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pedgito · 2 months ago

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𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader — Series Masterlist (part ii)

summary | The temptation with Joel is unavoidable, one consequential choice leading to several, but with time, you find that healing is easier with someone just as broken as you.

author's note | I DID NOT FORGET THEM I SWEAR. i know the first part was posted in july and i abandoned my baby i'm horrible. BUT, the writing bug is back in full force and this chapter was already halfway done so PLEASE ENJOY. i missed these two dearly.

content warning | 18+ smut, DDDNE - this is very loosely stepcest, so if that's not your thing, ignore. that's the only warning i'm giving on that, additional warnings: no outbreak, step-uncle!joel, age gap (20/late 40s), religious trauma, parental trauma, no one's making good choices here, lowkey religion kink?? if you get it, you get. fingering, unprotected piv sex, semi-public sex, mentions of deconstruction, alcohol tw, this is packed with so much stuff i'm sorry

word count —11k

PART ONE, PART THREE (tbd)

The tweed sweater is more grating than the sound of your mother’s voice as you approach the doorstep of the Miller’s home. It’s fucking itchy, scratching at your neck in desperation to strip yourself of your more modest church clothes the moment you crosses the threshold. Your mother seems to notice your fidgeting, swatting at your hand with a look of unmistaken warning.

Cut it out.

Your hand drops to your side, fingers curling into your palm as they dig into the skin. The pain squeezes at your vocal cords, keeping you quiet. Tommy always looks slightly ridiculous when you step out for church on Sundays—starched jeans and perfectly ironed plaid button up to match, paired with an egregious belt buckle and cowboy boots.

The thing was though, he fit in perfectly. And you couldn’t hate Tommy, it was nearly impossible.

Once inside, you’re already beelining for the attic with your shoes slipped off by the door and ready to strip down the layers of clothes to quell the sticky heat that was lingering on your skin. But, there’s a creak to your left and a voice you hadn’t heard since the night before, under…more nefarious pretenses. But, he didn’t know that. You shouldn’t either.

Your eyes can’t meet his own as he rounds the corner, damp hair dripping droplets of water onto his clothed shoulders. He doesn’t speak to you, but he does look you over. There’s a smugness in his expression, amusement at your outfit like he knows. A perfect, modest length appropriate dress with that ugly fucking sweater your mom insisted on you wearing. You hate it, it was smeared all over your face, lips pulled into a tight line as your mother began barraging both of the brothers at once.

“She’ll come with,” You attention focuses back on the conversation halfway through, sneaking a small peak at Joel’s tired features, scratching at his beard with his other hand settled against his hips, so desperately wanting to escape the conversation, “I don’t need her being a nuisance while Joel’s trying to sleep.”

“She lives here,” Tommy points out, “I’m sure she can keep quiet. Do you wanna tag along?”

“No,” you respond with evident distaste, but there was also the creeping worry of being alone with Joel again, unsure how to approach your unfavorable behavior with him, “I’d really rather not, if that’s okay.”

Tommy offers a shrug to your mother, reminiscent of a told you so, before he’s cracking a joke at Joel’s expense, who still hadn’t spoken a word.

“Keep this loner some company anyways, he needs it,” Tommy jests.

“Well, we’ll be out until the evening,” your mother adds, almost like it was a bad thing which wasn’t nearly the case, in fact—it was a heavy weight off your chest, “so call if you need anything and sweetheart, mind your manners.”

“She’ll be alright,” Joel interjects suddenly, “ain’t never caused any problems with me.”

Your mother nods despite her inclination to make a comment or prove a point and after a tense goodbye and a hug that was far too tight, she’s dragging Tommy out the front door again and it shuts with a deafening click as Joel still remained in his previous position, eying the floor for a time before his eye meet your own as yank at the buttons of your sweater and shrug it off your shoulders.

The events over the past few weeks were clawing at your gut, that nervous and fluttering feeling driving you to silence—girl, always testin’ me—it was a constant echo in your head. That, flurried with his grunts and the sight of his hand gripping his cock. And your teasing words were no better, inviting him in and welcoming the temptation.

You had to cut the cord—this wasn’t you. It was wrong, sinful, the shame sitting on your tongue and bitter to swallow. It didn’t matter that it didn’t feel wrong, factually, it was. You would be shamed, frowned upon, rejected by your own mother if she even caught a whiff of your advances toward Joel. But, he’d lied for you when he didn’t have to and that was more confusing than it needed to be.

Joel clears his throat, “I’m gonna head to bed, worked a fifteen hour shift and I’m barely standin’ right now,” Your gaze flicks up as you kneel on the couch, settling into the cushion but leaning yourself slightly over the arm, “you gonna be alright?”

You nod silently and watch as he returns the motion and turns on his heels, the floorboards creaking under the weight and there was no chance like now—say it, just apologize.

“Joel,” you say louder than needed, but it does the trick, “I—you lied for me to my mother, you didn’t have to and I’m…sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I know that doesn’t change anything, but I—”

There’s a flickering of guilt across his own face that you’re familiar with, knowing he’s dreamt of you in the exact ways you’ve suggested and while he doesn’t audibly admit it, his thoughts almost project, eyes racking over your chest for a beat to long as they press together under your thin top and peek through the deep cut in your shirt.

“No harm done,” He lies, his eyes noticeable flicking back up toward your gaze and you don’t react, neither does he, “no sense in pissing her off more than she already is with you all the time, right?”

“Right,” you mumble dejectedly, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you settle into the cushion more permanently, “just…thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies assuredly, knowing he’d done you a favor with the expectation that it might absolve him of some of his own guilt about the entire situation—but just as Joel was being disingenuous, he suspected you were too.

Save your own ass and all that.

It didn’t matter and Joel knew it was better to move beyond it entirely.

Except his dreams are invaded with the sight of your tits, pert and perfect as he squeezed them under his grip and he swears he can feel the warmth of your skin, your smell, but the deep slumber quickly pulls him under.

There’s only so much to occupy your day, having made a few snacks for yourself and wandered aimlessly around Joel’s home, even managed a short nap amongst his soft snoring from his cracked bedroom door, occasionally looking around the corner or over your shoulder to find him sleeping deeply. By high noon, you’re restless. It was hot. Wicked summer heat. You decided to change into your swimsuit and head outside, grabbing a towel and a bottle of newly purchased sunscreen.

There’s a few reclining lawn chairs on Joel’s back deck luckily, snagging one as you drag it toward the lawn and into the sun, squinting at the blistering UV as you bring your sunglasses down your face and allow them to make home on the bridge of your nose. The neighbors have their sprinklers going, giving their gardens a much needed drink during the non-stop dry spell that Austin seemed to be under, the spray hits your skin gingerly as you settle into a good spot and take a seat, spreading the sunscreen out sparingly over your arms and legs, resigned to the fact that you wouldn’t be able to reach your back appropriately, but that didn’t matter.

You untied the back of your top, both at your spine and neck and reclined the chair out completely before resting on your stomach, eyes closed to the quiet hum of afternoon summer and kids playing a few houses down, the soft buzz of dragonflies and bees amongst the foliage.

It was the simple luxuries you enjoyed that weren’t possible with your mother hovering around you, but that was why you had so much appreciation for Tommy, keeping her busy beyond her means and knowing that she was happier when occupied with other things—like him, or the possibilities and expectations that would come with their new life when they did find a place together.

You knew you weren’t going with them, but that was another mountain to climb trying to explain to your mother, knowing it wouldn’t bode well and would end in an all out brawl if you dropped it on her now—in due time, you think.

Your tendency to fastrack through missed opportunities and experiences were your own downfall, but the newfound freedom was exhilarating, breathing in deep as you closed your eyes and relaxed, several minutes passing before you heard a creak at the backdoor.

But even then, you don’t move.

You know it’s Joel when the grill lid whines in protest, utensils clinging behind you.

He doesn’t say a word and forces himself to keep his eyes on the dirtied grill as he scrubs it down ignoring your occasional fidgeting and the soft creaks of the reclined chair, his eyes catching the soft skin of your back, the curve of your breasts as press out at your side, squeezed against the towel you were laying on and the strings dangling toward the grass that Joel had neglected for the past couple weeks and he’s only realizing his wandering eyes when his hand slips through the slit in the grill and drops the sponge into the ash, cursing loudly to himself.

“Was I being too loud?”

Joel tosses the sponge to the side and opens the tray to dump out the remaining remnants of ash from their last cookout, walking toward the dumpster near the gate leading to the front yard, no further than a few yards from you as he mumbles a quiet, “No. Wasn’t you.”

Weird. Your brow furrows for a moment before you reaching for the bottle of sunscreen, taking advantage of the extra pair of hands as you offer the bottle to his empty ones, the plastic cap hitting his stomach as you press it against him, hands pressed tight over your swim top to keep your breasts covered, despite how much the material failed to hide.

“Just my back,” you explain, “I can’t reach it. Well—I can, but I’m definitely missing some spots.”

Joel’s fingers curl around the bottle but he doesn’t pull and your fingers haven’t left either, grazing against the denim at his waist and you sigh in subtle frustration.

“Joel, it isn’t a trick,” you promise, “besides, with your hands it’ll take like, two seconds.”

He makes a face at that, halfway between amused and mortified. You shove the bottle deeper against his stomach, insistent as you raise your eyebrows.

“Oh, come on,” You beg, “It’s sunscreen, get over it.”

There it was. The snark you couldn’t hide, like second nature with him. He snatches the bottle with his tongue slipping under his top lip as he snaked it over his teeth and popped the cap with his thumb, flashing a content smile in his direction as you settle back on your stomach, pushing down at the strings of your bottoms slightly to offer the full expanse of your back.

Joel, poor Joel, swallows around the lump in his throat and tries indefinitely to ignore the everlasting bulge that grew in your presence, a side effect of inappropriate thoughts and your sharp tongue. He’s pathetic and he knows it.

He kneels down between your split legs, one knee on the cheap plastic and his other foot planted firmly in the grass as he hovers. It was as close as he could allow himself, a few inches forward and he would have his thigh pressed against your center, the swell of your pussy grinding against his jeans and he wouldn’t be able to resist, pulling at the loose ties and diving into the sweet divine.

You clear your throat, turning your cheek to rest against the back of your palm as you wait with the cold tip of your cross necklace snug between your lips, a self-satisfied smile growing on your face as the warmth of his hand contrasts the cool sunscreen, a broad stripe up your back from tailbone to neck as his fingers fold over your shoulder and drag against the chain before he’s tossing the bottle into the grass to make use of his other hand, spreading the sunscreen out evenly on the full expanse of your back.

A pseudo massage masked in the way his thumbs rub along the center of your skin, fingers rubbing in the sunscreen along your side, just along the curve of your hips before they’re back up at your shoulders and the muscle is being squeezed gently under his grip.

“You’re tense, kid,” Joel notes, pulling away to wipe his cream covered hands on the towel, catching your gaze.

“With a mother like mine, wouldn’t you be?”

Joel pauses briefly, a silent acknowledgment as he stands, vehemently ignoring the way your legs slip together and your ass pushes up into the air slightly as you reposition yourself.

He grimaces at how sticky his hands feel still, reaching for the spout on the siding and gripping the hose in his hand as the water pours out, hot for a moment as it slips out before it rushes out ice cool, wetting his hands generously.

“Can’t stand getting a little messy, can you?” You tease when you hear the water run behind you, lifting up on your forearm to peer at the older man, his face still frozen in a tight grimace but his eyes briefly turning up toward you.

What a little shit.

His thumb slides over the opening on the hose and transforms the flow into a forceful spray as he lifts stream and at the chair you were lounging in, forcing you up in a matter of seconds while Joel rendered you drenched, top forgotten as you slip your arm over your breasts in attempt to retain some decency.

The cause of action only dawns on Joel in the aftermath, watching you sopping wet as you stomp toward him and attempt to yank the hose from his grip, the option for turning the spout off forgotten—it couldn’t be that simple.

Joel quickly extends the main end of the hose from your grip with a tug of a smirk and you huff, hard through your nose as you twist and press your back against his chest as you wrestle for his arm, in a wrestle for the hose his arm finds home against your chest and you gradually fall to your knees, tackled by Joel in a manner that is surprisingly gentle despite your frustration.

But, somehow you end up chest to chest and none of the effort is worth it, even as you turn the house on him and the water soaks his clothes and your chest, hose slapping into the grass as you toss it aside, breath catching as your heart raced from the exertion.

Joel makes the mistake of shifting to move, his knees hiking behind the curve of your ass and pushing his clothed cock against your core, only separated by a couple layers of clothes, his denim against your think bikini tied lazily at your waist and his eyes drag down by pure coincidence as he tries to find his grip against the grassy surface.

There it was—his eyes on your chest, your eyes on him, and his cock hard against your cunt in an unignorable way.

Joel quickly scrambles to his feet with a frustrated clear of his throat, ignoring you like a quick spreading plaque as he left his tasks behind to disappear as quickly as he had resurfaced and you reach blindly for your top, draping it over your chest hastily as you tried and failed to piece together what the hell had just transpired.

It was like a shot of adrenaline in your bloodstream as you sat up, the world spinning in a way that made you woozy—you turned toward the back door, slightly ajar from the force Joel used to shut it, slamming against the frame before it popped back open.

He could deny you all he wanted, but his body couldn’t lie—wondering if he was running off to finish himself like he had the night before, almost daring to chase after him.

But instead, you hide.

Decisive and calculated, you’d wait him out.

Like meek prey, he’d seek you out if the hunger struck.

—

After a swift shower you barricade yourself upstairs, the murmuring voices below lulling you to sleep as you skip dinner—you couldn’t speak to Joel, wouldn’t.

He lies for you, despite knowing that your avoidance of dinner was entirely his own fault.

Sort of.

It was a double-edged sword, both parties responsible.

But, Joel feels the guilt faster, easier, and he drowns it away in a six pack of beers Tommy brings home as he and his brother, and his soon-to-be sister in law enjoyed a quiet dinner, the occasional complaint slipping from your mother’s lips as she ate.

“She wasn’t feeling too good,” Joel fibs, wiping at his mouth with a napkin, crumbling the flimsy material in his fist, “I can bring her a plate up later, after I clean up—”

“Oh, please,” She holds her hand up to interrupt, politely refusing, “we’ll clean up, won’t we?”

Tommy squints, eyeing the table full of dirtied dishes but nods regardless.

Always the yes man. Joel smirks, a flippant chuckle under his breath.

Joel tips back the final bottle of beer and swallows it down, having learned to manage his alcohol well after years of casual drinking that had slowly morphed into a crutch. He gets the buzz, the warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest but otherwise it was undetectable, aside from the hasty decision making to find a reason to bother you after the wrestling match that afternoon.

He quietly piled the food onto a plate, working around the kitchen and squeezing past the other two bodies before he’s yanking at the cord to the attic stairs, your body lunging up at the sound, nearly jumping out of your own skin as the light peeks through and the hard, heavy footsteps follow.

Joel hears the both of them, Tommy and your mother, as they finish up in the kitchen and trail off into their own respective room in the house, pulling at the handle with his unoccupied hand to seal out the creeping light from downstairs. He slides the plate of food on the dresser shoved against the nearest wall before his head is turning toward you, watching as you rubbed at your eyes, faking the grogginess from a deep sleep you never managed to fall into, running both hands through the front of your hair before they’re flattening out against your duvet, wondering which one of you should speak first.

Both hands shoved into his front pockets, he turns to you fully. He’s changed from earlier, denim traded for a soft cloth; sweats, paired with his usual dark washed shirt.

Relaxed. He looks…relaxed. His eyes are undeniably softer, too. His lips rubbing together tight before his tongue slips out to wet them and he’s still standing, waiting—for what, you’re not sure.

“I’ll eat it later,” you appease his lingering presence, taken aback as the words seem to bring him back to life, socked feet soft against the wood floors but the intent is heavy and intimidating, “I will, I promise—“

You weren’t lying, you would.

But, then the bed creaks as he takes a seat and your legs widen to make room for him, the blanket slipping down your thighs and revealing bare legs under a long t-shirt, having changed out of your damp clothes too.

Closer, you can see the flush in his chest. Cheeks warm and hot, you’re sure if you touched him it would be confirmed. Drunk? It didn’t seem likely, but he had definitely been drinking, a deep but quiet sigh coming from his chest before he spoke.

“Don’t apologize,” you began before he could get the words out, “god—don’t, just…”

“I was gonna ask if you’re feelin’ alright,” Joel begins, turning toward you hesitantly, a fist curled and stamped into the mattress, watching the muscle of his bicep and forearm flex with the action, core clenching at the sight of it.

You nod lazily, “How was dinner?”

He knows you’re not asking about the food.

“Typical,” He responds lightly, “your mom loves carryin’ the conversation, doesn’t she?”

“She just enjoys the sound of her own voice.”

Joel chuckles quietly, hand unfurling and his fingers grazing against your knee. For a moment, you think it could be an accident, but as you find a surge of confidence and drag your fingers over his own, pulling his hand up to your face curiously, making a show to smell his hand with a light quip thrown his way.

“Got all the sunscreen off finally,” You joke and the stretched out glimpse of you flashes through Joel’s mind, his fingers pulling at tied strings, the nylon falling against thick blades of grass, “did you enjoy your shower?”

Joel quirks his brow, curious.

Right, he didn’t know. A momentary lapse of judgment letting the words slip.

“You know, was it…peaceful? Nice?”

No additional expletives groaned out under the steady stream, fist wrapped around his cock? Selfishly your eyes wandered toward the no longer tented material, having caught quite the eyeful earlier—and felt it just the same.

His hand slowly drops to the bedsheet, thumb grazing the cream material while the rest of his fingers curl over your knee, your own hand placed atop it, an unspoken but welcomed touch.

He was losing his mind, surely.

He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have sat down.

But, Joel lied for you and that was the first mistake.

“I lied for you, again,” He comes clean, emphasis on his final word as his eye flicks up despite his downturned gaze, watching your thumb rub into the spot between his own and pointer finger, “makin’ habit of it, it seems.”

A soft breath mingles between the space, tight and tense, too intimidated to confront him head on now, shaking your head at his words, “You were the one who said my secret was safe, remember?”

His large hand flexes around yours as he presses the back of your hand into the sheets, held prison under his grip, “You know I never meant it like that—“

“Didn’t you?” You counter, turning your eyes up toward him cautiously, daring him to confess.

Our secret, alright?

It was the gateway—one small lie unfolding into many and soon it would be like breathing, second nature.

“Why are you still here?” There’s a softness in your tone that beckons a confession, but Joel’s hard-headed.

