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blair waldorf’s skating outfit ❄️🩰
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 oneshot : : since you’ve been gone.
FANDOM : : gossip girl
PAIRING : : nate archibald x female reader
CONTENTS : : alcohol , post-breakup , reunion , reconciliation , oral (f!receiving) , p in v sex , make up sex , drunk sex
GENRE : : (slight) angst , fluff && smut
SUMMARY : : call it poor timing that your parents shipped you off for your summer internship mere weeks after serena van der wooden’s mysterious departure. what’s worse is you didn’t leave things with your boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend on the best of terms.
SONG : : bye [altare remix] — ariana grande
⎯⎯ ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 i. all nate fics ii. all masterlists iii. navigation
you didn’t even want to go. your parents made a plan for you; things that were decided before you were even born. you’d go to the best school, graduate with academic prestige, frame that paper scroll like it means anything other than proof of your ability to study, and get that ceo job ‘cause that scroll says you should. because at the end of the day, everything looks better on paper.
everything has always been done for you, down to the finest details. your hair, your outfits, your friends. funnily enough, you actually like your friends. your hair isn’t bad, either; and your mom has okay taste, you suppose. you couldn’t say otherwise, anyway; since the majority of your closet has eleanor waldorf on the label.
first world problem, right? it wasn’t even really that your future was set in stone, without so much as an opinion on what color the tablecloths should be at your wedding. oh yeah, that’s all been planned, too. of course everything will be white; your dress probably another waldorf design. frilly macaroon—courtesy of paris and misery because beauty is pain. insert fancy word here: three business days long with too many accented letters. throw in a few silent ones too ‘cause it’s not hard enough to pronounce already.
brunch this, clubhouse that. just once, could one of these priggish brunches be bottomless?
you just want a voice. but it wouldn’t matter if you had one, it’s not like anyone would hear you. guests frequent your penthouse often, never the same faces twice. your father always leads them to the trophy cabinet, gushing over the plaques upon which your name is inscribed. figure skating championships ‘04, swimming gala from somewhen, tennis tournament of. . . ‘90-something? you’re his proudest achievement, of course. but he has to say that.
the davenport name still has to mean something when he no longer does. laughable, since he’s so hell-bent on your taking of the last name bass. if there’s one thing you’re not going to do, it’s have something in common with a type of fish.
with a bitter laugh, you sip from your wine. if there’s anything you love about london, it’s that you can drink at 18.
“you have way too little teeth to have an attitude of that size.” you heckle, wine sloshing in your glass as you hoot and holler alongside jeremy kyle’s live audience. how do people take this show seriously?
after a while, you begin channel-surfing. “bbc news, snore. eastenders? i’m an east-ender! well, east-sider. hmm, no.” chucking the remote somewhere behind you, you place your glass down and meander over to the tv set, opening the cabinet to peruse the movie options.
daddy got you a swanky apartment in chelsea. quite the commute from the offices, but he hired a driver to cover that. fully-furnished, you’ve got everything you need. the downside of course is that his generosity ended with the driver, so you don’t have a maid. you’re starting to grow tired of the microwaveable meals, too. there’s only so many lukewarm carbonaras a girl can take.
“dirty dancing? seen it. godfather? don’t get the appeal. the devil wears prada? she certainly does. pretty woman? thanks.” you shuffle through the selection until you come across the friends boxset. you purse your lips, then sigh and turn the vcr on. “it’s one of those nights.”
another two glasses later, you’re arguing with the tv. “they weren’t on a break!” with a shake of your head, you reach for the bottle. empty.
groaning, you pad over to the kitchen and tug open the wine fridge, only to find that empty also. “what? no way.”
the tiled floor plays victim to the wrath of you fluffy sock-clad stomps as you march back to the couch and flop down with a performative sigh. the episode has since finished, the main menu prompting you to switch over to the next one. “fine. this is the one consistency in my life right now, anyways.”
you jab your finger onto the play button and sink deeper into the cushions. ross starts to whinge about rachel’s 18-page letter again and you roll your head from side to side with a tut. “what the hell are you complaining about? you’re the one who slept with that copy place whore! rachel let you off easy. . . i would’ve gone all ‘hell hath no fury’ on your phd ass!”
okay, so maybe it hits close to home. except, you and nate actually were on a break, right? still, did it have to be serena? with a huff so strong that it blows a gale-force wind onto the stray hairs across your forehead, you snatch your cell from the crack between the couch cushions.
you and blair talk most days, sometimes even skype. she’s always the first to comment on your myspace uploads, usually to compliment your outfit or express jealousy over the pictures you post of iconic landmarks and local cuisine.
serena’s been radio silent since she went mia, and chuck texts next to never but that’s still more than what nate’s been giving you. if he’s been giving you anything, it’s the cold shoulder. the last time you heard from him was on your way to jfk airport. you remember the exact words that displayed across your cell’s little screen.
