changed.

Ellie cursed under her breath, swallowing around the foreign lump in her throat, and climbed off her bike. When she took the steps two at a time, it felt like somebody else had taken the wheel. It was a familiar stranger that opened the door.

The smell hit her first. They say that scent has the strongest tie to memory, and the smell of burnt coffee beans hit her like a punch. There had always been a sweetness underneath it, something she had never been able to place but thought might be honey? When she stepped up to the counter, she could even smell the milk they were steaming.

The barista - a young girl with faded pink hair tied up into space buns - looked up from her phone and said, in a voice teetering on the edge between cheerful and bored, “How’s it going?”

Ellie took her in briefly, noting the brown corduroy overalls and the star-shaped nose ring, and was comforted knowing that this place was just as queer as she had left it. She would bet money on the fact that if she peeked over the counter, this girl would be wearing beat up Docs. She was young enough to be a student - probably an English major, if she had to guess.

She always ordered the same thing - iced mocha with oat milk. She had never understood why her dad drank his coffee black.

The barista - her tag said Dianna She/Her/Hers - eyed her as she rang Ellie up, brows quirked. When she smiled, dimples caved her cheeks. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you a student?”

Ellie fought the urge to groan - this girl was just trying to be friendly (and was probably trying to decide if Ellie’s flannel meant she was gay or was just a bad fashion choice), but the last thing she wanted to do after failing to sleep on a bus and waking up at the ass-crack of dawn was to make small talk.

Still, she smiled and said, “I used to be.”

She paid and stuffed the remainder of her cash into the tip jar. When Dianna thanked her, her cheeks were as pink as her hair. Ellie could feel her eyes lingering on her as she walked away, nodding awkwardly in thanks.

This place really hadn’t changed in three years. The coffee shop had a reputation of students writing all along the walls - over a decade ago, they had simply stopped trying to paint over it, so the walls were littered in signatures and drawings and claims of call this number for a good time. Scattered poetry was written along the edges of the windows, an incredibly detailed Sharpie drawing of a cat peeking over the top of the doorway. When she searched for it, she found that her own scrawled handwriting was still there, small letters where nobody would think to look, right underneath the thermostat: Find me where the sun sets east. Don’t forget me.

She swallowed the lump that threatened to choke her and stepped away. Her eyes stung from sleep deprivation and nothing more.

Ellie scanned the room and found that, to her annoyance, nearly every table was taken. Students huddled around notebooks and laptops, engrossed in their work or else on Netflix to avoid studying. Professors blinked wearily, clutching their own cups of coffee as though they were lifelines holding them to this realm. Ellie could see the spot she had frequented herself - a booth tucked by the window, where she could write her songs in a dingy notebook without anyone looking over her shoulder.

Now, there was a guy with his cheek pressed to the cold surface, snoring lightly.

Ellie jumped when Dianna called her name, holding out a cup so filled with coffee that it trickled over the side and down the glass. Ellie took it gingerly, holding it in careful fingers to not spill any more on the countertop.

Dianna held onto the cup for several seconds longer than necessary, her fingers - cold from the glass - lingering on Ellie's. When a crooked smile pulled at her lips, her brown eyes sparkled. There was a teasing tilt to her voice when she said, “I hope to see you around, Ellie.”

Ellie gave her what she hoped was a friendly smile - judging by the way Dianna’s cheeks bloomed pink, she must have succeeded - before turning away. She almost felt guilty for the relief she felt when she found there was no phone number left on her glass this time. She was never sure whether it was nicer to ghost somebody or to send a gentle rejection through text, and she did not have the energy for that decision.

She turned, searching for an empty seat to slouch in and try not to fall asleep into her coffee, when her eyes found you.

You hadn’t changed a bit.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true either. You had changed - anybody would in three years. You had changed your hair, and now you dressed differently than she remembered - you used to bitch so much about how you couldn’t dress how you wanted, and now, looking at you three years later, she was happy to see that you were finally dressing like all those pictures you had saved in your little Pinterest folder of “outfit inspo.”

Ellie could see the mark of three whole years, but truthfully, you hadn’t changed. You were slouched over a laptop, leaning way too close to the screen, and you still had that pinch between your brows when you concentrated, the one that she used to run her thumb over; she could still feel how soft your skin was beneath her fingers.