So, he retaliates.

“Why haven’t you asked me to leave?” His eyebrows raise, a subtle smile pulling at his lips that was brought up by the inhibitions of alcohol, mostly Joel but there was something lingering.

The words float through your head, climb up your throat, but you can’t force them to leave your mouth, eyes softening under his gaze as a warm, careful hand caresses up your thigh, fingertips grazing your clothed cunt, the wet heat undeniable as it seeps through your underwear.

You can smell the beer on his breath but it doesn’t stop your hand from clawing up his chest and behind his neck, allowing him to pull your leg over his lap, spread wide on your bed as he fit between them, “You’ve been drinking,” it was obvious, but Joel shakes his head, tongue licking at his bottom lip as his left hand squeezes at your calf, “haven’t you?”

“That bother you?” He wonders—he’s mostly unaffected, you can tell. The creeping flush to his face a mix of the alcohol and you, he’s just as in his right mind as you, the inside of his palm reaching further to cup your cunt, rubbing gently with the heel of his palm.

A breathy sigh and a head shake in return as your legs spread wider, hips canting into his touch as your hand falls to your side, exposing your clothed chest to him, breasts peeking through the sheer fabric of your top while your other hand grips Joel’s neck harder, blunt fingernails digging into the skin.

“What are you doing?” You ask carefully, not wanting to startle him.

It doesn’t even seem to phase him, though. His hand moves forward slightly to push your shirt up your stomach before it slipped beyond the fabric of your underwear and against your bare skin, two fingers sliding between your folds to press into your sticky slick.

“Giving you what you want,” Like it was obvious; the constant taunting, ill-mannered behavior, his own resolve finally breaking and the guilt he was feeling disappearing in an instant now that he has you like this, a clandestine sight, “—s’what you wanted, right?”

You nod, a subtle jerk of your head.

At the notion, his hands are in two different directions—one hand is tracing the chain that wore like armor, a dainty necklace your mother had gifted you when you were young that was the only significance you had to show for with her, your undying faith. He slips the necklace around and between your shoulder blades, out of sight. His other hand slips between your thighs until they’re finding home against your cunt. Absent fingers drifting deeper between your shoulder blades, delicate touches tracing along your spine over soft skin until he’s back at the nape of your neck and squeezing, determined fingers rubbing slowly at your sensitive clit, a stuttered and quiet gasp falling from your lips.

He’s not the first man to touch you like this, but he was skilled. No fumbling hands and hesitant touches, there was surety in his movements and his gaze that didn’t shy from yours in embarrassment or lack of care.

Joel Miller was in the mood to watch you fall apart for his own entertainment.

“Shh,” He reminds you, a soft command, “don’t need them gettin’ curious.”

You shake your head in agreement, a plethora of sins being committed in the act of one greedy and selfish desire, “Mo—More,” You plead, feeling his fingers slide down the center of your cunt before they’re breaching your tight hole and pressing inside. Joel grunts as you pull at his short curls, his tongue resting wanting over his bottom teeth, yearning for a taste.

“Take it off,” He demands, “wanna see those pretty tits, darlin’.”

Your skin prickles with anticipation, separating from him briefly to pull your shirt over your head and Joel, in a moment of blind lust, takes the advantage of you on your back to yank your panties down your ankles and balling them up, thrown haphazardly near the top of your bed as he settles on his knees between your outstretched legs—

God, he’s going to hell.

And you want to kiss him, the feeling so strong it sends an ache down your core, releasing a shaky breath as he squeezes at your thighs before his fingers continue, dipping inside of you with ease. Luckily, with this position, he’s got a free hand to rub at your clit, thumb pressed firmly against the nub and drawing soft, mewling sounds from your lips.

It’s intoxicating, the subtle smell of barley and fresh soap. He’s speaking to you in some far off, distant place, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets an inescapable pace. They’re goading words, encouraging and bordering the line of patronizing but you can’t commit them to memory, only coming as another soft command falls from his lips.

Because he sees your fingers itching, needy, “Touch yourself,” He murmurs, his touch somehow more tender as his fingers pump inside of you, thumb working quick circles of your clit as you hands drag feather-light of your breasts, a tickle at the center of your chest before you’re squeezing the flesh under your grip and moaning louder as he changes the angle of his fingers inside of you, deep and undeniably precise. Thick fingers keep you full and satisfied.

He can hear your breath quickening, a silent warning when your brain wasn’t catching up with the rest of your body, words a complete loss. His fingers slip out of you, wet slick smearing over your mouth as he leans forward to muffle the unintentional cry that falls from your lips as he pulls you over the edge with a mere motion of his thumb, your eyes squeezing shut as you come.

The pleasure blooms inside, teeth digging gently into the skin of his palm as you selfishly savor the feeling, Joel only moving away when your eyes fall back on him—back to reality.

“How’s that for a mess?” Joel doesn’t miss a beat, turning your earlier jab back on you as you notice the gleam on his fingers, thin strings of slick hang between his fingers as he separates them and you pull at his wrist, knowing that Joel would follow through the rest of the way, pressing his fingers to your lips as you clean him, tongue dragging along the digits diligently.

You swear you hear Joel groan, but it was muffled by your own squeak as Joel grabbed at your chin, flesh pinched between his fingers, “Eat your damn dinner,” He demands, but you quickly muffle him with the fabric of your underwear, shoving it into his mouth before you move dangerously close to his face, still under the stern grip of his hand.

“No problem,” You appease him, “and a suggestion—”

Pulling the fabric from his mouth, you aren’t amiss as he pockets it, his eyebrows raising in question.

“Double check your doors next time you decide to jerk off to me.”

Because if anything, you wanted him to be more deliberate.

Joel’s flush deepens, shame flashing in his eyes for a brief moment before you break out into a playful smile as you sing softly, “Goodnight, Joel.”

Joel’s never had a harder time falling asleep, night creeping into dawn before the slumber finally takes him, riddled with a guilt that is indescribable.

–

Breakfast is quiet.

Too quiet.

You pick lazily at the fresh blueberry muffins your mother had baked that morning, watching as Tommy conversed with Joel across the living room, both of them nursing steaming cups of coffee. Your mother notices your trailing gaze, mistaking it for you spacing out as she perks up, speaking from beside you as she pours more orange juice into your empty glass.

“I was thinking we could do something in town today,” She begins, “all of us—Joel, too. Tommy mentioned they’ve got a fair going on downtown—food, music, plenty to keep you interested.”

You slip the blueberry beyond your lips and chomp down, “What’s the occasion? Big news? Don’t tell me your pregnant—”

Your name comes out as a stark warning, the plastic bottle of orange juice crunching under her grip, “That is not—no, I’m not. But, Tommy and I…may have put an offer down on a house, if you’re that curious. We were gonna drive by on the way there and show it to you.”

You shake your head nonchalantly, “Joel was actually going to take me to that cowboy museum a couple towns over—I forgot to ask, but you don’t care, right?”

Joel perks up at the mention of his name, his conversation with Tommy stalling.

“I mean, I’ll be with Joel,” You remind her, “I’ll be safe, won’t I?”

Your head turns over your shoulder, catching Joel’s surprised expression and watching as it slowly morphs into understanding, silently following the path you had so carefully constructed as he approaches the counter at your side, pressing his mug into the counter.

“I shoulda mentioned it,” He lies through his teeth, “slipped my mind, but it’s alright with you?”

She swallows. Tense.

Tommy interjects then and chuckles, clapping a hand over his brother’s shoulder.

“History of cowboys?” He asks, “Oh come on, sweetheart. Let ‘em go, they can always meet up with us after.”

She folds for Tommy, of course. Flashing an apprehensive smile that you knew too well, eyes flitting toward the pair of brother’s with a cynical regard, catching Joel’s tight expression for a brief moment. You had lied, big deal.

It wasn’t the worst thing you’ve done as of late, watching the leisurely swagger of Joel’s walk as he steps toward the coffee pot, offering a sturdy goodbye over his shoulder as the lovebirds make their escape, leaving you both under the thick cloud of unspoken tension.

With disregard, he walks past you and sips noisily at his coffee, taking a seat on the couch with the low hum of the morning news as your sock covered feet pat softly against the floor. Your thigh presses against the arm hanging over the couch as you squeeze by, but you’re stopped by Joel’s foot pressing into the coffee table, blocking your path.

“You make plans for somethin’ I’m unaware of?”

You huff out a soft laugh through your nose before you shove at his foot gently, knocking it to the ground before you’re climbing over his lap, mug screeching against the table as Joel scrambles to place it down, his hands falling against your hips instinctively as you settle over him, tight shorts crawling up your thighs and settling in the crease of your hips.

His touch is intimate—and warm, god his hands were always so warm. Your fingers scratch testingly at his patchy facial hair, a delicate touch that extends to his mused morning hair, untouched and still riddled with sleep. Then he’s inhaling hard as your lips press to his without preamble, his mouth opening in a quiet sigh and your tongue find the opportunity and slips beyond his lips, dragging over his teeth as it swipes against his own tongue and for a few minutes he melts into you, returning the kiss back feverishly.

But, like a fragile tower—the moment snaps and collapses in on itself as Joel shoves you away, a large hand pressed against your collarbone as you yelp at the sudden movement, slightly disappointed as you frown.

“Stop,” he breaths out harsh, his hand fisting in your shirt as he peers up you through a half-lidded gaze, “you—we can’t keep doin’ this, kid.”

“No one’s here,” you murmur, pushing at his hand but it doesn’t budge, so you settle for his thighs, cotton material smooth to the touch as you fingers climb until they can settle near his groin, rubbing your clothed cunt against his hardened cock, a noticeable tent in his pants, “if you worried about getting caught.”

“I know you’re doing this to get back at your mother,” Joel begins, but he never gets the chance to finish.

“And if I was doing this for me?” You counter, “Because I want to? What would you say then?”

There’s a long beat of silence, Joel’s hands pressing into your hips again to keep you still, frozen in place and unable to chase the pleasure you were so desperately after.

“Naive,” He offers, “childish—downright stupid, if you think about it. I’m twice your age and if the other reason wasn’t obvious, well—“

“We’re not blood related,” you argue, “it isn’t nearly the same thing and you know it.”

You lean forward, crowding into his space once more, the ghost of his breath across your lips as he eyes follow, his head leaning back as you move in, hesitant.

“Besides, I think you’ve ruined all other men for me,” You goad, a salacious grin spreading across your face, “your fingers—Joel, they’re—“

At a loss for words, you sigh, hips dropping against his groin pointedly, he grunts and you can see the hard line of his jaw as he clenches his teeth.

“I’m not the one, darlin’. You can’t compare me to them—I’m old, I’ve lived. Don’t think you gotta settle for me.”

Joel has sequestered himself to loneliness—after his separation from his wife, the loss of his daughter, he was content being alone. Living alone. Dying alone.

Drowned out by bad decisions and alcohol, he’s found himself regretting his choices once again, but not for the reasons he had hoped.

He didn’t regret you—his actions with you, but how the repercussions would affect you if your mother found out, his brother. There was no coming back, no explanation that could justify his actions.

But you’re sitting, pouting in his lap as your finger twirls around the string of his sleep pants and he knows that look—more, give me more.

Nothing would satiate that hunger.

“I’m not a virgin, you know,” you add as if it may magically heal things, but the next words out of your mouth have Joel squeezing at the flesh of your hips, words that make his cock pulse under his clothes, “I think you enjoy corrupting me, too. My mom put me on birth control the second she was able, afraid I’d turn out like her.”

Luckily, you hadn’t. She’d never let you live that down.

You press in further, a hand climbing up to press against the column of Joel’s throat, lips sliding against his as you whisper, “Do you wanna ruin me, Joel?”

All you get in response is a growl, deep and intense as he surges forward, kissing you soundly to shut you up.

It was a weight off your chest, a sharp breath as he slips his tongue into your mouth as you part your lips as his fingers pull at the base of your scalp, a sharp sting of pain drowned out by pleasure.

“Upstairs,” he ordered, mouth down your neck hungrily, “in your room, now.”

The heated, dark look in his eyes tells you that you weren’t going alone, his footsteps trailing behind you.

He splits you open with his thighs, already bare underneath him as he’s stripped himself of everything but his pants, sans his underwear he definitely wasn’t wearing, an unreadable expression on his face. Pinched, his brow furrowed as he lingered around you, hands pressing into the mattress but not you, careful that his hands didn’t stray too far again.

“Should I say my morning prayers?” You tease, your pointer finger trailing down the center of his chest, both of your eyes following the digit until it hooks into the waistband of his underwear, “Absolve you of some guilt?”

“It ain’t guilt,” Joel retorts, dark eyes flicking up toward you, “you really think all that prayin’ actually works?”

You shrug, “I dunno what I think anymore—what do you believe in, Joel?”

Joel chuckles lowly, ignoring your hand as it slips beyond the material to touch him, his cock heavy in your hands, feeling the surreality of the moment hit you all at once as his hips keen into the touch, a subtle gesture as his fists settle into the space beside your head.

“Ain’t never believe in nothing,” He responds quieter, “easier that way.”

You hum softly, nodding absently to his response as you force the final piece of clothing down his hips, his eyes never really leaving you—wandering, maybe, but you have his full attention.

“Come on, Joel,” You squander, giving his cock a light squeeze before your hand trails up his chest, fingers forming to the lines of his jaw as your fingers glide over his scruff, “Easier?”

“You’re brainwashed,” He admits, pausing to slip his hand between your bodies and drifting over your cunt before he slips two fingers inside of you without warning, a gasp ripping from your throat but quickly settling as his fingers work inside of you meticulously, dragging with gentle pressure against your walls, “can’t think for yourself without feelin’ guilt, can you?”

He’s making a mockery of the beliefs you’ve been under for years—you get it, you do. But, it seems to strike a nerve when you dig deeper, unsure why, amongst your building pleasure the taunting scripture slips from your lips in an attempt to rile him further.

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just—” Your voice wavers as Joel’s attention snaps to your soft words, eyes locked on his unreadable expression, “ and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousn—”

A tight squeeze at the cross around your neck does him in.

A familiar sound slips beyond his lips, a hungry and deep set growl as he breaks from you, manhandling you with force onto your stomach and in an attempt to muffle your antics and silence you, a hand pressed against the back of your neck, face pressed into the soft fluff of your pillow as his voice rumbles behind you.

“Ain’t gonna listen to that shit,” Joel gripes, his free hand binding to your waist as he lifts your hips up, back arched and ass up, breathing out a soft noise of protest as he squeezes at your skin, “—you done?”

You shake your head weakly, a small laugh bubbling from your chest as the full expanse of his hand slides over your cheek, pressing your face deeper into the pillow, his thumb tracing along the corner of your mouth.

“There’s no savin’ yourself from this, sweetheart,” Joel acknowledges, a vague but somehow crystal clear way of checking in, assuring there was consent to follow through—that you wanted this.

“I know,” You mumble around the finger that glides over your lip, a calloused thumb against soft, fleshy lips.

Joel presses inside of you with a low groan, mixed with a tight hiss as you clench around him instinctively, your eyes drifting shut as his cock fits inside your tight walls, both hands drifting to the pillow under your head and gripping tight as he begins a slow, steady snap of his hips in utter silence, forceful exhales coming from his nose as he fucks you from behind, noting the way your lips drift apart when he presses just a little too deep, the skin between your eyes scrunching up at the bridge of your nose.

His thumb presses inside of your mouth, against the inside of your cheek before pressing against your tongue, effectively silencing you, “Go on,” Joel taunts, “keep prayin’.”

Your eyes roll back as the hand gripping your waist travels over your stomach and toward your cunt, his middle finger drifting featherlight over your clit in slow circles, your grip in the weak cloth fabric growing tighter—you make an attempt, unintelligible mumbles around his thick finger, followed by a deep snicker of amusement from the man behind you, inside of you.

“Don’t try and convince me you believe that shit,” Joel tells you, “not when you’re beggin’ me to fuck you like this—’ve never been a saint, either.”

Eventually, your mind goes blank, a welcomed numbness as Joel fucks you into the mattress above a squeak boxspring in a home that didn’t belong to you, in a room that has only been yours for a short time, giving in to a forbidden temptation with a man who’s challenged every belief you’ve ever known.

He notices your attention drifting, removing his hand from your mouth, smearing the saliva over your breasts as he jostles you upright, your back pressed tight against his chest as you move against him lazily, feeling the deep, full snap of his hips as he breathes hot and heavy into your neck.

“Just this time,” He promises you, “no more teasin’, or lying—”

The preaching to you was rich, given his own actions. He must be speaking to himself, committing himself to it aloud. You nod regardless, knowing now that you’ve learned his weakness.

Because, like you, it was the unavoidable temptation.

“Another secret?” You tease, feeling the crest of your orgasm building in your gut as he squeezes at your breast, his soft groans evolving into throaty moans, a boisterous surprise to somehow who’s always so forlorn, an empty house with no reason to hide his deep and selfish need for pleasure, you giggle quietly through the force of your orgasm as you both collapse on the mattress, Joel’s hands barely catching himself to avoid the weight of his body pressing into you as he pulls out of you slowly, the bed creaking underneath the movement.

You feel candescent, shirt barely covering your body as you haphazardly drape it over yourself, watching as Joel pulled his sweatpants back up over his hips, his eyes catching on you in a way you’ve never witnessed, his come literally dripping down your thighs and he senses the shift in your expression, immediate guilt flushing your body and showing in the way your body curls in on itself, avoiding the eye contact he was offering.

He sees it, the way your brain is programmed to feel immediate guilt, shame, and as much as he’d like to think of a way to fix it, he knows that was something you had to work through on your own.

A shower would work for now, though.

Wash away the sin until the inevitable happens.

There is some normalcy that returns to your life as your classes resume, finding that time away from the Miller household was refreshing in a way. Tension with your mother was unavoidable, the wedding on the horizon and the impending truth threatening to come to light—your mother had done an excellent job as sheltering you, brainwashing you, and scaring you into behaving out of fear that you might be stuck down.

It all seemed small and finite now, that craving to break Joel down for your own pleasure, seeing the shell of a man he was now.

And he, of course, couldn’t even follow through with his own promise to himself.

Though, as you return for the short weekends, he doesn’t always seem like…Joel.

He drinks more, itching toward the end of September soon and a couple months back at school and when you aren’t buried in the sheets of your twin bed or locked away in the darkness of his room when you’re both home alone, he reeks of alcohol and silence.

He doesn’t seem angry or upset, but the sadness is like a wave.