‘good luck in london. keep safe.’
that was a month ago.
you frown at the memory, and before you acquire the inner-strength—or inner-growth—not to, you find yourself clicking through your old photos.
skipping through the ones of you and serena, which for some reason, you don’t have the heart to delete; you finally stumble across the ones you’re seeking. with a wistful smile, you tilt your head and take you time flicking from one to the next.
selfies of you and nate smiling up at the camera occupy the small screen. some are silly, the two of you pulling funny faces; while others are more serious, the two of you mid-kiss or gazing lovingly at one another.
a single tear frees itself from your eye, gliding down the soft slope of your cheek like a raindrop on a window. he was your golden boy, the one with whom you were meant to spend the rest of your life. your parents wanted you to marry chuck, and still do. but nate always promised he’d never let that happen.
“look at us.” you hum, your vision blurring from the tears. “we had no idea.”
raised voices from the tv startle you and you flit your attention back to it. ross and rachel are amid another breakup, this time because ross preached to the choir that they were indeed on a break.
“i can’t,” you let out a shaky sigh and turn the tv off. “i can’t watch anymore.”
snapping your cell shut, you rise from the couch and begin making your way to your bedroom when a frenzied knock at the door stops you in your tracks.
frowning, you retrace your steps back across the living room and unlock the front door before cranking it open. your pulse quickens as you peer around it, mouth falling agape. “what are you doing here?”
nate shuffles nervously and clears his throat. “i had to see you.”
all you can do is stand there and stare, your words—if there are any—failing you.
nate pockets his hands and starts to rock back and forth on his heels. “can i. . . come in?”
after a moment’s hesitation, you move aside and allow him to step into your apartment. pulling the chain back across, you slowly turn to face him and fold your arms defensively. “we live in the 21st century, you know. if you wanted to see me, you could’ve video called. flying across the atlantic is a bit much, don’t you think?”
he rubs the back of his neck, then takes a cautious step nearer. “that’s not the same. i needed to see you.”
you want nothing more than to run into his arms and have him hold you forever. it takes everything in you to refrain. it’s strange, ever since you arrived you’ve wished he’d turn up on your doorstep. now that he’s actually here, you kind of wish he’d leave. with a slow blink and an even slower exhale, you undo the chain again and open the door, pointing out into the dark hallway with a manicured finger.
“okay, you’ve seen me. off you go.”
his face falls, those big blue eyes threatening to drown you in their sea of sorrow. “no, not until i’ve said some things. i. . . i’ve got a lot of things i’d like to say, if you’ll please just hear me out.”
you look away, scared you’ll crumble beneath his desperate gaze. “i can hear perfectly fine over the phone. this couldn’t be a phone call?”
“no, it couldn’t.” he stands firmly in place, but still appears unsure of himself.
you can’t say you’re not curious, and no matter how mad at him you might be, you’re not about to throw him out after he’s travelled halfway across the world to say his piece. so you finally relent, pushing the door to a close before brushing past him to take a seat on the couch.
he stays glued to the spot, looking over at you like he’s lost. with a small smile, you pat the space next to you. he smiles back, his expression hopeful, and lowers himself to sit beside you. when his knee bumps yours, you subtly scoot away, to which you swear you see him wince at what he must assume to be rejection.
“i’m all ears.” you say, trying to sound nonchalant when you’re in fact about to burst at the seams.
he nods and takes a thick swallow, his fingers flexing pensively. “well, first of all, i want to say how good it is to see you.” the confession is softly-spoken, his eyes even softer when they flicker up to land on yours.
“yeah, well. . .” you trail off with a shrug, suddenly enamoured with the skin around your nails as you pick at them.
his feet shift and he lowers his head to rake his hands through his mousy hair. when he looks up again, his face is overcast. “i, uh. . . i’ve missed you.”
“could’ve fooled me.” you mumble. “good luck in london, keep safe. really?”
he gives you an incredulous look. “if i’d begged you to stay, would you have? when has that ever worked before?” he scrubs his fists against his eyes. “i wasn’t sure you’d even respond, which was fair, ‘cause you didn’t. you couldn’t at least let me know you’d landed?”
“well, evidently i did.” now fiddling with the hem of your tank top, a loose thread makes itself known and you yank it out, then let it float to the floor.
nate watches the action with pinched brows, his eyes following the thread on its journey through the dense air that divides you. “don’t be like that, please. i’ve been worried about you. i try to ask blair and chuck how you are, but blair’s pretty much iced me out and chuck either pretends not to know or likes to see me suffer. you have no idea how hard things have been—”
“aw, why? did your girlfriend sleep with one of your best friends?” you snicker cruelly when he shamefully diverts his attention back to the floor. “oh no, wait. . . that was you.”
“hey, we weren’t together then, remember?” his voice ups in volume, but not in anger. waves of sadness roll beneath it, like you’re the tide that reels it in.