She should have ignored you - she should have gone to slump in a corner of the coffee shop like she had planned, trying not to fall asleep into her cup and pretending to not notice you even as her eyes kept cutting across the cafe to find you again. She should have pushed the memories away just like she had pushed away all of the other memories associated with this city - hell, she should have never come back to this city in the first place. There were too many memories here that she had spent three years, a thousand miles, and an ocean of whiskey running away from.

And yet Ellie found her feet carrying her over to your table of their own volition. She walked the tightrope between who she is and who she once was, chasing a memory of the only good thing she left behind.

You didn’t look up at her as she approached. You kept your head bowed over your laptop, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth. There was no reason for you to look up - Ellie could have been any nameless stranger coming to bother you when you were clearly just trying to work.

But Ellie had never been good at leaving well enough alone. Which is why she hesitated for only a moment before reaching out and tapping lightly on your shoulder. She had to bite back a laugh when you jumped, pulling your headphones from your ears and swiveling around to look up at her.

She’d be lying if she said her heart didn’t do an embarrassing acrobatic jump when you met her eyes. And she had always been a terrible liar.

“Hey,” Ellie said, trying her damnedest to keep her voice steady; she only somewhat succeeded. She cleared her throat, lowering her voice when she said, “Remember me?”

Satisfaction bloomed warm in her stomach when your eyes widened, taking in the sight of her. Truthfully, she must’ve looked like shit; she had had to take a disturbingly brief shower at the last rest stop - the water apparently didn’t get any warmer than antarctic - and she hadn’t looked in a mirror for a few days. She had forgotten to pack her brush, so her hair must have been standing up at odd angles. And God knew what the lack of sleep was doing to the ever-growing shadows under her eyes.

But none of this stopped you from running your eyes down her body, cheeks pink when you finally looked up to meet her eyes again. And Ellie couldn’t stop the slow smile that spread across her face, her own cheeks growing warm. It wasn’t intentional when her voice dropped another octave, nearly a murmur when she said, mostly to herself, “Yeah, you remember me.”

“Holy shit, Ellie?” You jumped to your feet, a smile pulling at your lips as you gripped her arm. The familiar shine in your eyes did something funny to her stomach that she was way too stubborn to name. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was just, uh- just passing through town,” she found herself saying, rubbing at the back of her neck. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but explaining to you the actual reason she finally came back to this hell-hole town suddenly seemed daunting. “Wanted to check out some old haunts, I guess.”

And then you just… looked at her, for several long moments - long enough to make Ellie squirm. Your eyes bore into hers, searching for something that she had buried three years ago.

You jumped, and whatever spell that was floating between you broke when your phone buzzed from where it still sat on the table. You scooped it up and flashed an apologetic smile to the glaring student a few seats away. Swiping at the screen, you cursed under your breath:

“Fuck, I have to get to class.” You looked back up at her again, a question behind your eyes, and Ellie had never wished so hard that she could read minds. You hesitated for only a moment before saying, words rushed, “Do you want to walk with me?” Before Ellie could respond, you continued, picking up your cup and fiddling with the straw, “It feels like forever since I’ve seen you and I want to catch up. But you’re probably busy, so you don’t have to-”

“I’d love to,” she cut you off, trying to smother the smile that pulled at her pink cheeks. She failed drastically when you smiled back at her.

After asking for a to-go cup from Dianna - thankfully no number written on the plastic cup either, despite the way the barista eyed Ellie as she left - she followed you out the door and back into the blinding morning sun. The mid-October air bit at her cheeks, creeping under her flannel; the cold coffee in her hand made her fingers sting, but you were already walking away, so she grit her teeth and followed.

And it was like you both just fell back into place, aligning with each other as though that empty space had never existed. You were working towards your graduate degree, Ellie discovered, and were working as a TA to get through; the class you were heading to was the dreaded public speaking class that you taught around your own curriculum. You laughed as you talked about some ridiculous speech a student had recently presented, and Ellie had forgotten just how much she liked the sound until it was burying behind her ribs again.

Ellie didn't tell you exactly why she had come back. When she’d left, you had known she was chasing a dream - it was the main reason she had presented when she broke up with you. The idea of long distance was too hard - too complicated - and Ellie didn’t want anything tying her to this town.