It makes it easier to keep your distance, something Joel acts like he wants, but then he’s seeking you out in the dark again, bourbon on his tongue and you return the messy kiss he presses to your lips, trying to silence your own thoughts by occupying yourself with him.

But, he does sense your hesitancy.

“I’ll go,” He speaks into the darkness, a hand cradling your head as he squeezes at the base of your neck, a comforting gesture despite the cloud that shrouded him, “if you want me to.”

You’ve barely seen him all day, both of the brothers overwhelmingly forlorn, but you don’t pry.

“No, no,” You insist, hushed against his mouth as you seek out his eyes, glossed over and hooded, his shoulders twitching when your fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, “you just—you seem tired.”

It was a loaded word, one that Joel doesn’t touch or elaborate on. But, he was tired, physically. Taking on more shifts before the holidays approach, begging to keep himself occupied alongside his brother who was stressing for his own reasons. He’d come to you seeking a weird dichotomy of comfort and it made you feel warm inside, but a tinge of warning couldn’t be ignored.

“Just sleep here,” You suggest, “I’ll wake you early, before they’re up.”

Without protest, he nods.

You can’t explain how easily your bodies mold together on the too small mattress, like this was something you’ve done for years, staring up blankly at the ceiling as Joel snored quietly beside you.

–

“Hey, kiddo,” Tommy boasts from the kitchen counter as descend the stairs, making your pass through the fridge before you’re gone for another week, “school treatin’ you alright?”

“It’s fine,” You shrug noncommittally, ripping a banana from its bunch and reaching for the half empty jug of orange juice, pouring half a cup to sate your stomach, “how’s mom?”

Tommy feels the heaviness around the question, tensing as he sips at his coffee, “Stressed over the wedding, all the planning, ya know—“

“Yeah,” It’s lazy and short, but Tommy knows your relationship with her is less than favorable lately, sensing your desire for freedom and answers, truth rather than careful lies your mother has constructed around you for your safety, “uh, can I ask a question, actually?”

Tommy nods, hearing the faint creaking of the floorboard somewhere distant in the house.

“Is…Joel okay?”

Tommy seems surprised, but he masks it quickly.

“Oh, he…usually gets…worse around the anniversary of Sarah’s death,” Your eyes wander, clearly missing crucial information but your eyes drift toward the closed bedroom door that was vehemently off limits, always wondering but never questioning, “shit—we ain’t mentioned her to you?”

You shake your head.

“She died about five years ago, raisin’ her alone had always been tough on Joel but her dying…it’s been hard.”

“His daughter?”

He had a daughter.

I’m old, I’ve lived, the words echoing in your head.

“He…never mentioned her, you’ve never…”

“He won’t,” Tommy tells you, “can’t even bring her up to him most days—I thought I’d mentioned it to you but it must’ve slipped my mind, I’m sorry, kiddo.”

“No, don’t…don’t apologize.” You assure him, taking a sip of the tart juice and peeling slowly at the peel of your banana, “I guess that explains the bottles on the table when I come home every weekend.”

And the alcohol on his breath when he kisses you.

Tommy notes the way you so easily call the house home now, smiling slightly. But, he’s always been aware of his brother’s…problem, not sure how to help or fix the situation without an implosion happening.

In the distance, you can hear your mother calling out for Tommy, his eyes drifting toward the sound.

“Have a good week,” He pressed a gentle kiss at the crown of your head, squeezing at your shoulder before leaning over to speak under his breath, “—you should talk to your mom before you plan on taking that offer, by the way.”

Your attention perks up, his finger drifting toward the envelope hidden under a stack of placemats on the kitchen table before he’s interrupted by another shout from your mother, “I can handle the fallout for you, kiddo. Don’t worry.”

Tommy retreats and eventually, you do too. Snatching the letter up and stowing it away in your bag, you aren’t able read through it until later that night, Joel’s unsaved number lingering on the phone screen in your missed calls.

It was an internship at your dream job in Dallas, a flat rate pay out with six months of lodging covered while you got on your feet—but more importantly it was an escape.

You should be upset at Tommy for prying, opening the letter before you had a chance to peek at it yourself, but he’s sensed the tension for months. He loved your mother, but he cared for you, even in the tumultuous months he’s been around you both.

You were strong, independent, and far better off blossoming on your own without the hard grip of your mother and her undying but fickle faith.

The second call from Joel startles you back to reality, answering with a shaky finger.

“Didn’t say goodbye this morning,” Joel greets, only sounding slightly bitter.

You’re quiet for longer than Joel is comfortable with and he almost speaks again, apologizes, but you cut him off.

“Sorry…my mom, it seemed like she was already on her reign of terror and I didn’t…she’s hard to be around anymore.”

“I’m just messin’ with you, kid,” He replies, letting out a soft huff as he sat down in his worn-in recliner.

“Are they home?”

“Left about an hour ago, they’re movin’ stuff into the house, I guess? I don’t know,” Joel sounds disinterested and you share the sentiment, but then there’s a distinct snap of a bottle cap that you try to ignore.

Joel hears your lips part on the other end, “It’s been a long day,” It was the first time he’s outright acknowledged it, which was a step, but not what you needed.

“Tommy told me,” You blurt in frustration, “about her.”

“Listen, I don’t need you judgin’ me either. I get it enough from Tommy as is—“

“I’m not…I wasn’t,” You respond, confused, “I just, I wish you’d mentioned her, at least. Not that you owe that to me…but—”

Joel clears his throat and the bottle scuffs the table, undrank as he settles back into his seat.

“I got my own baggage, ain’t no sense dragging you into that,” Joel defends, “not with all you have going on.”

“If you can fuck me, you can talk to me too,”

It silences him effectively, “I’m not a child. I’m not your child. I’m an adult—“

“Where is this comin’ from? I’ve never said that—“

“I don’t know,” You sigh in exasperation, “It’s been a long day, Joel. I’m gonna head to bed, okay?”

You don’t wait for his response, hanging up on him with a frustrated finality, mad at yourself and him, reasons unclear—you haven’t prayed in months, but you find the urge as the guilt creeps in, wondering if Joel was the corruptor your mother had always warned you about.

They’ll come at your weakest and test your faith, and if you break, you’re just as feeble as the rest of the world without faith to guide them.

The week drags and you’d much rather be somewhere else, but you find yourself turning the doorknob to the Miller home and a Happy Birthday balloon floating into the open doorway, a contorted look of confusion on your face as your eyes land on the three adults in the living room.

“Are we celebrating early?” You look at your mother, who’s birthday is approaching in a couple weeks, but she’s quickly shaking her head.

“It’s Joel’s birthday, honey.”

“Oh,” Your eyes glide over the three of them until they land on Joel, “Happy Birthday?”

Joel hates the attention, clearly.

The next few hours are spent together at a fancy restaurant Tommy decides to treat everyone too, a nice gesture for his brother’s birthday, but it doesn’t dissipate the underlying frustration.

And Tommy, being a pushover for the sake of allowing his brother to enjoy his birthday, drinks alongside him—four beers down and a couple shots later, dinner finished and skipping dessert, everyone is heading back to the car in silence, though Joel does look considerably lighter in his expression, his normally furrowed brow now relaxed.

Your mother is quick to drag Tommy to their shared room when you’re home, giving you a gentle hug that you haven’t felt in months, strange and unsettling to your psyche. Joel relaxes onto the couch, kicking his boots off toward the edge of the rug before he’s searching around blindly for the remote, thumbing the button to turn on the television.

It illuminates the dim room and you find yourself standing there, unmoving, suddenly feeling completely out of place in a home you’ve grown comfortable in.

“You’re quiet,” Joel notes, not looking at you while he fumbles with his watch, twisting in on his wrist as he places a sock covered foot against the coffee table.

“And you’re drunk,” You retorted, the again unsaid but implied.

“Believe it ‘r not, I can handle myself. I know my limit,” Joel responds, “I’ve been cuttin’ back, I don’t need you tellin’ me what I can handle. You’re young, you wouldn’t understand anyways.”

“Guess so,” You reply lamely, stripping off your shirt down to the thin spaghetti top, the thick September heat seeping inside the Miller home, even as the sun set—and you can feel Joel’s eyes on you before you look at him, eyes lingering longer than they should.

There were often moments where he would fend off your advances, quiet moments at home alone when you would slip into his lap or behind him and he’d let you down easily, but he wasn’t always that strong—a weak man with temptation dangling in his face. He’s always been in the wrong from the beginning, allowing any of this to develop and further.

But, you’re feeling vindictive tonight—upset and angry at yourself, angry at Joel—no, frustrated.

And with Tommy and your mother turned in for the night, absolutely no sign of them resurfacing until morning, nothing was stopping you as Joel’s eyes bored into you and the slow rise and fall of your chest.

He’s always been cautious and safe, never while the house was occupied, only in quiet and enclosed spaces that he could lock the doors—that in the chance you might get caught he could lie or evade and not face the consequences, but even as you grow closer and climb into his lap, he doesn’t stop you.

Your hands grip his hair immediately, yanking his head back as you press your ass into his thighs and bring your lips to his jaw, mouthing against the line of his neck and around, pulling at the collar of his shirt to nip at his chest, nothing but his shallow breaths and the soft hum of the television to fill the air, the solid press of his hard cock against your inner thigh a warning sign.

You could end it here, leave him with the guilt that continued to grow within him.

You could drag him to his room, ride him over his sheets like he desired, a clandestine sight that would have any man on his knees—or so he’s told you.

Or, you seduce him here.

He was already nearly there, reaching for you as he leaned forward when you pulled back, pressing a hand into his chest, “I’m leaving, after the wedding,” Joel pauses, the furrow in his brow returning faintly, “I got an offer for an internship.”

“Well..that’s good, ain’t it?”

His hands squeeze at your sides as they travel and settle there, ignoring the obvious danger that the two could walk out at any moment, focused solely on you. It shouldn’t make you feel good, but it does. You shouldn’t want this, but you craved it.

“No, like—I’m leaving that night. To Dallas.” A long pause follows and Joel waits, watching as you glance down the hall, “I don’t know how to tell her.”

“Do you want to?” Joel asks.

You sigh softly, playing with the hem of his collar, “No, I don’t. Tommy told me he could deal with the fallout, but—”

“Tommy knows?”

You look at him with a tired roll of your eyes and a faint smile, “Yes, he does. He snooped and read the letter—he’s known I’ve wanted this opportunity for a while.”

“I didn’t think you two talked that much,” Joel replies honestly.

“We don’t, not always,” You admit, “not with my mom around—and he told me, about your drinking problem.”

Joel huffs quietly, scratching at his cheek as he looks away.

“I just—this isn’t…like, it isn’t also because of that, right?” You ask, “Does drinking make you feel less guilty about it?”

You know it isn’t the entire reason, but there is some suspicion. Given the constant lingering taste on his lip after the first instance together and the several that followed, a burgeoning problem of his own melding with the dangerous secrets you’ve been trying to keep.

“There’s no guilt,” It was the most confident you’ve heard Joel to be…ever. Not an ounce of hesitation in his tone, “We’re adults, we made a choice. But, I think there is a point where we have to realize this can’t work.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Joel awaits quietly, not giving you a nod but his eyes turn up in wait, his thumbs slipping under the fabric of your shirt to press into warm flesh.

“If they weren’t together—if your brother wasn’t going to be my stepdad, would you have thought twice? If we had met at a bar or something?”

“I don’t know,” Joel answers, unsure.

You sigh deeply, leaning into his eyeline to capture his lips, an unexpected kiss that grabs his attention, his hands climbing higher under your shirt in search of skin.

“I think you do,” You mumble against his mouth, “I also think you were vulnerable and you saw that I was too and you wanted to feel a little less lonely.”

Joel can’t find the words to respond, feeling like you’ve seen straight through him.

“So, let me help a little more,” You soothe his rapidly beating heart with your sultry tone, unbuttoning your jeans with slow movements, only removing yourself from him briefly to strip your jeans and underwear off before you return to his lap.

You wait until he finally got with the program and unbuttoned his own jeans, shifting them just far enough down his thighs that they’re out of the way, grabbing for the blanket draped over the couch to wrap around you and you almost protest, but the concentrated look on his face as returns your gaze short-circuits your thinking, fisting his cock as he slides it between your wet folds, pressing inside of you slowly, your slow breaths mingling together in each other’s mouth.

“Quiet,” He reminds you, “we have to be quiet.”

Easier said than done, you giggle against his lips.

“Says you,” You tease, lifting your hips slowly as he follows the movement, allowing you to lead, your hands pressing into the back of the couch, “I like hearing how bad you want it,”

Joel’s hand dwarfs your mouth as he covers it, eyes narrowing at your pointed choice of words and he snaps his hips into you harshly without warning, forcing out a yelp into his palm as your hands tighten into the cushion, canting your hips as you lift them in time with his thrusts.

He’s got his teeth digging into his bottom lip in an attempt to silence himself, eventually grabbing for your hand and covering his own mouth in desperation, wrapping his free hand around your back and pulling you to his chest, foreheads pressed against each other as you meld together, different emotions swirling as he commits this feeling, and your body, to memory.

Joel feels the familiar, cold touch of your dangle chain necklace, plain silver cross interlocked at the center of it, at this angle it nudges his nose with every thrust, a dainty piece of jewelry that he always took the time to tuck behind your neck—he’s never seen you without it.

He thinks for a moment, considering his action before he’s reaching to tuck it behind your head.

But, your hand stops him, placing it back center before you’re reaching behind to unclasp the necklace from your body, dangling it over the empty cushion beside you.

“It’s okay,” You can sense Joel’s confusion, worry— “I’m starting to figure things out for myself,” It’s intimate, the way you’re talking to him now, voice barely above a whisper as his hips rock gently to keep a slow place, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, “besides…the things I want you to do to me, it’s blasphemy, really.”

Joel snorts at that, finding the sudden burst of energy to snake his hands under your thighs, lifting you up slightly as he scoots himself further down the couch, feet planted flat on the ground and allowing you proper leverage to use his body just the way you desire.

It takes very little time to work him up, a deep growl suppressed behind clenched teeth as your fingers dig into his cheek where your hand is still tight over his mouth, riding him with a clear determination, his eyes softening and pleading—he’s right there and you can see it.

His eyes flutter, hand squeezing and kneading at your thigh in silent prayer.

Rich, you think. Maybe you’ve been worshiping wrong your entire life.

Your climax comes slowly, alongside his. It’s quiet, a long moment of drawn out sighs poured into each other’s skin, his achy groan a light reprieve to the moment as you climb off of him.

“Staying or going?” He asks after you’ve stood, blanket wrapped around your body.

“Depends,” Your finger dangle in front of his face, watching as he works his jeans back up his thighs, belt sitting unbuckled in his lap, “your room or mine?”

Joel nods with a smile, nudging you toward the hall.

–

Joel’s dangling the silver necklace in his hand as you exit the bathroom, hair damp and dressed in only a shirt—his shirt, climbing onto his bed while he approaches with an extended hand.

You take it silently, passing it off to his bedside table without a word.

“So, when do we have the talk?” You ask curiously, ripping the bandaid off immediately.

“Not tonight, if you don’t want to.”

Your brow pinches together as he slips under the blanket beside you, throwing the cover back to beckon you underneath. You oblige, sliding onto your knees to lean against his chest, forearm covering his abdomen as you rest your chin on your arm.

“I was thinking about starting deconstruction therapy,” You admit, scratching a fingernail at the patchy and fading emblem on his shirt, “It’s…silly, I know. But, I think it might help. I’m doubting—well, everything. I just need someone to talk to. A professional, I mean.”

“That really what you want?” Joel asks curiously, his fingers wrapping around your wrist gently, rubbing his thumb into the skin, “It ain’t because of me, is it?”

“I think I’ve been questioning things long before you, or even Tommy. I’m telling you because—I don’t know, I guess I want to hold myself accountable. So I don’t chicken out. Besides, you seem pretty good at keeping secrets.”

Joel shakes his head slightly in amusement, heaving out a long sigh as his eyes turn toward the ceiling, still favoring your touch as he continues to rub slow circles into your skin.

“I…also think you should get some help,” You add gently, “talk to someone about Sarah—doesn’t have to be me. I mean, Tommy is terrified to mention her, and thinks you’ll blow up on him. You’re…you’re an alcoholic, you know that? My mom was too, before she met Tommy.”

Joel keeps quiet, chewing at his bottom lip. It wasn’t a horrible sign, so you continue.

“She hid it really well, you…not so much.”

“So, holdin’ each other accountable then, huh?” Joel inquires, eyebrow raised.

“I can forgive your lapse in judgement when it came to me—the sex is…good,” You pause, considering your words, “really…really fucking good, but I think we’re using it to avoid things.”

“Think you can fix me?” Joel asks, with a tone of honesty in his voice, “Sweetheart, I’ve been broken for a long time.”

“Mend,” You emphasize, “you can heal—so can I. I think we both owe it to ourselves”

His hand engulfed the side of your face, the hot press of his skin against your cheek as you smiled against the touch, watching as he slowly returned the gesture.

“I think we do, sweetheart.”

I’ll try, for you—he thinks silently but doesn’t say. It doesn’t matter that his fatal attraction had turned into something of lasting admiration, because that would never work.

But, for you, he’d try.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #my writing #absolution

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logansargeantsbabymom · 8 months ago

Text

Lonely Christmas

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

summary: Lando and Y/N decide that they want to play a prank on their fans and the rest of the grid by hinting at breaking up over X (twitter)

warnings: Cursing & “Cheating”

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“hey babe, I have an idea.” I said with a smirk as I plopped myself on the bed next to my Formula 1 race winner boyfriend, Lando Norris.

“Oh no, this doesn’t sound good” Lando says chuckling as he props himself on his elbow to get a better view of me, before leaning down pressing a quick kiss to my lips

“mm, I think we should prank your fans and the grid.” I said with the biggest smile I’ve ever smiled in my life.

“and how do you suppose we do that, hmm?” Lando said, his eyes flickering between my eyes and my lips.

Sitting up and criss cross apple sauce, I stare into his soul “I think we should stage a twitter breakup,” I searched his face for some type of answer

“What? Is this a way of telling me you want to breakup without telling me you want to breakup?” He looks kinda hurt, which quickly prompts me to swing my legs over his body so i’m sitting on his lower torso.

“Absolutely not baby! i love you beyond the galaxy. I just think this would be funny,” i plead but Lando looks unsure “I’ll tell you what to say and all !”

“fine, but only if you let me eat you out, BUT you have to sit on my face” Lando knows I’m insecure about my weight and crushing him to death.