“whatever. the breakup was fresh, nate. you waited, what, 24 hours? one day and you were already fucking my closest friend.” you scoff and trap your bottom lip between your teeth, fighting the urge to break down in sobs.
there’s a pause before he speaks again. “it was a one-night stand. i didn’t plan it, i certainly didn’t go looking for it, and to say it was unexpected is an understatement. i mean, jesus, i was wasted! i barely even remember it. i was miserable ‘cause the last place i wanted to be was at a damn wedding. then i headed to the bar to drink alone but blair had already sent serena there to sober up, ‘cause that’s where you go to do that apparently.” he pauses, lets out a huff, then glances around aimlessly before continuing.
“she was on the bar top throwing her legs around, and i thought she might fall so i tried to steady her. next thing i knew, she was in my lap. i was still shitfaced and hardly knew my own name. then she started kissing me and. . .”
he stops himself, aware of his rambling and your probable desire to hear no more about it.
you rub your forearm, feeling the goosebumps that have arisen there. “and. . .?”
“and,” he starts, swiping a hand along the curved arch of his stubbled jaw. “and there’s nothing in my life i’ve regretted more. i. . . i think about it all the time. not because i like to, but because it’s what cost me you.”
“you’d already lost me.” you tell him, and as the words roll off your tongue, they leave a bitter taste. it hurts for you to say because it simply isn’t true. he hadn’t lost you, but it felt like you lost him.
nate’s head whips in your direction rather sharply, expression heavy and pained. the statement obviously punched him right in the gut. a physical punch would’ve hurt less. “really? so before you found out about serena and i, our relationship didn’t stand a chance?”
of course it did, but you won’t let yourself say it. “nate—”
“we were great together.” he argues, taking both your hands in his. his grip is firm and assured, and you’d forgotten how much you missed his skin on yours. his touch. “regardless of how much i sometimes wish i wasn’t some rich, privileged kid. an archibald. i’m also glad to have led this life, because this life gave me you.”
his thumb traces random patterns against the back of your hand, then he gives your wrists a squeeze, directing your gaze back to his. your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, like you’re seeing him for the first time again.
“that night meant nothing to me, because what happened didn’t mean anything. it was stupid and if i could take it back i would, but i can’t.” his eyes search yours pleadingly, remorseful and brimmed with longing.
you retract your hands, a chill coursing through you at the loss. “i just don’t know.”
“what do you need me to say? that i love you?” he teeters his body toward yours, his arm draping over the back of the couch. “because i will.”
your lips part, your tongue poking out to wetten the plump flesh. his eyes dart down, pursuing its path. “i. . .”
they linger there, then wander up the bridge of your nose until he’s staring into your eyes again. your stomach spins, but you blame the wine.
you do want to hear him say it, but refuse to give in.
“tell me what to do.” he murmurs, and you almost don’t notice his hand slip back into yours until it scorches you, snatching the breath right out of your lungs like a hiccup.
“if i do, i won’t be able to resist you.” it’s humiliating to be so raw and honest. vulnerability looks good on no one. it’s so tacky. “i can’t get hurt again, nate. it almost killed me.”
that kills him, just when he thought he couldn’t feel bad enough. “stop trying so hard.” he whispers it, the words wafting over your skin—a ghost of a kiss, velvety like the ones you used to share. “i love you.”
there it is. three little words, eight little letters. they take a bite out of your soul like the very first time he uttered them, all those years ago.
“nate—”
his lips cover yours, swallowing his name as your mouths slot together perfectly like the two remaining pieces of a puzzle. you want to pull back, be that strong independent woman you’ve been trying to embody since your leave, but you surrender to him, your bodies melting together as you kiss him back.
you feel him nip at your lower lip, asking for better access. it’s then that you break the kiss with a slight pop, head fuzzy. “i’m drunk.” you admit, dragging your thumb around the edge of your damp, slightly kiss-bitten mouth.
he smiles. “me too. made a pit stop at a pub for some dutch courage.”
your heart drops like a penny in a quiet room. “oh. you couldn’t have meant any of it then. . .” it’s probably paranoia, but you can’t quench the nagging feeling that this was all too good to be true. or maybe you’re dreaming again? “people do things they don’t mean when they’re drunk, you especially.”
he grimaces at your implication. “what’s that saying? ‘a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts’? i promise you i was sober when i bought that plane ticket, and sober on the flight over here when i was praying it wouldn’t be for nothing.”
that’s good enough for you. unwanting to hold back any longer, you grab his face and smash your lips against his. it takes a moment for him to reciprocate, surprised at your sudden forwardness, but his strong arms soon surround you, molding your body to the form of his.
you find yourself on your back soon enough, nate hovering above you as his kisses roam south of your lips to your chin, then lower. a contented sigh escapes you and you can’t fight the grin that spreads across your face. “i’ve missed this.”
“me too.” he mumbles against the skin that peaks out above your tank top. “and i’ve been meaning to make things up to you.”
he flashes that signature smirk, the one that makes you weak at the knees, and slowly pushes your top up to reveal your breasts, his hand skimming your waist on its way up.
you let out a moan when he lowers his head, his mouth hot as he leaves wet kisses upon your flushed skin. your giggles fill the room, his teeth grazing your pert nipple as he suppresses a laugh of his own, then he plants his chin between your breasts to peep up at you.