Even so, her body still wanted to fall into old habits. She told you about her roommate and how, when Ellie had been up too late writing a new song or her roommate had had a late shift at the hospital, they would play truth or dare until they were too drunk to stay awake, and her fingers brushed against yours, muscle memory making her reach for you. Ellie told you how she had visited her sister, Sarah, while passing through Houston, and she wanted so badly to lace your fingers together. She wanted to wrap her arm around your waist - hell, she even wanted to grab your ass right where everyone could see, just like she used to. She tucked her free hand in her pocket.

“You still haven’t told me why you came back,” you said, coming to a stop in front of the Communications building - it was just as tall and ominous as Ellie remembered. Her stomach lurched at the site, remembering all the speeches she had to make in her own classes. She supposed Public Speaking wasn’t a useless class now, considering she didn't stutter when she had to speak in front of an audience now.

Ellie shrugged, dropping her cup into a trashcan without looking at you. “Like I said, I’m just passing through-”

“Bullshit,” you said, but there was no malice behind it. You tilted your head to meet her eyes and smiled at her, even as your eyes held something unreadable. “The Ellie I knew couldn’t wait to get out of this shithole - her words, not mine. She wouldn’t simply pass through - she would go out of her way to stay in the next town over. So,” you crossed your arms, “what changed?”

Before, if you had ever crossed your arms at her, Ellie would reach out and gently pull your arms away from your chest, pulling you into an embrace. She wanted nothing more than to pull you into her, instinct unaware of the three years and a thousand miles that had separated you. Instead, she leaned against the wall of the building, the brick biting into her back. “Nothing’s changed. Trust me, if it was up to me, I wouldn't be here.”

For only a second, your face twisted into something unreadable that pulled at Ellie's stomach. But you quickly schooled your expression, tilting your head, your smile soft. “Listen, I have to go - if I'm too late, these fuckers are just gonna try to skip. But we should meet up later - I want to catch up.” When Ellie opened her mouth to say you had been catching up, you continued, “Really catch up. I want you to tell me everything - it's been years, so we have a lot to cover.” You looked at your phone and cursed. “Look, my last class ends at 3:25. Meet me on the green after?” For good measure, you stuck out your bottom lip and added, “Please?”

Ellie had never been good at resisting that look - she had given into you so many times from that look alone. She had to bite back the sudden, stupid smile pulling at her cheeks, so she pressed her lips together and looked away. After three years, you still made her cheeks flush without trying.

“Okay,” was all she could say.

Without warning, you rushed forward, wrapping your arms around her neck briefly. Her hands hovered at your sides, unsure of where to go. Feeling your body pressed against her again - feeling the warm brush of your breath against her neck - short-circuited her brain, leaving her gasping on dry land.

Before she could figure out where to put her fucking hands, you murmured in her ear, “I really did miss you, Els,” and pulled away, just as quickly as you had come. Ellie's mouth hadn't even caught up to her brain by the time you were gone, the door closing softly behind you.

Later, after she had had a proper breakfast from McDonald's, she was still thinking about you. Seeing you again had opened up a bottle that she had sealed away, and the cork wouldn't fit back into it. Her fingers itched with the memory of your skin beneath them. When you had hugged her, she had smelled the shampoo that you apparently still used, and she remembered how it had felt to have your head on her chest, breathing you in as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. And your lips next to her ear - that opened a whole subcategory of memories that she tried desperately to push away.

She was only here for the night. She lost count of how many times she had to remind herself.

Ellie was stopped at a red light, leaning her bike from one foot to the other, when she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She glanced at the blinking crosswalk sign - twenty seconds, so she still had plenty of time before the light turned green - before fishing her phone out. She had to squint against the sun, straining to make out the screen. She nearly dropped the phone when she saw the familiar name popping up on her screen, fumbling to open the text.

There was a screenshot of an Instagram post from the venue she was going to play at. The band's name was in bold letters, stars pasted around a grainy picture of the group. And in small letters underneath - like an afterthought - was her name: Ellie Miller.

And underneath, in all caps:

YOU'RE PLAYING AT THE HAWTHORNE?????

Her face flushed all over again. After all these years, you had still kept her number.

tag list: @macaroni676 @ellstronaut @elliewilliamsmiller0 @elliescoolerwife @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @liliflowers-blog @filtered-sunlight

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie tlou2 #ellie the last of us 2 #ellie miller #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou2 #the last of us fanfiction #ill have to add this to my masterlist when i get back to my computer in a few days

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