“oh! fine!!” I say plopping right off his body and landing on the bed with a huff. “so i’m gonna tweet something to indicate that we’re breaking up but not actually saying anything”

“and how are you gonna do that-” I quickly interrupt him

“make me cry” i say nonchalantly

“what?” Lando’s face reads 50 shades of Stunned “no, I promised you and your family that the one thing i’d NEVER do to you is make you cry.”

Hearing Lando admit that means the world to me, but i need him to stop being nice and make me cry. It doesn’t take much for me to cry and since Lando doesn’t want to make me cry, I’ll resort to the next best thing: thinking of my (very much alive) dog die.

Just a few seconds of thinking of my (breed/dog) die, the tears well up in my eyes and I let out a choked sob, before whipping my phone out and taking a picture before posting it on twitter with the caption

"nobody wants a lonely Christmas but I'm about to call it quits with you. Breaking up is at the top of my wishlist and baby you don't have a clue."

I flip my phone to show Lando with a smirk plastered on my face. "So, what'd ya think?" I question as I post it and wait a few seconds before twitter starts going absolutely nuts. " wait wait let me read you some of the comments I'm getting, 'slut4ln' says 'NO MOM AND DAD PLEASE STOP FIGHTING' haha look, here's another 'mother/n' said 'mother always knows wtf is up, Lando Norris count your days' !!" the chuckles leaving my lips are loud

"I think that I don't know how to respond to that on twitter," Lando says with a faint chuckle "here, how about you take my phone, type out what you want me to say and then let me read it before posting it." a smirk evident on his face as he hands me his phone, before putting said hand on my thigh, rubbing it up and down.

"What about this...?" I question as I'm typing

"You say our relationships fading and you've been thinking bout leaving and though I know it's the truth I just don't want to believe it. You've gotta be kidding me, are we really breaking up? We just picked out a tree, damn."

"Okay Y/N/N lets give it a second to spread, we have to get juicy comments before we keep going, oh. never mind. George is texting me asking me what the fuck I did and why am I arguing twitter about it"

"fuck it, ignore him. we need to make this believable." I say swiping George's message away. "Opinion on this?"

"wait wait, let me tweet something else before you tweet y/n/n. Here, read this"

"You haven't even left yet and I miss you. I was looking forward to the holidays with you. How could you do this on Christmas, girl that's so malicious? C'mon baby, please don't make me beg cause I can go and date your friend instead. Yeah, I'll put the nut in meg. But If you're thinking about leaving, then I already blew it. screw it, then I guess I'll have to beat you to it, bitch."

"OKAYYYY LANDOOOO LET ME STEP UP MY GAME!!!" I scream as I finished reading his reply after he hit tweet bouncing up and down on the bed in excitement.

"okay, okay what about this for me?" I question as I finish typing, turning my phone so Lando can read what I typed.

"I tell you I love you but I don't really mean it, cause after this Christmas sorry but I'm leaving you."

"I'm starting to feel like you're just soft launching a break up with us right now" Lando says "Why else would you gave suggested a fake twitter break up?"

"Baby, please. This is just for shits and giggles. AHH OH MY GOSH!! OSCAR'S CALLING ME" I screamed in panic as I declined the call. "Lando, I think you need to eat me up in the twitter beef again, put your pretty head to work and think of some insults for me."

"I'm almost done, but first I got a question. Why is it one week before Christmas you feel the need to mention a break up with me is in the process but still pending? Is it depending on your gift and what I'm spending? Or are you fishing for more compliments? Because to my astonishment, you're acting like little kid. Was it something I said?Sometimes my head stops thinking, when I say some stupid shit to you, you know I don't mean it, it's just the season, it's confusing, can we just get along?"

"LANDO MY COMMENTS ARE GOING CRAZYYYY! LOOK" I giggle in excitement as I flip my phone so he can scroll through the comments

slut4ln: MOM AND DAD PLEASE STOP! CHRISTMAS IS RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER AND I CAN'T DEAL WITH A DIVORCE RN

georgeswhore: I wake up from a nap to SEE THESE?!?!?!?!

leclercsgf: What the absolute fuck did they fight about that THEYRE BEEFING ON TWITTER FOR AND AIRING OUT A POTENTIAL BREAKUP???

>y/nforpresident: potential? honey I think they are done

Landoslefttoe: Lando kinda ate mom up though 😭😭

LewisHamilton: Answer your fucking phones now!

CharlesLeclerc: LANDO?? YOU CALL YOUR GIRLFRIEND "BITCH"??

CarlosSainz: Cabron, call me asap and fill me in

LoganSargeant: Does this mean I actually have a chance with Y/n?

"I'm choosing to ignore Logan's comment," Lando said flipping my phone back so I could read it. "When are we gonna go public and say it was a prank?" Lando asks as he readjusts himself on the bed, pulling me down and closer to him so we're cuddling

"We can tell them all tomorrow" I yawn as I cuddle closer to my boyfriend "goodnight handsome"

"Goodnight precious" lando whispers as he kisses my temple

<333333

idk what this is but 🎀😗

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101.

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSesvRpKqBaYY-Ow5IgHoD0gSX6OzJ03qGMXOhHUI6Xg1wfKaA/viewform.

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #lando norris #lewis hamilton #prank #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #lando x reader #mclaren #charles leclerc #f1 smau #f1 smut #mercedes #logan sargent fluff #logan sargeant

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l-starsz · 7 days ago

Note

hi, i just discovered your blog and you’re so good at writing!!

i have a request and you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, it’s a little long. but, what if reader and billie are on a late night driver after one of billie’s concerts and reader starts getting turned on by the vibrations of the car, since porsche’s are actually closer to the ground and billie notices and starts teasing her about it. you can add whatever you want!

a/n: thank you so much!!🩷 i hope this is good, i got carried away writing this ngl😭

applause filled the arena as billie ran off the stage. she ran backstage towards me and jumped into my arms. once we pulled away from the hug, we sorted all of her stuff out and then headed to her car. it was a pretty long drive home, but we were close enough that we didn’t need to stay in a hotel.

we sat there in comfortable silence for a little bit as billie drove, her hand on my thigh. i’d turned some music on in the background so that we weren’t in complete silence. while we were sat there, i was just thinking as i stared out the window, and took notice of the car. more specifically, i took notice of the vibrations that ran through the car.

i tried to think about something else, i didn’t want to get turned on when we weren’t close to home yet. nothing worked though. no matter how hard i tried to distract myself, my mind kept circling back to what i could feel beneath me. i felt myself begin to get wet, resulting in me squirming in my seat and squeezing my legs together.

billie glanced over at me, but didn’t say anything just yet, assuming i was just making myself comfy. i was trying hard to not make it obvious to billie that i was getting turned on, but was clearly failing. she glanced over at me again when i shifted once more.

“you good baby? seems like you’re a bit fidgety over there.” she smirked, keeping her eyes on the road, but also looking back to me every so often.

“i- yeah i’m good bils.” i quietly answered.

“you sureeee? i don’t know you’ve been moving in your seat a lot, seems like you’ve got something on your mind. almost like you’re getting turned on?”

i shut my legs tighter, trying to push the feeling aside, but it was no good as i felt billies hand travel higher up my thigh. her nails lightly ran across my skin as i groaned. i closed my eyes and laid my head back against the seat.

“what is it that’s got you horny, love? can you use your words and tell me please?”

“your hand on my thigh..” i mumbled.

“oh really? that’s interesting baby. anything else, hm?”

she knew exactly what had turned me on, she just wanted me to say it because she knew i’d get shy. i groaned and covered my face with my hands. she was trying to tease me.

“cmon angel. you can tell me.”

“the.. the vibrations from the car.” i whispered, my hands still covering my face.

i heard her giggle, beginning to move her hand up and down my thigh once again, carefully moving to my inner thigh and closer to where i was throbbing. she couldn’t do anything though since she was driving. so i had to just sit and wait until we were home whilst she continued to tease me.

“you’re so needy for me, huh? we’ve still got a while until we’re home my love.”

i whined and shifted around yet again, trying to escape the feeling. it was no use. the whole way home, billie just continued to tease me. by the time we actually got back, i was soaked. i’d practically soaked through my underwear.

as soon as i stepped foot in the house, i pressed my lips against billies. i needed her so bad. her hands fell to my waist as i almost fell against her. she led me to our room, carefully laying me down on the bed whilst her lips stayed against mine in a desperate kiss.

i tugged at her clothes, attempting to get them off of her. she undressed me, and then undressed herself. she looked so perfect. i was only left in my underwear, whilst billie was completely naked. her hand traveled towards my clothed pussy, two fingers lightly resting against my clit.

i whined and lifted my hips, trying to get her to finally touch me. i was desperate. i heard her laugh at how impatient i was being as she quickly pulled my underwear off, then gently pushed my hips back down.

“please billie. i need you so bad.” i whispered, ready to beg for her to do anything as long as she was touching me.

“what do you need?”

“i need you to touch me. please.” i whined.

almost immediately after hearing the words leave my mouth, she pushed two of her fingers into me, making me cry out. i knew it wouldnt take me long to finish for her.

she was curling her fingers inside me as quick as she could and when i thought the pleasure couldn’t get any better, my stomach contracted as i felt her mouth on my clit. she sucked, licked, and carefully bit it, making my walls tighten around her fingers and the feeling began to rise in my stomach. like a knot that was getting tighter after each passing second.

her free hand slowly moved to press against my stomach, making me more sensitive to her touch. i squeezed my eyes shut as her movements somehow got quicker. i needed to cum. i didn’t know if i could even get my words out though. whenever i tired to tell her, my words got caught in my throat and instead came out as moans and whimpers.

“b- billie!! can i please cum for you? i’m so close.” i almost screamed.

“of course baby. cum for me.” when she spoke, her voice vibrated against me, making me moan even louder.

my cum dripped down her fingers and coated her chin whilst her movements began to slow. she didn’t stop yet, helping me ride out my orgasm. once i’d completely come undone, i slightly pushed her head away, becoming too sensitive. her fingers stayed inside me for a minute as she placed gentle kisses up my body until she reached my lips.

“i’m so proud of you my pretty girl.”

a small smile came to my face as i answered her.

“i love you billie. so much.”

“and i love you so much.” she answered, “can i get you cleaned up now? it’s getting late and i can tell how tired you are now.” she giggled.

i nodded, closing my eyes and covering my face with my hands as she slowly and carefully pulled her fingers out. i immediately clenched around nothing, the slight sensitivity still there.

“okay angel, do you wanna have a bath? or are you too tired?” she asked. i moved my hands to rest on her waist as i sat up, feeling her move my hair from my face.

“i’m tired but can we have a bath anyway, please?” i whispered, leaning up for a kiss.

“of course.” she placed a gentle kiss against my lips, then lifted me into her arms and took me to the bathroom, sitting me down on the counter.

as she began to fill the bath up, and add bubbles of course, she came back to speak to me.

“you did so good for me, love. made me so proud.” she spoke in a soft tone, holding onto my waist.

“you made me feel so good. thank you.” i answered, burying my face in her neck and placing gentle kisses.

we stayed like that for a minute or so before i couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty. i didn’t touch her, i just let her help me.

“billie.” i mumbled against her skin.

“what’s up?” she asked, running her fingers through my hair.

“i didn’t touch you at all. can i-“

“baby, don’t worry about that, okay? you’re tired and it’s late, we can have a bath, get into bed, and then sleep if you want?” she smiled.

“but i want to return the favour..” i frowned.

“you can tomorrow, yeah? we’re both tired. let’s get some sleep and we can continue this tomorrow, alright?”

i nodded in defeat, kissing her neck again before she moved away to check the bath. i heard the taps turn off, then i was lifted into her arms and lowered into the bath. not long passed before she got in behind me, pulling me to rest against her chest.

we stayed in there for a bit, talking and helping each other clean up. she even helped me wash my hair (and of course i washed hers for her too). soon enough, we were getting out and both wrapped in towels as we giggled about how silly we looked.

we changed and immediately got into bed, cuddled up in each others arms. safe to say i was fast asleep within ten minutes.

#billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #fanfic #fanfiction #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish smut #smut #wlw smut #wlw post #wlw blog #wlw

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satorulovebot · 1 month ago

Text

so scarlet it was, maroon | chapter two

✧₊⁺ pairing — satoru gojou x journalist!reader

✧₊⁺ chapter summary — satoru comes home to his angry wife and he said some questionable stuff the night before. satoru meets suguru at a bar in shinjuku and they discuss what they should do with their nosy little journalist and they manage to come up with a plan on how they should deal with her, and it doesn't include the most moral of ways.

✧₊⁺ word count — 4.6k

✧₊⁺ warnings — nsfw (minors dni), alcohol use, drug mentions, manipulation, mentions of sex (not with reader)

✧₊⁺ notes — well hello to all my new readers this was very unexpected for me. i started this blog with max 4 readers interacting with my work (i love you btw) and now i have 1k interactions on my ssiwm masterlist which is crazy and anxiety inducing (i’m a wuss if you couldn’t tell). but thank you to my cursed seas babies who voted for the f1 gojo series and i thank them because they brought me here and i wouldn’t have kept writing without them and thank you for the lovely comments on the first chapter also short chapter because life longer chapter soon i promise :)

♪ on the floor — jennifer lopez ft. pitbull

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

previous chap. tokyo, japan | next chap. (coming coon)

The world around Satoru was hazy when he opened his eyes, barely able to make out the details of the ceiling above him. His head throbbed and pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He let out a groan before rolling over on the couch in a desperate attempt to block out the morning sunlight.

Where was he? Oh, right. His apartment. The couch. Again.

He remembered stumbling into the house at some obscure hour of the night, unaware of how he swayed as he tried to navigate the hallway of his home. Memories of the previous night came rushing back and all of a sudden, a conversation came to him—a memory of the curious face that sat across from him in the dimly lit bar, asking him questions he would usually brush off with a smirk. What was it he had said about her last night? Something about a cute, nosy journalist being at the bar. He could only hope he didn't say that out loud.

“Oh, look who finally decided to wake up." Hana stood above him, her arms crossed, glaring down at him, “How nice of you to finally come home.”

Gojou grunted, pushing himself up, though he instantly regretted it as a wave of nausea hit him. “Morning to you too,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can you keep it down? It feels like I’ve been hit by a damn truck.”

“Maybe that’s because you came home drunk out of your mind, yet again,” Hana snapped. “And stumbling around the house at two in the morning, shouting nonsense about some ‘nosy journalist’? Really, Satoru?”

He blinked slowly, trying to make sense of her words. Oh right, maybe he had gone on a bit too much about that girl at the bar last night, hadn’t he? What was her name? No, she never gave it to him, had she? Or had he just forgotten?

“I wasn’t shouting. And… she was just doing her job, asking questions. It wasn’t anything"

“Just doing her job? Is that what you call it now? Going to bars and flirting with journalists instead of coming home to your wife?”

He groaned, slumping back against the couch. “Hana, I wasn’t flirting with her,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s just a journalist. You know how it is.”

“Oh, I know how it is. I know exactly how it is. You spend every other night at some bar, ‘meeting’ people, and coming home like this.” She gestured at him, sprawled out on the couch, his shirt rumpled and hair a mess, the smell of last night’s whiskey still clinging to him. “And I’m supposed to just sit here and take it? Pretend this is normal?”

“Can we not do this right now?” he muttered. “It’s too early for a lecture.”

“A lecture? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you actually enjoy making a mess of everything. And let me guess, you were just at the bar for a ‘break’ from everything, right?”

“Yes, actually,” he shot back, finally sitting up. "I needed a break, Hana. Do you know what it’s like? Everyone expects me to be this… perfect person, and I'm not. And then I come home, and it’s more of the same.”

“So you’re the victim here? I’m sorry, but did I ask for this life of constant rumors and watching my husband stumble in drunk, muttering about some cute journalist?”

Did he really say that last night? He couldn’t remember, but if Hana said so… maybe he did.

“That’s not—Hana, it wasn’t like that. She was just… She’s just doing research on me for some project. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“Oh, of course. Just research. Because there’s nothing strange about you going off with some girl who’s practically a stranger and giving her everything she wants to know about your life while leaving me in the dark.”

He looked at her, genuinely surprised by her comment. “Hana,” he started slowly, “I don’t ‘leave you in the dark.’”

“Really? Then tell me, what about all the rumors, Satoru? The ones I have to read about in the papers? The ones I have to brush off every time someone asks if our marriage is ‘really okay.’ Do you have any idea what it’s like having to deal with that?”

Do you think I like having my life dissected by the media, or dealing with every fucking rumor about me? I didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” she shot back, “but you made it worse. Do you ever think about how your actions make me look? Every time you’re out drinking, showing up in those trashy tabloids with someone else, it’s me they look at, like I’m the one who can’t control her husband.”

“So what do you want from me, Hana? An apology? Fine. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I went out. I’m sorry I had a drink. I’m sorry I talked to some journalists. But I can’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

“You can’t pretend? Satoru, you’ve been pretending for years. You’re not fooling anyone but yourself.”

He stared at her, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. “Hana…”

“I can’t keep doing this, Satoru,” she said softly, her voice breaking just a little. “I can’t keep watching you spiral like this, hurting yourself, hurting me. I didn’t marry you so you could destroy yourself.”

Hana let out a shaky breath, running a hand through her hair. “You’re not the only one with limits, Satoru. And I think I’m reaching mine.”

Without another word, Hana turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

“Great job, Satoru,” he muttered to himself, dragging a hand through his hair.

He let his gaze fall around the room, landing on a few framed pictures scattered on the shelves. One photo caught his eye—a photo of his and Hana's engagement party. The two of them had looked so happy, so in love, but that was before he let the fame and pressure eat away at him and his marriage.

“God,” he muttered under his breath. He needed to get out before the walls began to close in on him. The last thing he wanted was to sit around in the empty house alone with his thoughts. Grabbing his jacket from the arm of the couch, he stood up, ignoring the fresh wave of nausea hitting him. With a quick glance down the hallway where Hana had disappeared, he slipped out the front door.

Satoru found Suguru in their usual spot—seated in the corner of a booth in a low-lit bar tucked away in Shinjuku. He was nursing a whiskey and a cigarette between two fingers, rolling the glass, and watching the ice melt. Satoru slid in across from him and ordered himself a whiskey.

“You look like hell,” Suguru said, his mouth twitching into a faint smile as he raised an eyebrow. “Long night?”

Satoru snorted. “You could say that.”

“Ah, the usual, then,” he replied, not even looking up. “Guessing it ended with a headache and Hana kicking you out onto the couch?”