“someone’s comfortable.” you beam, running a hand through his ruffled hair before gripping hard.
his eyes flutter shut, then his face disappears again, nose nuzzling like he’s trying to motorboat you as eloquently as one can. “best seat in the house.”
“i dunno, i can think of a better one.” you arch your brow pointedly at him, then punctuate the hint by pushing down on his head.
his eyes light up and he smiles broadly at you, holding eye contact as he descends the length of your body, worshiping it all the while as he scatters kisses in his wake. he leaves one right on your hip bone, then eases your sweatpants over your thighs and past your knees until they’re a crumpled heap on the floor.
you nibble at your fingertip when he rears up to shed his shirt, flinging it sidelong to join your sweats. you seize the opportunity to appreciate him from his sculpted arms to his toned stomach. he gives your calf a gentle pinch when he catches you staring, but his face tells you he’s enjoying the attention.
“no matter where i am, you always give me a room with a view.” you purr, your tone jesting despite being deadly serious. he wrinkles his nose at the corny comment, but can’t help an amused snort. you lift your leg to skate your foot down his front, stopping at the front of his jeans where you curl your toes and apply some light pressure.
he groans, head tipping back. you exaggerate a pout when he takes hold of your ankle, placing it on his shoulder instead, then reaches for the other to do the same.
you allow yourself to relax, anticipation bubbling in your core as he situates himself between your legs, his soft breath a cool contrast against your heat. he hooks his fingers under your panties, but when he makes no attempt to remove them, you crack an eyelid to find him looking up at you in question. you smile sweetly and nod your head.
his lip quirks and he doesn’t waste another second, peeling them away to expose you entirely.
“stop torturing me!” you tease, his tardiness winding you up.
“this is what you get.” he kisses your inner thighs, his hands curling around them to pull you closer to his face. “for leaving me.”
you clamp them around his head with a playful frown, but you let out a yelp when he nudges your center with his nose. “alright, alright. i can be patient, i guess.”
he hums, taking a moment to admire you before flattening his tongue to rest snugly between your folds. your breath comes quickly, your chest heaving as he drags it upward to flick and twirl. the initial serenity of having his tongue on you again only lasts until he purses his lips around your clit, sucking harshly. your fingers clench into his hair, knuckles paling when he doesn’t relent, releasing with a crude pop before probing it with his tongue’s tip.
your moans become strangulated, their pitch increasing when his hands meander upward to fondle your breasts while his mouth travels further down. the twin sensations narrow on your spine, back arching of its own accord once his tongue enters you, his nose replacing its earlier focus on your clit.
“nate. . .”
“hmm?” it vibrates against you, his stubble caressing the undersides of your thighs in the most delicious way.
“come here.” you demand, breathless.
“don’t think i can get any closer.” he rasps, lapping at you before licking a long, tedious stripe back up through your folds.
you groan, head slamming against the arm of the couch. “come here.”
he chuckles against you when you dig your nails into his shoulders, raking your fingers all the way up his arms to where his hands massage your chest.
“please.”
your voice is angelic and he almost comes right there and then. your whimpers are what he was hoping he’d be hearing tonight, after all. not your cries. well, not the sad kind, anyway.
“since you asked so nicely.” he surges up with a cocky smirk, catching your mouth in another heated kiss. its intensity floors you, and he takes advantage of your throaty gasp to snake his tongue inside, searching for its mate. they tangle together, messy and uncoordinated.
growing increasingly impatient, your hands slither between your bodies to fumble with his belt, eventually unbuckling it. you bend your legs and use your feet to force his pants down, your hands preoccupied with palming him through his boxers. his hips buck against you, his mouth leaving yours to suckle urgently at your neck.
he positions himself, lifting his head from the purplish mark he’s sucked onto your skin to look down at you with a fondness that almost melts you. your hands yank his boxers down, his cock springing free to burrow against your slit. you both jolt at the contact and your hands come up to cup his cheeks. he leans into it, rolling his hips slightly so he slides through your folds.
he twists his head to kiss your palm, then your wrist, and props himself on his elbows as he pulls his hips back to align himself. you lock your legs around his slim waist and he shifts his weight onto one arm to secure your hip with one splayed hand.
no words are needed, your eyes doing all the talking as you gaze at one another, not even breaking eye contact when he slowly pushes into you. your legs tighten around him, his fingertips cutting into the supple flesh of your curves.
you were sleeping together for the entirety of your relationship, and you crossed that line even before you became romantically involved, giving yourselves to each other as best friends. but this time feels different. it’s potently intimate and your heart skips at the realization.
as if he can read your thoughts, he smiles adoringly at you and pulls halfway out a few times, then sinks all the way back in. you stay like that for a short time, neither one of you moving while you spread feather-light kisses over each other. eventually, you grind up against him, silently asking him to move.
so he does, finding a pleasing rhythm you can both match as his lips alternate between your neck and mouth. he maintains a deliberate pace at first, each pump dragging torturously within you until you reach around him to claw at his back with need.