Satoru grimaced, taking the glass of whiskey the server put down in front of him. “Something like that.” He took a long sip, letting the burn trail down his throat. “Or maybe I just wanted a break from the domestic life.”

“Right. Is that why you look like you’ve gone ten rounds with a wall and lost? What happened?”

“Same shit as always,” Satoru muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s pissed I was out last night. Probably more pissed that I came home talking about some journalist.”

“A journalist, huh? She’s probably wondering if she should be jealous.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly help by calling her ‘cute’ and ‘nosy’ in the same sentence. Not my best moment.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

"Tell me something I don't know." Satoru leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. "This girl… she's doing this project or something on me and TJR. She was in the press booth at the race yesterday and happened to be at the same bar as me after. Seemed a little too interested in getting into my head."

"Maybe she just wants a good story for her project. Or," He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table, "maybe she's looking for more than that. Journalists are like that, especially extra nosy ones. They'll dig until there's nothing left, then still find a way to bring things up."

"She wouldn't be the first," Satoru scoffed.

“What exactly did she ask you about? Anything too close for comfort?”

Satoru swirled the whiskey in his glass, thinking. "To be honest, Suguru, I can't even remember half of what she said because I was too busy staring at her tits."

"Fucking Christ, Satoru. The hell?"

"What? She's got nice tits," he shrugged. "But in all seriousness, I think she was just asking the basics at first… and I might have opened my mouth a little too much."

"Sounds like she's already done her homework. If she's that determined, she's not going to stop at surface-level questions. Do you think she knows about all of it?"

Satoru knew what he was referring to.

“I don’t know, maybe. But if she is, she’s damn good at hiding it.”

“Then maybe you should start doing the same,” Suguru said quietly. Keep her close. See what she knows.”

“You’re saying I should let her in? What the hell do you think she’s going to do if she gets any closer?”

"You don’t have to let her in. Just make her think you are. Play the game, Satoru. You can be charming when you want to be. Distract her, keep her off your trail. If she’s nosy, then give her a story that’ll satisfy her and keep her from digging deeper. You’ve got the upper hand here; use it.”

Satoru thought over Suguru's suggestion, the gears in his mind turning. It wasn’t a terrible idea. It was probably his best option. If he was going to stay ahead, he’d have to play it better than her.

“Alright,” Satoru said, setting his glass down. “I’ll get close. Make her think I’m letting her in, give her just enough to chew on. And if she does know more than she’s letting on, maybe I can find a way to turn it against her.”

“Now you’re thinking like a true strategist. Just remember, don’t let her get under your skin. Journalist's loyalty is to their story, not to their subject."

Suguru's smirk widened, raising his glass in a mock toast. Satoru clinked his glass against his before downing the rest of the whiskey.

You had decided to get a closer look at the in's and out's of how Tokyo Jujutsu Racing worked. And for that, you needed to go to TJR's headquarters. You somehow managed to get your professor to get you inside the place, although it wasn't easy and he said your payment was a good project. The place was sleek and modern, with open spaces and luxury design elements. It was a playground for the rich as much as it was a workplace.

Earlier, you had been asking the staff about Gojou Satoru's training and habits, hoping to get some good information from them. They were surprisingly open to answering your questions, and you got some more information for your project, which was overall great.

Your media pass, which had thankfully been upgraded, hung around your neck as you waited for your tour guide to take you around the place. You decided to roam around for a bit while you waited and that led you down a hallway with team posters and trophies lining the walls.

You were so lost in your observations that you didn’t even realize someone had come up behind you. “Enjoying the view?”

Startled, you turned to find none other than Gojou Satoru leaning casually against the wall. He was dressed in his team's uniform, the red and black accentuating his tall figure, with dark shades covering his eyes.

He was probably high.

“Didn’t think of you as the observant type."

You composed yourself before speaking, “I'm a journalist. I like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“And you think you’ll figure that out by staring at the walls?”

“Could be. I think they tell you a lot.” You shrugged. "Like how serious the team is about their image. Or how much they care about their past wins and not their current ones. That kind of thing."

“Oh? And what do you make of me, then?”

“Still deciding. I'd like to think you're more than a drunken idiot."

"I see you still remember that, unfortunately."

“That’s what a good journalist does. They remember."

He pushed himself off the wall, straightening up to his full height. “Well, since you’re here to observe, why don’t I give you something more to write about?”

Before you could respond, he turned on his heel and motioned for you to follow him. You hurried to keep up, glancing around as he led you through the winding corridors. Eventually, you entered a room with a massive window overlooking the racetrack.

Gojou leaned against the railing, gesturing to the track below. "So, this is where the magic happens. The place where we come to win."

You nodded, taking in the view. “It’s impressive, I’ll give you that. But it takes more than just a fast car to win, doesn’t it?”

"Oh, absolutely. It takes balls of steel, the reflexes of a god, and just the right amount of craziness. All of those, fortunately, I happen to possess.”

“Modesty isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

“Not when you’re the best."

"Right. The best has an attitude I see."

A silence hung in the hair for a few moments as you studied him.

“So, are you planning to spend the rest of your time here psychoanalyzing me?”

“Depends. Are you planning to keep giving me things to analyze?”

“Touche. Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

At that moment, a team member entered the room, interrupting the moment. "Gojou, they’re ready for you on the track."

Stay here,” he said. “You’ll want a good view of this.”

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the observation room. You watched as he made his way down to the track, confident as ever with not a care in the world either.

Cocky Bastard.

You stood in the observation deck for a little before you saw Gojou

You stayed in the observation room, your eyes fixed on the scene below. You saw Gojou greet a few team members, exchange words with his pit crew, and slip into the driver’s seat of his car.

Gojou maneuvered effortlessly, weaving through turns and accelerating with insane amounts of speed. You couldn’t deny, he was talented and he had clearly worked his ass off to get here as his talent isn’t something that can be taught.

After about forty-five minutes of observing Gojou racing, he brought the car to a halt and hopped out of the driver's seat. You watched him walk into the garage and disappear out of sight, presumably going to speak to his crew.

You couldn’t deny it—there was something magnetic about him.

Your pen scratched against your notepad as you scribbled down every single detail possible.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, his tall frame standing in the doorway.

“Eh,” you shrugged.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means it was okay you ass. It gave me something for my project but nothing really noteworthy.”

“You’re lucky you know that? Not many people get to see me in action.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Okay? I’m not like many people if you couldn’t tell.”

“Clearly,” he scoffed.

“Do you know you’ve racked up more racked up more fines and close calls than any other driver in the league this season?”

“Look, sweetheart,” he said, voice low, “everyone out there knows I can handle the shit I do out there. Besides…” He trailed off. “People love a driver who’s a bit dangerous. Keeps things exciting.”

You met his eyes, holding his gaze without blinking. “You think the world loves you, huh? Interesting. Because from what I’ve read, people seem split between calling you a genius and calling you a liability.”

“Hm. Is that so? Do you believe that?” he replied.

“Yes, and you would know that if you let me interview you properly.”

“Okay how about this,” he glances down at his watch. “We can meet up in the parking garage here in about an hour and you can ask me anything you want for thirty minutes.”

Wait What?

“Uh… Okay, I think I can make it,” you mumbled.

“Great! See you in an hour sweets.”

The roar of an engine echoed through the underground parking lot, the sharp screeching of tires signaling the arrival of the Gojou. You leaned against the concrete pillar, your arms crossed and your foot tapping impatiently. He was late.

You’d waited over an hour, hoping he’d attend the interview he promised you.

When his sleek black Porsche 911 came into view with his window rolled down, you got even more pissed off than you already were

“Glad you could make it,” you called out, voice tinged with sarcasm.

He stretched, not even acknowledging your tone. “What can I say? Traffic was a nightmare.”

“Sure,” you replied dryly, your patience wearing thin. “We were supposed to meet an hour ago. Some of us value punctuality.”

He pulled off his sunglasses, revealing those piercing blue eyes that could disarm almost anyone. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get another word out, he walked right past you, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Give me a sec,” he waved his hand over his shoulder. “Gotta take care of something.”

“Wait—” you started, but he was already striding off, leaving you standing there, seething.

The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. Your annoyance morphed into frustration. After waiting a bit longer, you decided enough was enough. If he thought he could blow you off, he was in for a rude awakening.

Determined, you followed the direction he’d gone. The echo of your footsteps bounced off the concrete walls as you weaved through the garage and into the back corridors of the venue.

“Mr. Gojou!” you called out. “This isn’t funny. Where the hell are you?”

You rounded a corner and stopped in your tracks. The faint sound of laughter—his unmistakable laugh—came from behind a partially open supply closet door a few feet ahead. You narrowed your eyes, creeping closer.

At first, you thought maybe he was on the phone. But as you drew nearer, it became painfully clear that this wasn’t a casual conversation.

“Mmm, you’re so bad,” a woman’s voice purred, followed by the unmistakable rustle of fabric.

Your stomach sank. No. He wouldn’t. Not right Now.

Would he?

Against your better judgment, you stepped closer, your movements quieter now. Peeking through the crack in the door, you instantly regretted it.

There he was, pressed against the back wall of the closet, shirt unbuttoned, and his hair disheveled. His hands were tangled in the hair of a woman whose face you couldn’t see, her body pinned against his as they made out with a fervor that bordered on obscene.

Was this seriously how he’d chosen to spend the time he owed you for your interview? The audacity was almost impressive.

You cleared your throat loudly, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the confined space.

The woman gasped, pulling away from him in shock. Gojou, however, turned his head lazily toward you, his expression unreadable. For a split second, there was something in his eyes—a flicker of annoyance, maybe even embarrassment—but it was quickly replaced by his usual, smirk.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite journalist.”

You folded your arms tightly across your chest, glaring at him. “Seriously?”

The woman, clearly flustered, muttered something about leaving and quickly ducked out of the room, her heels clicking against the floor as she disappeared down the hallway.

He sighed, buttoning up his shirt. “What?” he said. “You’ve never seen two consenting adults have a little fun before?”

“Fun?” you snapped. “We had an interview. You made me wait for over an hour before you showed up and then you go and do this?”

He shrugged, unbothered. “You’re the one who followed me. Maybe I would’ve shown up if you’d just stayed put. Plus, I had actually agreed to meet her here before I promised you the interview.”

“You make no fucking sense, do you know that?”

He grinned, running a hand through his hair, which only made it look messier. “I get that a lot.”

“Do you even care how this looks? You’re already under a microscope with all your scandals, and now this?”

“Why do you care so much? You writing a piece on my love life now, too?”

“No, but the media sure as hell is. What does your wife think of this? Of your reputation?”

“Reputation’s overrated,” he said, brushing past you as he headed for the door. “People are gonna think what they want, no matter what I do.”

You turned to watch him leave, your fists clenching at your sides. “Maybe if you gave them less to work with, they’d think better of you,” you called after him.

He paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice low and tired. “This is who I am. Take it or leave it.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone in the empty hallway, your heart pounding and your mind racing.

The sound of footsteps reverberated through the corridor as you leaned against the cold, concrete wall, still processing what had just happened. You were about to leave and write off this night as yet another chapter in the disaster that was Gojou Satoru.

But then, you heard his footsteps return.

“You still here?” he called out, voice echoing through the silence.

You didn’t move. “Should I be?”

He walked towards you, his gait relaxed, almost predatory. “Depends.” He stopped a few feet away, eyes fixed on yours. “You want a story for your project or what?”

You frowned, arms still crossed. “I’ve already seen more than enough tonight.”

“Come by my garage tomorrow. I’ve got something to show you. Something you can use.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“Fine. Tomorrow. But this better not be another waste of my time.”

“You won’t regret it.”

The smell of motor oil and metal hung in the air the moment you stepped inside the dimly lit garage. The concrete floor was stained with years of grease with tool scattered across the workbench. The garage was big, to say the least, there were rows of high-performance cars lining the walls, their glossy bodies gleaming under the garage's fluorescent lights. It was a bit of a mess inside the garage, as there were different car parts strewn across the garage.

Gojou stood beside it, sleeves rolled up, grease smudged on his forearms. The sight was so out of place.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show up,” he drawled, tossing a wrench onto a nearby workbench with a clatter.

“Neither did I,” you shot back, arms crossed. “So, what’s the big secret? Planning on showing me how you avoid drug tests?”

“Always so sharp. No, this...” He gestured to the car. “This is one of my hobbies.”

You walked closer, eyeing the vintage vehicle with skepticism. “You? Fixing cars? Sounds like a PR stunt.”

He wiped his hands on a rag, smirking. “You think everything I do is a stunt?”

“You haven’t given me a reason to think otherwise.”

“Careful, sweetheart. I might start thinking you’re obsessed with me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Get over yourself. I’m here for my project, not for you.”

He leaned casually against the car, arms crossed over his chest. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.

“So, what’s the deal with this thing?”

“It was my dad’s. He used to take me to the track in this.”

“And you think this will make a good addition to my project? What, ‘Gojou Satoru: The Man Behind the Wheel’?”

People love a good redemption arc. Makes me more... relatable.”

You snorted. “You? Relatable? That’s a stretch.”

He pushed off the car, stepping closer again, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe you just haven’t gotten to know me well enough.”

“Or maybe I’ve seen enough to know exactly who you are.”

His smile faltered, just for a second. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

“I think you’re a mess hiding behind a pretty face and a fast car.”

“You might be the first person who’s ever said that to my face.”

“Good. Someone needed to.”

…

“You know, I could help you relax a bit. Take the edge off.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Seriously? That’s your move? Pathetic.”

He grinned, unbothered by the insult. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“Actually, I can. And I will.” You turned away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Cold as ever,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I like it.”

“Good for you.” You grabbed your bag, ready to leave. “Thanks for the... insight. I’ll be sure to include ‘Gojou Satoru: Amateur Mechanic’ in my report.”

“You really don’t give a shit, do you?”

You paused at the door, glancing back over your shoulder. “Not about you.”

You barely made it five steps outside the garage before his voice called after you. "Running away already? Thought you were supposed to be fearless."

You stopped, the night air cool against your skin. Turning slowly, you saw him leaning against the garage doorframe.

“I’m not running, Gojou. I’m just done wasting my time.”

"You say that, but here you are. You could've written this off as another scandal of mine or another fall from grace. But you’re still digging. Makes me wonder why."

“Because you’re a story people want. A cautionary tale. People love watching someone like you crash and burn.”

“And here I thought you saw me as more than just some headline.”

“You’re not that special.”

“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

“What’s your deal, Gojou? Really,” you asked, voice softer now. “Is this all a game to you?”

“Everyone’s playing a game. I just play it better.”

“And what happens when you lose?”

He stepped closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. “I don’t lose.”

“Everyone loses eventually. Even you.”

“Well then,” he said. “We will see.”

He turned, walking back toward the garage, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You coming or not?”

You frowned. “What?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve got something else to show you. Unless you’re too scared.”

You hesitated, every instinct telling you to walk away. But damn it, you couldn’t. There was something here, something you needed to understand and against your better judgment, you followed him back inside.

Gojou walked over to the workbench, picking up a small, silver object. He held it out to you.

“What’s this?” you asked, eyeing it warily.

He shrugged. “Figure it out. You’re the journalist.”

“Why are you giving this to me?”

“Maybe I’ll let you know the truth. Or maybe I just like fucking with you.” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Before you could respond, he walked away, disappearing deeper into the garage. You stood there, the key clutched in your hand. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot. Gojou Satoru was a puzzle, a mess of contradictions and lies. And you were going to unravel him, piece by piece.

ssiwm taglist: @ryutotsukai0824 @starlostwish @jaemissso @yuminako @satoryaa @qyuin @vm4879bb-blog

note: if you asked to be added to the taglist and i cannot tag you please turn on your tags :)

taglist status: open

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojou satoru x y/n #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru #gojo x you #gojo saturo #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader

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revelboo · 2 months ago

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Rambles/ clarification of my nonsense

• I just wanted to go ahead and clarify something before you guys make the connection between the TF One Megatron fic and the latest Thundercracker bit and start asking. First off, I have a fated mate series I write. I do love that trope, but I have an issue with how it’s handled sometimes so I will gently poke fun at it from time to time.

• I don’t like the insta-love eyes meeting across a room and falling hopelessly in love that some novels incorporate. I prefer love/affection to be earned over time through actions. Insta-love always comes across to me as losing a piece of yourself to another person, losing free will. Instant attraction or lust? I can work with that, tie it to a sense of belonging that keeps dragging you into that person’s gravity whether you want to be there or not. Just because it’s fated doesn’t mean it’s perfect or easy. I want the characters to clash, to fight that sense of need and maybe even resent that bond at first. Slowly building up trust and getting to know each other.

• If I write more TF One characters, I’ll probably use fated mates in that universe because I’m a gremlin and I like writing conflict. I wouldn’t mind writing that version of Starscream, B127, or Optimus Prime at some point.

• This blog started as a venting space. I needed to work on manuscripts, but I was so burnt out and my usual tactic of just swapping to a different project wasn’t working. I’d open the documents and just stare at the screen in dread. So, I wrote a silly little Starscream snippet, because I used to write fanfiction on FFN years ago under a different handle. And I missed writing silly, self indulgent nonsense that didn’t have to be perfect. The quick bullet point snippets I do are actually how I quickly get scenes down to expand later.

• I only meant to make a few characters and scenarios and then go back and start fleshing them out like a properly formatted story. Then you guys started asking questions, asking about different characters. So I just kept going, because I honestly missed writing for fun, for myself. Nothing serious, just telling a story to amuse myself. I needed an outlet for the stress and this is it.

• So, thank you guys so much. I’ll keep these going as long as folks want to read them, because I really did miss the Transformers community. There’s a sense that when you swap to professionally writing, you’re not supposed to keep doing the fanfiction stuff. You’re supposed to grow up and just write novels, nothing else. And that’s why I stopped ten years ago, but this makes me happy. I can do both and it’s not like I follow normal writing rules anyway. I’ve been told my writing can be too visceral, too much like a stream of consciousness instead of a literary work. That used to bother me, but that ship’s not only sailed, it caught on fire and sank with no survivors. Never been great at following rules anyway.

• And maybe someone else needs to hear that. You don’t have to stop what you enjoy because it’s ’unprofessional.’ Keep it separate, but keep doing it if it makes you happy. It shouldn’t be a trade off.

#transformers x reader #rambles

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xomakara · 15 days ago

Text

After Midnight

SUMMARY | You are on a blind date, and the guy turns out to be a total jerk. Increasingly uncomfortable, but too polite to get up and leave, you are grateful to be rescued by Yangyang, the cute college frat boy in your class and the object of your affections, who comes over and gives you an out.

PAIRINGS | Yangyang x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE | smut, college au, non-idol au, blind date gone wrong

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), fingering, slight dirty talk, praising, vaginal penetration

LENGTH | 8,887 words

TAGLIST | ---

NETWORKS | @k-vanity @ksmutsociety

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Finally managed to get something written for Yangyang! Finally! Thank you @shadowkoo for the beautiful banner! I hope you all like it and enjoy it 💚

The dimly lit bar feels like a scene out of someone else’s life. The hum of conversation buzzes around you, but it feels distant, muffled by the tightening knot in your stomach. You shift uncomfortably on the barstool, your fingers tracing the condensation on your glass. Across from you sits Wooseok—your blind date. A guy who seemed charming over texts but now drips with an arrogance so thick it could coat the walls.

“So,” he says, leaning back arrogantly, his smirk as cocky as his tone. “You into sports? Or are you one of those artsy types?”

You force a smile, trying to mask the irritation clawing at you. “A little of both, I guess.”

His laugh is sharp, dismissive. “Yeah, I heard that one before. Bet you love yoga or something, right? All that ‘namaste’ crap.”

Oh god. You glance at your half-empty drink, wishing it were stronger, faster. Anything to numb this awkwardness. Why did you agree to this? Why didn’t you just ghost him when his condescension became clear over text? But no, you’d been raised too well for that. Too polite. Too much of a people-pleaser. And now here you are, stuck.

He picks up the thread again, his voice rising above the ambient noise. “Anyway, I’m more of a gym guy. You know, real fitness. Not that flaky stuff. Gotta stay in shape, especially if you want to keep up with me.”

You nod absently, your eyes darting across the room. Relief floods through you as you spot Yangyang, the cute frat boy from your class. He’s sitting with a group of friends a few tables over, laughing and sipping beers. His smile lights up the room, and you feel a pang of longing.

If only this were a date with him.

As if sensing your gaze, Yangyang glances over. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else fades away. His lips curl into a reassuring half-smile, and you feel a flutter of hope. Maybe—just maybe—he’ll save you from this nightmare.

But then your date leans closer, his cologne overpowering even the faint smell of beer and smoke. “So, what do you say we get out of here? Maybe grab some dessert? My treat, of course.”

His tone is smooth, almost too smooth, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your skin crawl. You open your mouth to decline, but the words catch in your throat. Before you can muster a response, Yangyang stands up, his attention shifting fully to you.

“Y/N!” he calls out, his voice warm and playful. “How’s it going?”

Your date frowns, his annoyance obvious. “Who’s this guy?”

You feel a surge of gratitude as Yangyang approaches, his presence radiating confidence.

“I’m Yangyang,” he says, extending his hand to your date. “A friend of hers. Classmate, actually.”

Your date shakes his hand reluctantly, his jaw tight. “Nice to meet you.”

Yangyang’s grin widens, and he turns to you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You weren’t answering my texts earlier, so I figured I’d come find you. What’s the deal? Having fun?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift. But then you realize—he’s giving you an out. A way to escape this unbearable situation. “Oh, uh… yeah, sure. It’s been… interesting.”

Yangyang chuckles, his gaze flicking between you and your date. “Well, I hate to interrupt, but we’ve got that group project meeting tomorrow, and I need to go over some notes with you. You free to head out now?”

There’s a pause, and you can practically see the gears turning in your date’s head. Finally, he straightens up, his pride clearly wounded. “Sounds like you’ve got plans. Guess I’ll let you go.”

You stand quickly, relief washing over you. “Thanks for… uh, dinner? Drinks? This.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, no problem. Have fun with your… homework.”

Yangyang steps closer, his arm brushing yours as he guides you toward the exit. “Don’t be rude, man. Have a good night.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, once you’re out of earshot.

Yangyang grins, his dimples deepening. “No problem. Couldn’t let you suffer through that alone. You looked like you needed rescuing.”

You laugh softly, the tension easing slightly. “You have no idea. How did you even know it was me?”

“Oh, I saw you walk in earlier,” he admits, his voice lowering. “Figured I’d wait a bit, see how things went. When things got weird, I knew I had to intervene.”

You glance at him, your cheeks heating. “That’s… kind of amazing, actually.”

He shrugs, looking away briefly. “Happens to the best of us. Anyway, you okay? Want to grab some coffee or something? My treat.”

Your heart skips a beat. Coffee? With him?

“I’d like that,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

You both step outside, the cool night air hitting your faces. Yangyang walks close enough that both of your arms brush occasionally, sending shivers down your spine.

“So,” he says, his tone light but teasing. “What’s next?”

You turn to him, your pulse quickening. “Depends,” you reply, feeling bold suddenly. “What do you want to do?”

“Funny you should ask,” he whispers, his voice low and husky. He meets your gaze, his eyes dark and intense. “Because I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

Before you can respond, he steps closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

You swallow hard, your heart racing. “Yes.”

He smiles faintly, his hand reaching out to lightly touch your waist. “Good. Because I don’t wanna take this slow.”

And then, without waiting for an answer, he presses his lips to yours. His kiss lingers on your lips, a sweet, dizzying sensation that makes your knees weak. You glance up at him, his dark hair catching the faint glow of the streetlights, and he grins, a playful glint in his eyes.

“So,” he says, his voice light but teasing, “coffee? Or do you want to see if I can make this even more interesting?”

You laugh softly, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement. The date with Wooseok feels like a distant nightmare now, washed away by Yangyang’s effortless charm.

“Coffee sounds good,” you reply, tilting your head slightly. “But if you’re trying to impress me, you might have to work harder than that.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, and nudges you playfully. “Challenge accepted.”

The two of you walk side by side down the dimly lit sidewalk, the quiet hum of the city surrounding you. Yangyang leads you to a small, cozy café tucked away from the main street, its windows glowing warmly. Inside, the air smells of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries, and the soft murmur of conversation fills the space. A young barista behind the counter glances up with a bright smile as you approach.

“Hey, Yangyang,” the barista says, their tone friendly but subtly flirtatious. “Long time no see. What can I get for you tonight?”

Yangyang smiles back, leaning casually on the counter. “Hey, Ruby. Two coffees, please—something strong. And maybe a slice of that chocolate cake.”

“Coming right up,” Ruby replies, their fingers already moving deftly over the espresso machine.

As Ruby works, Yangyang turns to you, his expression shifting to one of curiosity.

“So,” he begins, his voice dropping just enough to feel intimate in the bustling café, “what made you agree to a blind date with him? He seemed… not your type.”

You sigh, shaking your head as you think back to Jake’s arrogance. “I don’t know. I guess I thought it was worth giving it a shot? But yeah, he was… not my type. At all.”

Yangyang nods, his gaze lingering on you as if he’s trying to read something deeper. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. Not when you’ve got me around.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you meet his gaze, feeling a sudden intensity in the air between you. Before you can respond, Ruby sets down two steaming mugs on the counter, each topped with a swirl of foam.

“Here you go,” Ruby says, sliding the plate with the chocolate cake toward you. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Yangyang says, taking the mugs and handing one to you. “Let’s grab a table.”

You follow him to a small corner booth, the dim lighting casting shadows that make the space feel private. As you sit across from him, the warmth of the mug in your hands contrasts with the coolness of the night outside. Yangyang takes a slow sip of his coffee, watching you over the rim of his cup.

“So,” he says again, setting his mug down carefully, “tell me something about yourself. Something real.”

You raise an eyebrow, feeling both amused and intrigued by his directness. “Something real? What kind of question is that?”

He shrugs, leaning back in his seat, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “You seem like someone who doesn’t open up easily. So, I’m curious. What’s something most people wouldn’t know about you?”

Your heart skips a beat at the question, and you shift uncomfortably, unsure how much you want to reveal. But there’s something about the way Yangyang looks at you—calm, attentive, and genuine—that makes it hard to resist.

“Okay,” you say slowly, picking at the edge of the cake with your fork. “I… write poetry. Like, really bad stuff, mostly. But it helps me process things.”

Yangyang’s lips curl into a slow, appreciative smile. “That’s pretty cool. Do you ever show it to anyone?”

You shake your head, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks. “No. It’s just… for me. Private.”

He nods thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving yours. “Fair enough. Maybe one day, though, you’ll let me read some. If you want to.”

The suggestion hangs in the air, heavy with possibility, and you find yourself wondering what it would be like to share that part of yourself with him. Before you can dwell on it too much, Yangyang reaches across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

“You don’t have to answer that,” he says softly, his touch sending tingles up your arm. “But I hope you know I’d listen. To anything you wanted to say.”

You swallow hard, feeling the heat of his words settle deep in your chest.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yangyang’s expression shifts, a flicker of something raw crossing his face before it settles into a gentle smile.

“Maybe because I like you,” he admits, his voice low and sincere. “And maybe because I saw the way he was treating you, and I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to fix it. For you.”

The honesty in his words leaves you breathless, and you realize, with a jolt, that you’ve been holding onto so much tension since the start of the night. With him, though, it’s different. Easier. Like you can finally exhale.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, I did,” he replies, his voice firm but warm. “Because you deserve better than that. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to show you how much better.”

The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and you find yourself nodding slowly, a knot of emotion tightening in your throat.

“Okay,” you manage to say, your voice shaky.

Yangyang’s smile returns, brighter this time, and he leans forward, his hand slipping beneath the table to rest on your thigh. The contact sends a spark through you, and you bite your lip, glancing up at him with uncertainty.

“I really like you, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice filled with promise. "Tell me if I’m moving too fast.”

Your pulse quickens, and you feel the weight of his hand on your leg, warm and deliberate. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

He laughs softly, his breath feathering against your cheek as he closes the distance between you. “Like I said before, I don’t wanna take this slow.”

And then his lips are on yours again, soft and insistent, pulling a quiet gasp from deep within you. His hand tightens slightly on your thigh, drawing you even closer, and you melt into the kiss, your fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

The world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the electric hum of connection. His tongue traces the curve of your bottom lip, and you part your mouth willingly, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathless. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire, and he presses his forehead against yours, his breath hot and uneven.

“God, you’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice ragged. You don’t have the chance to respond before he speaks again, his voice thick with urgency. “We should go somewhere quieter. Somewhere we can focus on each other.”

Yangyang’s hand slips into yours, his fingers interlacing with yours as he leads you out of the café. The cool night air nips at your skin, but his touch is warm and grounding, a steady anchor in the otherwise chaotic evening. His hoodie swishes against his jeans as he walks, and you can feel the faint hum of excitement radiating off him.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice just above a whisper, curious and a little nervous.

He glances at you, his smile soft and mischievous. “Trust me?”

You hesitate for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”

He squeezes your hand tighter, like he’s trying to reassure you without saying it aloud. And then he breaks into a light jog, tugging you along with him. You don’t question it, following his lead with a laugh bubbling up in your chest. There’s something freeing about running through the streets with him, letting go of all the awkwardness and tension from earlier tonight.

The park comes into view after a few minutes, its gates already closed for the night. But Yangyang doesn’t seem fazed. He pulls you along the iron fence until he finds a small gap where a section of bars has rusted and bent outward.

“Shortcut,” he says with a wink, crouching down to slip through first. You hesitate again, looking around nervously. The park is eerily quiet, the shadows of trees stretching across the ground like skeletal hands. But Yangyang sticks his head back through the gap, his eyes bright and encouraging. “Come on, I promise it’s worth it.”

Swallowing your doubts, you duck through the gap after him, brushing dirt off your jeans as you straighten up. Yangyang takes your hand again, guiding you deeper into the park, away from the well-lit paths and toward the darker, more secluded areas. The crunch of leaves underfoot grows louder, and the scent of damp earth fills the air.

Finally, he stops near a large oak tree, its branches twisted and gnarled, reaching out like they’re trying to embrace the sky. The moonlight filters through the gaps in the canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the ground. It’s quiet here—peaceful, almost magical.

"Here?" You asked.

"Yeah," Yangyang nods. "Look up."

You tilt your head back, feeling a rush of awe as you take in the view. The stars glitter against a dark blue background, like tiny pinpricks of light in an infinite canvas. The air feels clear and fresh here, free from the noise of the city, and the wind rustles softly through the trees, adding to the serenity.

"I wanted to bring you to my spot," Yangyang murmurs. "Where I go when everything gets too much. When the world feels overwhelming."

You looked at him. "I'm sure you bring other girls here."

"Nah," he replies, a flicker of regret crossing his eyes. "I came here before I even joined the frat. Back when it was just me, getting by on scholarships and part-time jobs."

You reach for his hand, running your thumb along his knuckles gently. "You had a tough time?"

He smiles sadly. "Yeah. And even now, when I've got help with tuition and the whole student life deal... the pressures are still there, you know?"

It's strange to hear him talking like this, opening himself up to you. It feels vulnerable and intimate. You take a tentative step towards him. "I think I can relate. Even though I have a scholarship and good parents, I still have to balance work, studying and finding time for social life, and it can be a lot."

Yangyang nods, and you can tell he understands. He tilts his head, searching your face as he searches his next words. "What would help you deal with all that?"

The question takes you by surprise. You think it over carefully. "Spending time with friends. Releasing emotions through writing. Watching tv." You look back up at the stars and try again. "But the thing that helps most, the most soothing thing for me, is just going somewhere alone, listening to nature or the city. Finding somewhere peaceful and calming."

"Somewhere like here?" He asks.

"Yeah," you sigh contentedly. "I haven't found somewhere quite like it, though."

His hands settle on your hips as he pulls you in for a sweet, lingering kiss, his teeth lightly grazing your lower lip. You smile against his lips, and the butterflies in your stomach turn into something wild. He backs you up against the trunk of the tree, his body flush with yours, and you can't help but run your hands up his neck and into his soft, dark curls. The moonlight illuminates his face, revealing the hunger in his gaze. You close your eyes as he trails kisses down your neck, sending a thrill up your spine. He lifts his head and searches your gaze again.

God, he tastes so good, you think, your mind hazy with desire. His flavor is sweet, like the coffee you shared earlier, but there’s an undercurrent of something wild and untamed, something that sets your pulse racing even faster.

When he pulls back, his breath comes out in uneven puffs, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Fuck,” he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first day I saw you in class.”

Your lips curve into a smile, giddy and breathless. “Really?”

He nods, his curls bouncing slightly. “Every time you walked into the room, I couldn’t focus on anything else. You have no idea how many times I almost asked you out, but I kept chickening out.”

You laugh softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Well, I’m glad you finally did.”

“Me too,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. Then his lips are on yours again, softer this time, more deliberate. His hands roam down your sides, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to rest on the bare skin of your lower back. The coolness of the night air contrasts sharply with the warmth of his palms, sending a shiver up your spine.

You press closer to him, your own hands fumbling with the zipper of his hoodie. When you pull it down, he shrugs it off his shoulders, tossing it aside without a second thought. Underneath, he’s wearing a plain white T-shirt that clings to his torso, outlining the muscles you only catch glimpses of during class. Your fingers dip beneath the fabric, skimming across his skin, feeling the tautness of his stomach beneath your touch.

He groans into your mouth, his body tensing under your exploration. “Jesus,” he breathes, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “You’re killing me.”

You smirk against his lips, feeling a surge of confidence. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he growls, pulling you even closer. “Not even close.”

His hands move higher, sliding up your ribcage until they’re cupping your breasts over your bra. You arch into his touch, a needy sound escaping your throat. His thumb brushes across your nipple, teasing it into a hard peak, and you gasp, your head tilting back as pleasure shoots through you.

“Yangyang…” you murmur, half-pleading, half-whining.

He presses a quick series of kisses along your jawline, his breath hot against your skin. “Tell me what you want,” he says, his voice thick with hunger.

You bite your lip, suddenly shy. “I…”

He grins, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “That’s okay. Let me guess.”

And without waiting for your answer, his hands shift again, one sliding down to palm your ass while the other slips beneath your waistband, his fingertips trailing dangerously close to where you need him most.

Your breath hitches, your whole body trembling with anticipation. “Yangyang…” you say again, this time more urgently.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes gleaming with desire. “Yeah?”

“Please,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible.

His answering smile is slow and triumphant. “Anything for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as Yangyang’s lips press against yours again, this time with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine. His hands move to your hips, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. You melt into him, your fingers threading through his dark curls as the world around you fades away. The cool night air is no match for the heat building between you, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

Just as you’re about to deepen the kiss, a sharp voice cuts through the silence. “Hey! You two! What do you think you’re doing?”

You freeze, your body stiffening as you recognize the authoritative tone. Slowly, you pull away from Yangyang, your eyes widening as you turn toward the source of the noise. A tall, broad-shouldered park ranger stands a few feet away, his arms crossed and his jaw set in disapproval. His uniform fits him like a glove, emphasizing his muscular build, and his sharp, observant gaze locks onto you both.

Yangyang curses under his breath, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Crap,” he mutters, tugging at your hand. “Let’s go. Now.”

Before you can respond, he’s already pulling you deeper into the shadows beneath the tree. Your pulse races as you follow him, the thrill of being caught making your stomach twist in knots. You glance back over your shoulder, your heart pounding as the ranger takes a step closer, his flashlight sweeping across the ground.

“I said stop!” the ranger calls out, his voice echoing through the park.

You press yourself closer to Yangyang, your breaths coming in short bursts. “What do we do?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Yangyang glances around frantically, his mind working quickly. “We need to lose him,” he says, his eyes darting toward a small trail leading deeper into the park. “Come on, let’s go this way.”

Without waiting for your response, he drags you along the path, his grip firm but reassuring. The trees close in around you, their branches creating a natural barrier from the ranger’s view. You stumble slightly, the uneven ground making it difficult to keep up, but Yangyang’s hand stays locked around yours, guiding you forward.

The sound of heavy footsteps grows louder behind you, and you can hear the ranger muttering under his breath. “Kids these days… always causing trouble,” he grumbles, his frustration evident.

Yangyang smirks despite the situation, his playful nature peeking through. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, squeezing your hand. “We’ll give him the slip.”

You can’t help but laugh nervously, the tension between you and Yangyang growing stronger with every step. As you round a corner, Yangyang pulls you into a dense bush, muffling your laughter with his hand. You hold your breath as the ranger’s flashlight beam passes by, illuminating the leaves around you momentarily.