he releases your hip to cradle your head, picking up speed as he starts to thrust a little more forcefully. he presses further against you, deepening the angle. your jaw drops and you moan a little louder than intended, then lunge forward to claim his lips again.
his chest rumbles appreciatively, reverberating against you as you rock together on the couch, consuming each other’s cries of pleasure. your teeth clash a few times but neither of you care, losing yourselves in the moment as the flow of his rhythm loses its precision and becomes more frantic.
you mirror him, meeting his thrusts midway with your own. the tenderness remains with the raw addition of desperation and a month’s worth of yearning as you both near the edge, and you mewl into his panting mouth when he slams into you a little roughly.
he breaks the kiss to look at you with wide eyes and your heart swells at the mild concern that dashes across his features, then pull his face back to yours, keeping him there with a hand on either side of his sweat-damp neck.
when the pent-up emotion hits you, so does your climax, and the ecstasy of it carries in your voice to ring off the walls. it doesn’t take long for his release to follow, his pace slowing but not stilling completely for a few transcending moments.
you hold him to you while you collect yourselves, your legs trembling around him. unable to hold himself up any longer and not wanting to crush you, he shifts himself onto his side, slipping out of you as he does.
your brows furrow at his absence, almost saddened by the way you feel yourself shrink without him to stretch you out.
once you’ve both caught your breath, you turn to look at one another, your foreheads knocking together. his blue eyes shine at you, crinkling at the corners.
“what the hell are you laughing at?” you grin, practically giddy.
he slings his arm around your midriff, tucking you more snugly against him. “i’m not! i’m smiling. i understand that’s what people do when they’re happy.”
you giggle girlishly, still riding the waves of your immediate afterglow. there’s no high quite like this. “me too, that was nice.”
“just nice? well, damn.”
he squirms when you jab him, then twists at the waist when you find the ticklish spot just above his ribs. “nooo, mercy!”
“fine.” you yield, turning onto your side to snuggle up to him and nestle your head into the crook of his neck.
his other arm wraps around your shoulders and his presses a kiss to the crown of your head, then inhales the familiar scent of your hair. “you, woman, are a wicked sorceress.”
you scoff, smushing your cheek more cozily against his skin. “please. you love me.”
“i do.” he gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“i love you too, nathaniel archibald.” you whisper, suddenly shy as you drape your leg over his and play your fingers across his chest.
“so. . . come back to new york with me?” he implores, reaching down to run his hand up your bent leg and over your thigh.
“my parents will kill me if i don’t complete my internship.” you sigh, now missing manhattan even more if that’s possible.
“well, we can’t have that, can we? guess i’ll have to stay here a little longer, then.”
⎯⎯ ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 note : : uh, why are there barely any fics for this man? he’s so beautiful. can we all lock in please? i need MORE. nate girlies unite!!
Mr. Badgley
Penn Badgley x Fem!Reader
summary: you can't stop thinking about your married piano teacher, Mr. Badgley. and one day he slides under the instrument to show you how much he's been thinking about you too.
wc: 1k
cw: age gap (reader 19, Penn late thirties), cheating, piano teacher x student, pussy eating, fingering, female masturbation
Sundays are your favorite days, especially ones like this when the clouds hang low with a murky swirl in the sky. You're nineteen, and college is kicking your ass but you promised yourself you wouldn't think about the papers due when you're here, at Mr. Badgley's house.
You found his ad on craigslist, piano lessons..fifty bucks an hour you would've scrolled past it until you saw him, and his family. You felt safer in a random man's house when his wife and newborn baby were in the same room with you. So you started going there, ever since your freshman year.
Your raggedy car rolllsss to stop and you get out to see the lonely house, picked apart to be perfect, not a single thing out of place... except yourself.
His wife answers the door a few minutes after knocking, the cold biting your bare legs as you run in for warmth, completely missing her scowl at your lack of kicking the mat with your dirty boots.
Mr. Badgley offers you a warm smile, hair combed perfectly, sweater ironed and pants straight like every weekend. His eyes always look a little empty when you come. His wife jingles her keys around her finger as she readjusts the baby on her hip
"I'm going out, be done when I'm home" the same line. Every week. You smile her way but she doesn't pay mind to it, leaving you and her husband to play. you turn to Mr. Badgley but he's already walking to the connecting living room of the tiny house, sitting on the worn bench as he slides the fallboard up.
You sit next to him as he wears an excited smile, when he's like this, playing with you, it doesn't seem orchestrated by his wife. Every move he makes is analyzed by her, except this. The only reason he's allowed to do this is because they needed the extra money.
"Let's start where we left off last week, yes?" he asked and you nodded, you inhaled the mixture of musk and old books that surrounded the pianist as he began the background cords. his eyes are on you, they shine as his spine relaxes into the music and you begin your part. fingers dancing over keys as you try to remember the pattern
Your eyes squeezed shut once you messed the keys up. He smiles softly and lets a laugh out of his nose at your reaction
"Like this," his larger palm rests on top of yours as he guides your fingers, you nod and try again.