When the light disappears, Yangyang releases a shaky laugh. “That was close,” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

You nod, your heart still racing from the adrenaline. “Too close,” you agree, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yangyang’s gaze softens as he looks at you, his playful demeanor melting into something more serious. “You okay?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nod again, feeling a warmth spread through you at his concern. “Yeah,” you say, smiling faintly. “Just… a little shaken.”

He chuckles, his confidence returning. “Well, I guess we showed him, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face doesn’t fade. “I wouldn’t exactly call that showing him.”

Yangyang shrugs, his dimples deepening as he grins. “Close enough. Now…” He pauses, his expression turning mischievous once more. “How about we get out of here before he comes back?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his suggestion. “And go where?”

His grin widens, and he steps closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “My place,” he murmurs, his voice low and inviting. “It’s not far. We can be there in ten minutes.”

Your pulse quickens at the thought, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest. Part of you wants to playfully protest, to tease him about his boldness, but the other part—the part that’s been drawn to him since the moment he walked into your life—is already saying yes.

Yangyang must sense your hesitation, because he adds, “I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

You look into his eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all you find is sincerity and a flicker of desire. And maybe, just maybe, a touch of vulnerability. It’s that last part that seals the deal, pushing aside any lingering doubts.

“Okay,” you say softly, your voice barely audible.

His answering smile lights up his entire face, and without another word, he takes your hand and leads you out of the bush, navigating the dimly lit paths of the park with ease. The cool night air brushes against your skin, sending goosebumps down your arms, but Yangyang’s touch keeps you grounded, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos.

As you leave the park behind, the streetlights guide your way, casting long shadows that stretch and shrink with each step. Yangyang’s pace quickens, his excitement palpable, and you can’t help but match it, your own anticipation building with every passing second.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity but is probably only a few minutes, Yangyang stops in front of a modest apartment building. His free hand reaches into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys as he unlocks the door. He ushers you inside, his movements almost frantic with eagerness.

The apartment is cozy, with simple furnishings and a faint scent of laundry detergent and fresh air—just like him. Yangyang leads you to the living room, where he finally lets go of your hand, turning to face you. His chest rises and falls slightly, his breathing still a little uneven from the rush of the escape.

“So,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “what do you think?”

You take a moment to survey the room, your eyes lingering on the small details—the bookshelf filled with textbooks and novels, the worn couch draped with a blanket, the faint hum of a refrigerator in the background. It’s nothing fancy, but it feels lived-in, comfortable. And somehow, that makes it even more appealing.

“It’s nice,” you admit, your voice soft.

Yangyang’s smile returns, warmer now, less playful and more genuine. “Good,” he says simply, stepping closer. “Because I didn’t bring you here just to show you my apartment.”

Your breath hitches as he closes the distance between you, his hands reaching up to cradle your face. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, and you can feel the sincerity in every brush of his fingertips. When his lips meet yours, it’s slow and deliberate, a marked contrast to the urgency of earlier.

This time, there’s no rush, no fear of being interrupted. Just the two of you, lost in the embrace that neither of you seems willing to break.

Yangyang breaks the kiss, his eyes locking with yours. His hands slide down to your shoulders, then lower, tracing the curve of your back until they settle on your hips. The heat between you is palpable, a tangible force that seems to push and pull at the edges of your restraint.

“Do you trust me?” he asks quietly, his voice low and steady.

You nod, though the question sends a shiver through you. Trust. It’s such a simple word, yet it feels so heavy in this moment. You realize, almost suddenly, that you do trust him—completely. There’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the only person in the world who matters, that makes it impossible not to.

“Good,” he says, his lips curving into a sly smile. “Because I want to show you something.”

Without waiting for a response, he takes your hand and leads you deeper into his apartment. The hallway is dimly lit, the soft glow of a lamp casting long shadows across the floor. The air is quiet, save for the faint sound of your footsteps and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards beneath you.

Yangyang guides you to a door at the end of the hall, one you hadn’t noticed before. He pauses for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at you before reaching out to turn the handle. The door swings open with a soft click, revealing a cozy bedroom bathed in the warm light of a bedside lamp.

His bedroom. The thought flutters in your mind, sending a fresh wave of excitement coursing through you. Yangyang steps inside first, pulling you in after him. The door closes softly behind you, sealing the space as your own private world.

The room is simple but inviting, with a large bed taking up most of the space. A pile of pillows rests against the headboard, and a few books are scattered haphazardly on the nightstand. A faint scent of cedar lingers in the air, mingling with the familiar smell of laundry detergent that seems to follow Yangyang everywhere.

He turns to face you, his eyes dark with intent. “I wanted to bring you somewhere… quieter,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Somewhere we could be alone.”

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the rhythm accelerating as his words sink in. Alone. The word carries a weight that’s both thrilling and terrifying. You glance around the room, taking in the details—the softness of the carpet underfoot, the warmth of thelighting, the way the shadows seem to dance along the walls. It’s intimate, cocooning, and somehow perfectly fitting for what you know is about to happen.

Yangyang steps closer, his hands settling on your waist again. This time, there’s no hesitation in his touch—just confidence, laced with a tenderness that makes your knees weak. He leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Just let me take care of you.”

The request hangs in the air, a silent promise that sends a jolt of electricity through your veins. You nod again, unable to find the words to respond. Yangyang smiles, a slow, knowing grin that makes your stomach flutter.

With one hand still resting on your waist, he reaches up with the other, sliding his fingers through the loose strands of your hair. The gesture is gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s savoring the texture and weight of it. You close your eyes, tilting your head slightly to give him better access, and feel a soft hum of pleasure ripple through you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted to tell you that since the first day I saw you.”

The confession catches you off guard, sending a rush of warmth flooding through your chest. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze, and see nothing but honesty reflected there. It’s overwhelming, the depth of feeling in his expression, and it leaves you momentarily speechless.

Before you can respond, Yangyang shifts his grip, guiding you toward the bed. His movements are deliberate, each step calculated to draw you further into the moment. When you reach the edge of the mattress, he stops, his hands sliding from your waist to rest on your hips.

“Sit,” he commands softly, his voice a velvety rasp that sends shivers dancing down your spine.

You obey without hesitation, lowering yourself onto the plush comforter. The fabric is soft beneath you, and the faint scent of linen fills your nostrils, adding another layer of sensory overload to the mix. As you settle in, Yangyang kneels beside the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

For a moment, there’s silence—a charged, electric kind of stillness that seems to hold the weight of everything unsaid between you. Then, slowly, deliberately, Yangyang reaches out, his fingers brushing against the buttons of your shirt.

“May I?” he asks, his voice a teasing half-whisper.

You nod again, your throat too tight to speak. Yangyang grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and begins working on the buttons with expert precision. Each pop of the closure seems to echo in the quiet room, a symphony of anticipation that heightens the tension between you.

When the last button slides free, he tugs the fabric apart, revealing the thin layer of lace beneath. Your breath hitches as his eyes flick downward, briefly scanning the sight before returning to your face. “So pretty,” he murmurs, his tone a mix of awe and desire.

Without warning, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of your throat. The sensation is fleeting but insistent, a tease that leaves you yearning for more. You instinctively tilt your head back, giving him better access, and feel a surge of satisfaction when he obliges by trailing kisses along your collarbone.

“Yangyang...” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with a combination of need and uncertainty.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips curved into a wicked smile. “Shh,” he says gently. “Just let me love you.”

And with that, he resumes his exploration, his hands and mouth working in tandem to unravel every thread of resistance within you.

Yangyang’s hands move with an almost reverent grace as he undresses you, his touch light but deliberate. Each piece of clothing he removes feels like a revelation, not just to him but to you as well. You feel suddenly exposed, yet entirely safe in his presence.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and gravelly with emotion. His fingers brush against the edge of your bra, hesitating for a moment before carefully unclasping it. The fabric slips away, revealing you to his gaze, and you catch a flicker of awe in his dark eyes.

“You don’t have to say that,” you whisper, your cheeks heating under his intense scrutiny.

Yangyang shakes his head, his smile soft and genuine. “I know what I see,” he says simply. His hands cup your shoulders, thumbs brushing lightly over your collarbones, and you shiver at the tenderness of his touch. “And what I feel… it’s overwhelming.”

He leans in then, his lips finding the sensitive skin just below your ear. A sound escapes you, half-laugh, half-groan, as his teeth graze the lobe gently. His hand trails down your arm, fingertips leaving a trail of fire in their wake before wrapping around your wrist. He guides your hand to his chest, pressing your palm flat against the rapid thudding of his heart.

“Feel that?” he asks, his voice thick with desire. “That’s all you.”

You nod, unable to speak, your own heart pounding in response. Yangyang’s free hand snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The solid warmth of his body against yours is intoxicating, and you cling to him instinctively.

His lips find yours again, this time with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation. The kiss is deep, consuming, every stroke of his tongue igniting a blaze within you. His hand slides lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, and you gasp into his mouth as his fingers tease the soft curve of your hipbone.

“Yangyang,” you breathe, clutching at his shoulders for balance.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasps, his breath hot against your cheek. His fingers dip lower, brushing against the wetness between your legs, and you clench your thighs together, both resisting and inviting his touch.

“I—” Your voice falters, uncertain, as his fingers ghost over your most sensitive spot. You arch into the sensation, your hips tilting involuntarily.

Yangyang chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your body. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his tone reassuring. “Take your time. We have all night.”

His words send a shudder through you, a mix of relief and anticipation. You relax slightly, letting go of some of the tension that had been coiled tightly within you. Yangyang takes advantage of your momentary surrender, his fingers sliding back between your legs, this time with purpose.

The first tentative touch makes you jerk, a sharp intake of breath escaping your lips. Yangyang holds still, watching you intently, his expression a blend of concern and arousal. “Too much?” he asks, clearly trying to read your reaction.

You shake your head quickly, your cheeks burning. “No,” you manage to whisper. “Just… unexpected.”

A slow grin spreads across his face, and he resumes his exploration, his fingers tracing delicate patterns against your folds. You bite your lip to stifle a moan, your body responding eagerly to his ministrations.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with admiration. “You’re incredible.”

His fingers press harder, delving deeper, and you gasp, your back arching off the bed. Yangyang shifts his position slightly, angling his fingers to hit that perfect spot inside you, and you feel yourself spiraling closer to the edge.

“Yangyang,” you choke out, your voice trembling with need. “Please…”

“Please what?” he teases, his voice low and husky. His free hand cups your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple in rhythm with his finger movements.

You whimper, torn between the dueling sensations of his touch. “I… I don’t know,” you admit, frustrated by your inability to articulate the raging storm within you.

Yangyang chuckles again, the sound dark and intimate. “That’s okay,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you deeply. His fingers quicken their pace, stroking in and out of you with increasing urgency. “Let yourself go. Let me take care of you.”

The combination of his words and actions is too much, and you feel the wave building inside you, cresting higher and higher with every thrust of his fingers. Your breath comes in shallow pants, your body tensing as you approach the precipice.

“Yangyang, I—”

He doesn’t let you finish. Instead, he presses a hard kiss to your lips, swallowing your cry of release as you come apart in his arms. Your body shudders, waves of pleasure rolling through you, leaving you boneless and gasping for air.

Yangyang pulls his fingers from you slowly, watching your face with rapt attention. His eyes are dark, filled with a mixture of awe and possessiveness. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re amazing.”

You blink up at him, still dazed from the intensity of your orgasm. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you manage to joke weakly.

Yangyang laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, we’re just getting started,” he says, his voice dropping to a teasing purr.

Yangyang’s hands trail down your body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His touch is deliberate, almost reverent, as if he’s memorizing every curve and dip of you. When his fingers brush against the side of your thigh, you shiver, the sensation sending a spark of electricity through your veins.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. His eyes never leave yours, their intensity making your breath hitch. “I want to see you touch me.”

His words send a jolt of arousal through you, but there’s also a flicker of uncertainty. You’ve never been this intimate with anyone before, not like this. The thought of exploring his body feels thrilling and terrifying all at once. But when he guides your hand to his chest, the moment becomes too electric to resist.

Your fingers curl around the soft fabric of his hoodie, hesitating for just a second before you tug it up and over his head. The movement exposes the warm skin beneath, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the thrum of his heartbeat underneath your palm. It’s intoxicating.

“Go on,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “Touch me.”

You do. Your fingertips trace the ridges of his collarbone, the muscles of his shoulders, the faint dusting of hair that trails down his sternum. Each touch sends a shiver through him, his breath hitching as your exploration grows bolder. When your hand skims lower, brushing against the waistband of his jeans, he groans, the sound raw and needy.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

His reaction emboldens you, fueling the fire that’s already burning between you. You let your fingers dip beneath the hem of his shirt, sliding along the taut planes of his abdomen. His skin is warm and smooth, the muscles beneath tense with anticipation. You can feel the way his body responds to your touch, the way he shifts closer, his breath fanning across your cheek.

“So good,” he rasps, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

His praise sends a thrill of pleasure through you, your confidence growing with each passing second. You slide your hand higher, brushing against the edge of his nipple, feeling it pebble beneath your touch. He gasps, arching into your hand as a low moan escapes his lips.

“Turn around,” he says suddenly, his voice commanding yet laced with urgency. “I want to touch you.”

You obey without hesitation, turning to face the bed and leaning forward slightly. The position puts you on display, your back arched and your ass lifted slightly. Yangyang’s breath hitches as he takes in the view, his gaze darkening with hunger.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “You’re perfect.”

He strokes your sides, his fingers trailing up to your ribcage before dipping lower, pushing the material of your dress aside to expose the lace of your panties. The sight of them makes his grip tighten, his fingers pressing into your skin as he pulls them down slowly, revealing the curve of your ass and the delicate skin beneath.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he breathes, his voice rough with need. “I want to taste you.”

Before you can respond, he drops to his knees behind you, his hands cupping your ass as he presses a series of light kisses along the crease of your thigh. The sensation is electrifying, sending shivers of anticipation rippling through you. You can feel the heat of his breath against your skin, the promise of what’s to come making your core throb with need.

When his tongue finally makes contact, you cry out, your hands clutching the sheets as waves of pleasure crash over you. He licks a slow, deliberate path up your folds, his tongue darting inside you with relentless precision. The sensation is overwhelming, your body trembling as he works you with expert skill.

“Yangyang,” you gasp, your voice breaking as he grazes his teeth along your clit. “Please—”

He doesn’t let you finish. Instead, he bites down gently, the sharp sting followed by a rush of warmth that sends you spiraling. Your thighs tremble, your body tightening as he continues to stroke and tease, his tongue flicking faster and harder until you can’t take it anymore.

“I’m close,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his hands gripping your hips as he redoubles his efforts. The sudden surge of pressure builds rapidly, your body tensing as you teeter on the edge. And then, with one final thrust of his tongue, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of pure bliss.

Your legs give out, but Yangyang catches you, guiding you gently to the bed. You collapse onto your back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. He climbs onto the bed, hovering over you with a predatory smile.

“That was incredible,” he murmurs, his voice filled with admiration. “But we’re not done yet.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as he positions himself between your legs. You can feel the thick ridge of his cock pressing against your entrance, the heat of him making you ache with need.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice low and strained.

You nod, unable to form words as your desire consumes you. With one swift movement, he pushes inside you, filling you completely. The sensation is intense, your bodies perfectly aligned as he begins to move.

Yangyang’s breath hitches as he slides into you, the heat of his body pressing against yours. You feel every inch of him, thick and demanding, filling you completely. His hips move with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His lips find yours again, kissing you deeply as he sets a steady pace, drawing out the moment.

“You feel so good,” he whispers against your lips, his voice low and trembling. “So tight… so perfect.”

His hands grip your hips, holding you firmly as he continues to thrust into you. You can feel the way he’s holding back, wanting to savor this moment, but the strain in his voice tells you just how much he wants to let go. Your own desire is building, spiraling higher with every movement of his hips. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him on, desperate for more.

Just as the tension between you reaches its peak, a loud POP echoes through the apartment, followed by the sudden absence of light. The room plunges into darkness, the only sound now the heavy breathing of the two of you.

“What… what was that?” you ask, your voice shaky and breathless.

“Power outage,” Yangyang replies, his tone amused but still strained. “Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves for a while.”

The darkness seems to heighten everything. Without the distraction of sight, your other senses become sharper. You can feel the warmth of Yangyang’s body pressed against yours, the weight of him grounding you. His breath tickles your neck as he kisses your collarbone, his movements growing more insistent as the adrenaline of the unexpected outage pushes him closer to the edge.

“Let’s not waste it,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with desire. He shifts slightly, adjusting his angle, and you gasp as a new wave of sensation hits you. His thrusts become deeper, harder, each one bringing you closer to the edge.

“Yangyang…” you moan, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, his voice rough with need. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“I want you… I need you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

He growls in response, his hips snapping forward with renewed urgency. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the silence, mingling with your ragged breaths. You feel yourself teetering on the brink, the pressure building inside you with every thrust. Yangyang’s hand moves between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit and stroking it with expert precision.

“Almost there,” he promises, his voice a harsh whisper. “Come for me. Let go.”

The darkness feels like a cocoon, wrapping around you both as you fall apart. Your body shudders, your muscles tightening around him as you reach your climax. Yangyang follows soon after, his movements becoming erratic as he buries himself deep inside you, letting out a deep groan as he spills inside you.

For a moment, all you can do is cling to each other, the weight of your bodies the only anchor you have in the dark. Yangyang rests his forehead against yours, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

“That was…” he starts, but trails off, his voice soft and vulnerable.

“Perfect,” you finish for him, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles softly, kissing your forehead before pulling out of you and lying down beside you. You roll onto your side, facing him in the dark, your fingers tracing the contours of his face.

“What now?” you ask, your voice curious.

“Now…” he pauses, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now we wait. See how long this lasts.”

The thought sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. There’s something thrilling about the uncertainty, about being forced to slow down and enjoy the moment. You nestle closer to Yangyang, feeling his arm wrap around your waist as you rest your head on his chest.

“I could get used to this,” you murmur, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

Yangyang’s chest rises and falls with a soft chuckle, his voice warm against your ear. “I could too,” he admits, his tone laced with contentment. “There’s something about the dark that makes everything feel… simpler. No distractions, just us.”

You smile into the darkness, feeling the weight of his words settle between you. His fingers trace lazy circles on your back, the gentle rhythm soothing yet electrifying all at once. The power outage has stripped away the usual comforts of light and sound, leaving only the raw connection between you two. It’s intimate in a way you hadn’t anticipated, but now that it’s here, you realize how much you crave it.

“Do you think we’ll be stuck like this for long?” you ask, your voice soft as you nuzzle closer to him.