Soon enough an hour passes and you both rise from the bench and you dig into your purse for the fifty bucks you crumpled into it this morning, but, warm hands slide on top of your shoulder and the older man shakes his head.
"No need" he grins and tries to send you off but you insist, grabbing the money but he pushes you out the door.
"I will not have you pay for something that I enjoy just as much, Y/n, have a lovely week" The door softly shuts and you're left stunned.
.
You roll around your dorm bed, restless as the man's words keep ringing in your head. Why didn't he let you pay?
Maybe you're being dramatic. But it isn't like the Badgleys are set either.
You shut your eyes in a huff, suffocating yourself in the pillow under you as you replay the keys in an attempt to lull you asleep
But it isn't just the keys you're thinking about...
It's how his hand guided yours, it's how he looked at you when it was your part to play, it's his scent, it's his being. It's driving you mad.
You arch your back slowly, fingers sliding down your body until you get to your aching core. slick-filled fingers rubbing yourself at the thought of your teacher's hands touching you, grabbing you, loving you.
You moan into the pillow, legs shaking as you cream around your fingers, the thought of him drives you wild.
So just how will you act the next time you see him?
.
Before you know it, it's Sunday and you're back at the Badgleys, with his wife announcing her departure and the formal greetings of you and your teacher, you're back at that bench, side by side.
He starts the cords, and you follow trying to calm your shaking legs as you think about what fueled you that night. You couldn't even look him in the eyes this session.
His hand softly squeezes your bare thigh and you look back at the man.
"You're completely off" he informs you and you don't think your face could get redder.
"I-I'm so sorry...let's try again" you panic but his thumb rubs loving circles on your flesh.
"You usually think the world ends when you mess up, but you kept playing this time, you're mind is somewhere else Ms. Y/n."
"Sorry Mr. Badgley" you murmur
"Talk to me, get it off your chest so we can get back to playing" he smiles and you nod slowly
"...Why didn't you let me pay last time?" you ask, he stops for a moment as the hand on your thigh now rests on his face as he thinks for a moment.
"I just feel like, something so pleasurable shouldn't be bought," he says above a whisper and you feel your entire face glow, and he must have noticed with how he laughs.
"Not those pleasures, Ms. Y/n" he smiles and you don't think you've ever been so embarrassed. But when his laughter stops, his eyes swirl softly into something darker, in that moment you feel exposed to every thought as he eyes you.
He stands, hands finding your shoulders
"Keep playing"
You take a shaky breath as your thighs begin to shake once more, fingers finding the keys as you start the song
"Good," he whispers, his scents overwhelming you now as you feel almost dizzy while playing, you barely notice how he slips under the piano.
"Mr. Badgley, what are you doing?" you gasp as his dark brown eyes gaze up at you
"Keep.playing" he says sternly, and with a swallow, you keep going
He kisses your knees and you feel yourself sticking to your panties as he spreads them apart.
He has a wife. He has a kid. What are you doing?
"You're doing great" he huffs, kissing your thighs, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as his fingers dance up to your panties.
He pulls them down slowly, your wetness sticking to the fabric before they are lost in his pockets
Your bare pussy is in front of your teacher's face as he rubs up and down your thighs taking a shaky breath in
You slam the keys as his tongue licks up your pussy, he moans into you before forcing you to scoot closer into his face, his hands wrapping around your ass as he slurps and moans at your cunt.
"Mr.- fuck" you cry, hands climbing to try and stop your moans as your hips buck up to hump his face
"You taste so so good" he groans, making out with your pussy as he sucks at your clit just to tongue fuck your hole
Hot tears flow down your face as he stares up at you, watching you come undone for him.
You shake around him, orgasm approaching closer with every lick, he sucks on your slit before adding a long finger to your hole. You throw your head back as he fingers you, flicking his tongue relentlessly as his finger curls inside you.
You feel him whine and moan against your pussy, and when you look down you see him gripping and grabbing at his hard-on as he eats you out. You cry as that sends you over and you cum around his finger
You're panting as he curls his fingers a few more times before shoving it into his mouth and licking you clean, you're shaking and wide-eyed as hair sticks to your face and he crawls out from under the piano
Right, weren't you two supposed to be playing right now? Isn't his wife about to be home and he's sucking his fingers because they still taste like you?
He helps you off the bench and you stare into the stained cushion but he turns your chin to him before kissing you deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue before breaking it off with a simple
"My wife is on her way...see you in our next session Ms. Y/n"
And you can't wait for next Sunday.
an: lmk how obvious it is idk anything about pianos. This is based on a dream I had last night 😵💫🖤 I hope you liked it <333
GOSSIP GIRL (2007–2012) 3X11 « The Treasure of Serena Madre »
₊˚⊹ ❤︎ CHARACTERS @ VICTORIA’S SECRET W/ YOU.
MDNI 18+.
INCLUDING. Clark Kent, Toji Fushiguro, JJ Maybank, Nate Archibald, Whiskey, Scott Miller, Cormac McLaggen
₊˚⊹ ❤︎ CLARK KENT
He’s being suchhhh a good sport about it cause he loves you but he kinda looks like he’s being held at gunpoint? You almost forget what his normal complexion looks like when the red flush stays on his cheeks the entire time. He doesn’t let go of your hand, a gentle grip that goes past affectionate and slightly into anchoring-him-down territory. He’s avoiding looking at the scantily clad mannequins, and his farm-boy sensibilities flare up juuust a little when he sees the stringy lace on some of the hangers. You nudge him slightly, gesturing towards the tiniest one and teasing, “how about that one, Clarkie?” and you swear he audibly swallows, nodding, “uh, of course. it’d look great on you…” as he squints at it, tilting his head a little as he tries to puzzle out exactly what it is (it can’t be a bra cause it wouldn’t cover your nipples… maybe that’s the point?) After a while, he chills out enough to point vaguely at a red bra and offer, “you should try on that one,” to which you nod enthusiastically. Your approval makes him grin, and he looks all lovesick as you lead him back towards the fitting room to try it on, rubbing the back of his neck in a sheepish and all-too-familiar gesture when he sees you in it (which makes you wanna jump him right there, but the most he’ll allow in public is a kiss… a really, really long one)
₊˚⊹ ❤︎ TOJI FUSHIGURO
Couldn’t look more unimpressed if he physically tried. Has practically no opinions. Stands leaned against the wall next to the dressing room, tree trunk arms crossed over his chest—it seems like he doesn’t even notice the way the attendants are eyeing him and giggling. Of course, every bra you show him has his lip quirking up in the same way, nodding as he says “yup. that’s the one.” You roll your eyes and suppress a grin when you tell him that they can’t all be the one. He shrugs and doesn’t answer, and you eventually give up on trying things on. You know he doesn’t like any one better than the others—he’s never cared about that stuff, all he thinks about is taking them off. “If you want my honest opinion, don’t bother wearin’ these at all—just go totally without ‘em, but that’s just me,” as he fastens his arms around you, hugging you from behind in a gesture that you know is his sweet version of telling you he wants to get out of there nowww. His giant body pilots you towards the register to buy whichever ones you were holding
₊˚⊹ ❤︎ JJ MAYBANK
JJ “they’re your tits, you could put them in a trash bag and it’d be hot. what the hell you gotta spend $90 for?” Maybank. Just really annoying about it overall. Squints at things and makes innapropriate jokes the whole time and makes you generally wish you’d tied him to a tree outside while you shopped instead of bringing him in with you, just so you can get some peace. He’s slingshotting the tiniest string panties in the store at you with a shit-eating grin and going “let’s go see how these look, huh?” Shamelessly tries to sneak into the fitting room with you like eight times and the exasperated attendant has to keep stopping him. (Though he’s pretty sneaky so maybe he does end up getting in there with you behind their backs, harassing you with his body shoved up against yours, pressing you against the wall and making you look at yourself in the mirror.) Everyone’s happy when you finally check out and get his ass out of there
₊˚⊹ ❤︎ NATE ARCHIBALD
Kinda shy about it, but he’s trying reallyyy hard to be normal—there’s nothing he loves more than spoiling you, and you always want him with you when you’re spending his money, so you can get his opinion on everything!! He’s smiling sheepishly, glancing around, offering half-baked opinions that have more to do with how comfortable they’d be on you, rather than how they’d look, because “everything looks great on you, sweetheart. Just get what you like.” He’s endlessly patient and never rushes you, sits on the bench outside the fitting room like there’s literally nowhere he’d rather be in the world, glancing around a little bit at everything you show him while a faint pink colors his cheeks. “Get it all, just get it all,” he insists—the pointed wiggly-eyebrows look the cashier gives you when he buys you the mountain of satin and lace (easily $600 without even flinching) only makes Nate’s grin wider
₊˚⊹ ❤︎ WHISKEY
Hanging all over eachother and practically making the store humid with the sickly-sweet tension between you, She’s giggling and has her arms wrapped around you while she mouths at your neck, you’ve got your arm around her waist lightly the whole time. You both tug little lacey numbers off their hangers and show them to eachother with little squeals and suggestive eyebrow wiggles. You’re thoughtfully commenting “looks hard to get off,” and she’s nudging you and assuring, “I’m sure I can handle it.” You manage to convince the attendant to let you guys share a dressing room on the basis of being “really good friends and needing eachother’s opinions,” and then you end up having to buy all the panties you brought with you after making out and dry humping for so long they’re all pretty much soaked. At the register, you both happily present your respective rich boyfriend’s credit cards, who both think you’re having a much-needed girls day with your closest friend
₊˚⊹ ❤︎ SCOTT MILLER
He’s exasperated at having to go at all, but you insist that you don’t have a bra that goes with your new dress and it’s urgent, so he finally agrees. He’s chewing his gum flippantly, jaw clenched the whole time, barely looking around. He glances at every one you show him and gives it a “yeah, let’s get that one,” flatly, mostly in hopes it’ll get you two out of there sooner. He softens a tiny bit when you start to pout, muttering under your breath that he doesn’t even care. He offers “they’ll all look great on you, just pick one!” as a band aid, but all isn’t actually forgiven until it’s time for him to hand his card over—which he does with just as little thought or care as everything else that day (but it’s kinda hot this time.) You present a cherry-vanilla-milkshake-desire abomination of a body mist for him to smell, and even he has to admit it’d smell nice on you as he adds it to the counter. He’s forgiven by the time you leave the store, hanging onto his bicep while your pink shopping bag dangles from his other hand
₊˚⊹ ❤︎ CORMAC MCLAGGEN
He’s so sleazy about it he almost makes you uncomfortable and you’re literally the one fucking him. He’s soooo smug and self-satisfied that he’s at the level of getting brought into the store with you, “don’t have to spend all this money to look hot for me, love. I’m easy,” with his arm around your shoulders, overly confident (but there’s also a deeply insecure part of him that knows he’s lucky to be here, so he’s gonna make the most of it because it would be a biblical level miracle if you invited him again after this.) Every garment you pick up has him murmuring about what he’d do to you in it: “I’d have that off in half a second,” to the little lilac one that barely covers your nipples, “mhm, that one’s nice—we can leave it on when you’re bouncing on my cock, eh?” to the lacy red one. You might’ve been annoyed with him at first, but the feel of his lips so close to you, his breath tickling the shell of your ear and his lewd words painting explicit pictures for you over and over again, has you reduced to a hot mess by the time you guys leave. What you wanted to be a fun little shopping trip basically ends up being public foreplay
Serena van der Woodsen who uses her status to get you into every party you could ever possibly want.
Blair Waldorf who protects you from Vanessa, Jenny, Georgina- anyone and everyone who could potentially be seen as a threat to you.
Nate Archibald who's always there for you if you ever need anything, whether that be a shoulder to cry on or just a friend.
Chuck Bass who lavishes you with the most expensive gifts possible, ones that he knows nobody else would ever be able to afford.
The Non-Judging Breakfast Club loving you and obsessing over you and needing you to be theirs and theirs alone, regardless of whether you want to be or not. After all, you're not the one who gets to make the decisions here, they do.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ m.list
°. *࿐⋆ೃ guide : smut s fluff f angst a
MINORS DNI 18+
MUST read rules here before reading *ੈ✩‧₊˚
BTS ⋅˚₊ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
thinking bout you s, f, a
summer romance taehyung x reader
word count : 14k
summer. italy. the 2000s. two strangers from opposite sides of the world. they only shared a few weeks together— a handful of late nights, endless laughter, and words lost between languages. but unlike most, some loves don’t disappear when summer ends.
epilogue f, a word count : 7.4k
bad decisions s, f
dr*g dealer! taehyung x reader
word count : 12.3k
living alone had never scared you. but sometimes, when headlights crawled down the block and shadows stretched along the buildings, you wondered about the lives passing below your window. that was until you knew one of them.
what’s your motive? s, f
underground rapper! namjoon x reader
word count : 16k
in the bustling scene of new york city in the early 2000s, a guarded girl who’s spent her life learning not to trust anyone, crosses paths with a rising underground rapper who’s used to getting everything he wants—until her.
street thing s, f
famous producer! namjoon x reader
word count: 18k
on the side of a sunburnt los angeles road, you with a broken down car meet a man you can't stop thinking about. he's older, composed, impossibly charming, and far too experienced to be looking at you the way he does. you're used to immature love that never knew how to hold you properly. but with him, everything is different.
part 2 s, f
domestic au, older boyfriend namjoon, he spoils u sm, vacation smut
word count: 8.2k
i luv your girl s, f, a
brother’s best friend! jimin x reader
word count: 16.8k
jimin was never supposed to want you. he was never supposed to have you. not when you were his best friend's little sister. not when he knew better. but the night you chose him changed everything. now, it's more than just a secret, and it isn't a mistake either. and he's not letting anyone take you back.
COMING SOON - in the drafts
hold me tight s, f, a
fisherman! namjoon x mermaid! reader
like you were a dream s, f, a
enemies to lovers! jimin x reader
GOSSIP GIRL ⋅˚₊ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
knew better / forever boy s, f, a
slow burn! nate archibald x main character reader
part 1 ☆ word count : 15k
you are one of the idolized upper east side teenagers, and it only started because of nate archibald. what will happen to your friendship over the next years of high school and college?
part 2 ☆ word count: 12.4k
you’re in the middle of a summer hamptons trip after graduation with nate, serena, blair, and chuck. your undefined relationship makes the tension thick and you only have a few weeks left until you leave for university.
finale ☆ word count: 16k
you just got back from your semester long study broad opportunity, reuniting with the upper east side and most of all, nate.
i love u and thank u for being here ୨♡: ⋆ ۪
NATE ARCHIBALD — GOSSIP GIRL // S01 E01: "Pilot"