“Who knows?” he replies, his lips brushing against your temple. “Maybe it’s a sign. A chance to slow down, to really feel each other without anything else getting in the way.”

His words send a flutter through your chest. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, the way he’s embracing the moment rather than letting it frustrate him. It’s one of the things you love most about him—his ability to find beauty in the unexpected.

“You’re right,” you murmur, tilting your head to press a kiss to his collarbone. “This is kind of nice. Just… being together like this.”

Yangyang hums in agreement, his arm tightening around you. “Yeah,” he says after a pause, his voice low and thoughtful. “It’s perfect.”

The silence stretches between you, broken only by the occasional rustle of sheets or the soft whisper of his breath. You trace the lines of his chest with your fingertips, marveling at how familiar yet endlessly fascinating his body feels. Each curve and plane feels like home, like something you never knew you needed until now.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks suddenly, his voice curious.

“I was thinking about how glad I am that you were there to bail me out of that bad date,” you admit, your voice soft but laced with gratitude. “If it wasn’t for you… I don’t even want to imagine how that night would’ve ended.”

Yangyang chuckles, the sound warm and comforting against your ear. “Well, I couldn’t let you suffer through that alone, could I?” he teases, his fingers brushing lightly over your shoulder. “Besides, I think we both know how much better this turned out.”

You smile, feeling a blush creep into your cheeks despite the darkness. “Yeah,” you agree, tilting your head to press a kiss to his chest. “This was definitely better. So much better.”

He hums in agreement, his hand moving to cup the back of your head gently. “I’m just glad I could be there for you,” he says, his tone sincere. “You deserve someone who makes you feel as amazing as you make me feel.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you tighten your hold on him, nuzzling closer. “You do,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “You really do.”

The silence between you is comfortable, filled with unspoken words and lingering touches. You trace the lines of his chest again, your fingers pausing over the faint scar near his ribs. It’s a mark you’ve grown familiar with, one that tells a story of its own.

“Do you ever think about how different things might’ve been?” you ask suddenly, your voice tinged with curiosity. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

Yangyang pauses, his hand stilling on your back. “Honestly?” he says after a moment, his voice thoughtful. “I try not to think about it. Because the way things are now… this… it’s exactly where I want to be. With you.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “Me too,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to his skin. “Me too.”

The power outage may have thrown you into darkness, but in that moment, you realize it’s brought you closer to something infinitely brighter. The moonlight and the stars seem to be flittering brighter above you and you decide, maybe, for tonight you won't wait for the lights to come back on.

Because this is perfect as it is.

#kvanity #ksmutsociety #nct #wayv #nct scenarios #nct stories #nct fanfics #nct imagines #nct smut #wayv smut #wayv stories #wayv fanfic #wayv yangyang #yangyang #liu yangyang #yangyang x reader #yangyang smut

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seventeenytiny · 2 years ago

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♡ Sexual Themes I Feel Stray Kids Get Associated With ♡

Authors Note: So I’ve read enough smut from other blogs all over Tumblr that I feel like I started to see certain themes with each member reoccurring on Tumblr. Maybe it’s just certain blogs that keep pumping out the same type of content and I just haven’t noticed it’s the same blog. Anyways, I still thought this would be a fun thing to do, let me know if you agree or disagree with me. I’d love to know what kinks other people on Tumblr associate with certain members. One last thing, kinda hate how I set this up but can’t really change it now. Sorry if some of the sections aren’t as detailed as others, not all these kinks are things I’m generally comfortable with writing. Not uncomfortable with them, but just not necessarily stuff I’m into lol.

Contains: Sexual Themes/Smut, Minors DNI, Each section has a kink in front of it, if you're not comfortable reading that kink just skip over that section :)

Smut Below the Cut

Bang Chan - Breeding Kink

I’ve learned Tumblr in general is OBSESSED with breeding kinks but I’m pretty sure Chan has this topic come up in his stories the most. I think him giving off the biggest dad vibes of the group makes us associate him with this kink. Alright so just imagine him coming home to fuck you after a long day of work. He loves to take you from behind so he can watch his cock go in and out of you as your body reacts with each thrust. “Please babe just let me cum in you just this once,” he wines out. You were too fucked out for rational thoughts, “I need your cum, Chris, please fill me.” He grips your hips hard, thrusts growing sloppy after hearing your words, his high rapidly approaching. With a grunt, he releases into you, his warm cum coating your walls. After calming down from his orgasm, he pulls out slowly, trying to prevent any cum from spilling out. He uses his finger to push anything that threatens to spill out back in, he can’t let a single drop go to waste.

Lee Know - BDSM/Hard Dom

Minho is rough in bed, or at least that’s what everyone thinks. After a particularly rough day at work, he comes home just to release his pent-up frustration on you. He stands in front of you, his eyes staring intensely into yours, silently asking for permission. Next thing you know he’s pulling you off the couch and dragging you to the bedroom, roughly pushing you to the bed. He wraps his hand around your throat, squeezing it gently to let you know he’s in charge tonight. If you even tried to be a brat for a second he would flip you over onto his lap and deliver a hard blow to your ass. He would rub it for a second, to help lessen the initial sting, before smacking it again and again until you apologize. He’d love having you a sobbing mess while you beg for his cock and forgiveness. He could never turn down his baby when you look and sound like that.

Changbin - Size Kink/Bulge Kink

Honestly never really thought about a size kink being a thing until I started reading it on Tumblr recently, but yeah Changbin definitely has it. While he knows he might not be the tallest, his muscles and cock make up for it. He’d have you laying on the bed, his tip teasing your entrance, “I know your pussy can fit my huge cock,” he’d say in a low voice. You push your hips forward in response, desperate to feel him stretch your tight pussy. He starts slow, just wetting his tip, the stretch from that alone has you crying out. “Fuck Changbin your so big.” He hovers over you as he pushes himself in deeper, you watch as his biceps flex by your face. Little moans leave your mouth as you welcome the pain and pleasure of having him stretch you. “Almost there baby, just a little bit more. I know you can take it.” Once fully inside, he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off that little budge he sees in your tummy with each thrust.

Hyunjin - Public Sex

I love the idea of public sex, but Hyunjin and public sex? Chef’s kisses. Hyunjin will gladly fuck his partner whenever and wherever he wants. Some of the places he’s fucked you include a changing room, the hiking trail, the back of a train, oh and don’t forget the time the two of you got stuck in an elevator. You often find yourself wearing skirts and dresses, not because it’s necessarily your style, but because it makes this fun you two have so much easier. This time it was in the movie theater, he purchased the two of you those fancy vip seats your theater has, seats big enough to allow you to sit comfortably on his lap during the movie. You brought a blanket with you to the theater as well, most people would assume you did this because of how cold the theater always was but that's not why you have it. You sat on Hyunjin’s lap, settling the blanket on top before doing anything else. Slowly, he undoes his pants and pulls out his cock, he gave it a couple tugs before he lifts you up onto it. You did your best to not make any noise as you sink down onto him. The theater was for the most part empty, but there were still a couple people near the front of the theater. He slowly but sloppily thrusts into you, careful to not make any noise.

Han - Somnophlia/Freeuse

Tumblr really thinks Jisung is just a super horny perv. Like when this boy wants you, he will have you no matter what. Don’t worry though, you guys have a system to let him know when you’re willing to have sex. You put on that one shirt that gives him the signal he needs before starting to doze off on the couch. Jisung comes home after a long day of practice and all he wants to do is sink his cock into your pussy and forget all about his worries. He looks at you on the couch, you're sleeping in nothing but your shirt and panties, bare legs exposed. He pulls his cock out before hovering over your sleeping form. He slides his cock between your thighs, slowly rutting his hips. Gentle moans slip past his lips, he keeps up a steady pace as he indulges in pleasure. His moans turn to high-pitched whines the closer he gets to his high, the sounds from his mouth cause you to start to stir. You wake up to see Jisung over your body, sweat on his brow and his lip red from biting it. His thrusts pick up as his orgasm takes over, warm sticky cum covering your thighs.

Felix - Cock Warming/Premature Cumming

I probably read the most Felix smut, I couldn’t just pick one theme for him. With cockwarming, it’s always while he’s busy gaming. He’s deprived you of attention for too long, even after all your attempts to pull him away from the screen he just won’t budge. You couldn’t handle waiting any longer so you decided to help yourself. “Felix, keep playing your game, just trust me,” He nods in response, his eyes still glued to the screen. You reach out to rub his member through his pants, you can feel him grow hard rapidly. You try to tug with sweats down, he lifts his hips up to aid you in taking his pants off, getting desperate to feel more. You remove your sweatpants and panties before straddling his lap, careful to not block his view of the game. You sink down onto him, you can feel him tense up for a second before continuing his game. You sit on his cock happily for the next few minutes while he finishes several more rounds in his game, satisfied you can finally feel full. Felix eventually starts to grow desperate for more, quickly losing interest in his game. His hands move from his keyboard to your hips before he thrusts up into you. He takes in all the precious sounds that leave your mouth, enjoying everything just a little too much. Unfortunately, he reaches his high a bit sooner than he’d like, your pussy just feels too damn good. Don’t worry though, he would never leave you unsatisfied.

Seungmin - Perv!Seungmin

I feel like I’ve seen this theme with him quite a bit, I’ve seen it with Han as well but possibly just a smidge more with Seungmin. Tumblr Stays seem to like to make this man absolutely obsessed with you. Some things he does include following you around, gifting you teddy bears with hidden cameras, and stealing your panties. He’s not always a full perv though, he’s also your best friend that you’d trust with your life. What Seungmin doesn’t know is that you know exactly every little pervy thing he does, you only act like you don’t know what he’s doing. Knowing this, you sometimes like to tease him. Some things you do include changing while he’s around, asking for his opinion on which set of lingerie you should buy, and slowly grinding against him while you sit in his lap. Imagine sitting on his lap as you two watch a show together, his arms wrapped around your waist as he buries his face into your hair. He’d be doing his best to hold in his moans while you shift on his lap, trying not to give away how much he’s enjoying everything. There was honestly no point in him holding in his moans, it’s not like you couldn’t feel his rock-hard cock against your ass. After a bit too much teasing, he eventually cums into his pants, a whisper-like moan slips past his lips with his orgasm. You pretend you didn’t know what just happened as he suddenly pushes you off his lap, excusing himself to the restroom.

I.N - Loud Sex/Exhibitionism

Being the baby member, Jeongin feels like he’s got something to prove to everyone, he wants to show off how much of a man he has become. One of the ways he does that is by making you scream and moan so loud during sex that all of the members nearby can hear it. One night, you were invited for a movie night while a couple of the other boys were at the dorm. After the boys ruthlessly teased Jeongin for having a partner, he decided he had enough. He picks you up off the couch and carries you to his room, slamming the door behind him. He rips off your clothes before ravishing your body. He sucks on your neck, leaving perfect little bruises, hoping the members would get to see you marked up later. One of his hands travels down to draw little circles on your clit, his other grabs your breast and pinches your nipple. You tried to hold in your moans, but your whole body felt overstimulated with pleasure. Jeongin whispers in your ear, “Don’t hold back your moans baby girl, let’s let them know how good I can make you feel.”

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milkoomi · 9 days ago

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₊˚⊹ ᰔ it-girl school tips ᝰ.ᐟ

a new semester is around the corner for a lot of us, and i’m seeing so many blog posts about study/school tips, and i thought i’d share a few of my own that i’ve began to implement into my own school routine that helped me succeed during the fall semester!

just to preface: i took 2, almost 3, gap years after my first year at a university. i realized i was so burnt out after high school and my mental health wasn’t where i needed it to be, so i took a very much needed break! i started back up in school earlier this year in the spring, and i am flourishing! i’ve reconnected with my love and passion for my education and i’ve eased myself back into a comfortable, but effective, routine that’s helped me succeed!

let’s begin !!

ᝰ.ᐟ find/create a good study environment

having a cozy, comfortable, and nice place to get your studying done will make your sessions so much more enjoyable! you’ll feel more motivated to get work done in a space that you feel good in! so whether it be your own space, your favorite café, or even your school’s library, having a good environment to focus on your schoolwork will increase your productivity and make you feel good about studying!

a darling mutual of mine created this post that has helpful tips on creating your desired study space - @glowettee ♡︎ i also highly recommend her page for other tips related to studying, personal growth, & just becoming that girl!

ᝰ.ᐟ make use of a planner

planners are essential in maintaining organization throughout the semester/school year! whether it’s a digital or physical planner, find one that’s appealing to you! find a planner that suits your aesthetic, or your desired aesthetic, and make good use of it. it’ll help you keep track of what days & times you have a certain class, important due dates, and planning out your homework schedule!

if you have a pretty plain planner, decorate it! use fun or aesthetically pleasing stickers and use fun colored pens & highlighters; just make it super personable to you!

ᝰ.ᐟ organize, organize, organize

make sure any and all paperwork for all of your courses are organized! i personally love using accordion folders because they have tabs that you can label for each class or each week of a class! having some kind of organization method will keep you and your schoolwork in check!

how to maintain organization:

as your semester progresses, it gets pretty easy to let your organization slip through the cracks and turn into a mess.

create an organized binder to store older papers from your courses! this will be useful when midterms or finals come around and you need to look back at old worksheets, handouts, etc. you can have a big binder that’s divided by different tabs dedicated to each class you’re taking or you can get different binders for each class and organize that way!

throw out anything that no longer serves you! amongst all the papers, notes, packets, there’s bound to be things that you will no longer need. toss them out, shred them, just get rid of them! the more papers you have stocked up in folders or binders, the less room you’ll have to keep track of the real important stuff

track each week of the semester! keep that syllabus handy so you can keep track of what’s going on for each week in your classes. when you reach the point of midterms, a long weekend, or even a break (like spring break) find some time to look at the past weeks & the weeks ahead and reorganize and just reset your organization of papers, notes, etc.

ᝰ.ᐟ create a checklist for your assignments

as your classes pile up, so will your homework, and it starts to get overwhelming when you start thinking about everything you have to complete for the week. creating a checklist for what needs to get done will allow you to prioritize the most important assignments, help you practice time management, and also feel satisfaction as you check off each assignment!

this helped me immensely throughout the semester. majority of my classes were 8 week courses, so everything was pretty fast paced and due dates came up a lot sooner than i thought. whenever i made a checklist for everything i needed to do, it eased a lot of my stress because i allowed myself to break down each class and the corresponding assignments & it made me realize that i didn’t have too much to do (or at least i tricked my brain into thinking that)

i made my checklist literally through my notes app on my phone, and it was so satisfying to add the little green checkmark emoji after each assignment!

ᝰ.ᐟ don’t be afraid to ask questions

any time i struggled in a class and i was too afraid/embarrassed to ask a question, i ended up doing poorly in that class and it made studying and completing assignments so much more challenging for me. so don’t be afraid to ask questions! your teachers/professors/instructors are there to help you! they’re there to answer any and all questions you might have! asking questions also just helps you understand the material better and get any clarification you might need!

the more questions you ask, the better informed you are, and the more likely you’ll succeed!

ᝰ.ᐟ use school supplies you love

having those aesthetically pleasing school supplies actually gave me so much more motivation to get work done! using stuff that you’re excited to use during your semester will make doing schoolwork & studying so much more enjoyable for you!

ᝰ.ᐟ set the mood for your study sessions

listen to a good study playlist, light a candle, set up some cozy lighting, grab your favorite drink, and just set a good, calming mood for yourself while you study! i love having lofi play softly in the background while i’m studying, and since i do most of my studying at home, i make the lighting in my room nice and dim and get my desk lamp set up. i’ll also have a cup of coffee, tea, or water near by that i can sip on!

ᝰ.ᐟ take breaks

burn-out is extremely real and you’ll quickly feel it when you spend majority of your time studying and giving yourself way less time to rest and relax.

for longer study sessions, take 20 min. breaks after each hour! i remember taking an english course when i first started college and one of the books we were required to read was one on studying tips! (i really wish i remembered what it was called, i unfortunately misplaced it) one of the things i remembered from that book was the 20 minute rule. this time slot allows you an ample amount of time to rest your mind and take a break! you can rest your eyes, scroll through your phone, stand up/stretch and grab a snack, or just step away from your study area for 20 minutes!

set a timer! let’s say you wanna work on homework for an hour & a half, set a timer and just do all the work that you can within that time. once your timer goes off, stop doing what you’re doing and set another timer with the same amount of time to go do something you enjoy or get yourself to relax!

i can’t stress this enough: please take breaks. your mental/emotional well-being should always be your top priority! you can’t do your best in school if you, yourself, are not doing the best.

𝜗𝜚 final notes 𝜗𝜚

being that girl in school is only possible when you put your best foot forward. stay on top of your self care, keep yourself organized, and come up with a routine! a good routine will get you great results!

i wish you all a great start of your upcoming semester and i know that every single one of you will flourish during it too!

live and love, babe.

sincerely, juno ⭑.ᐟ

#milkoomis #girlblogger #girlblogging #it girl #that girl #it girl tips #becoming that girl #studyblr #study motivation #school #school advice #study tips #study movitation #self improvement #study blog #student #student life #girl blog aesthetic

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the-himawari · 2 months ago

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A3! Magazine Interview Translation - B’s-LOG March 2024 [Cover Boys Interview]

The true faces of today’s flourishing young actors

This month’s cover features Hyodo Kumon & Izumida Azami. Azami didn’t have any particular school he wanted to go to. So when Kumon invited over him to Tsukushi High School, the two became senior and junior. The two of them show close they are by walking to and from school and eating lunch on the rooftop together.

We bring you a newly written interview that provides a closer glimpse of their true faces.

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

Q: Do you have anything that’s been important to you since childhood?

Kumon: Since childhood, huh~? Ah! I thought of something!

Azami: What is it?

Kumon: A home run ball from my favourite baseball player! One day when I was little, I was watching a game at the stadium. While I was cheering as hard as I could, it flew right by me and I caught it.

Azami: Oh, that’s pretty amazin’. That’s not something you can get no matter how many times you go.

Kumon: Exactly! Do you have anything like that, Azami?

Azami: I’ve… always had a cheek brush with me. It’s kinda like my good luck charm.

Kumon: Ooh, right. I know which one you’re talking about!

Azami: Yeah, I’ve used it on you before.

Q: Would you rather be called “cool” or “cute”?

Kumon: I’d definitely be happier being called cool! You’re the same right, Azami!?

Azami: If it’s between those two choices, then I guess it doesn’t really matter what you call me. But I don’t like it when people call me cute to tease me. I hope they'll quit doing that.

Kumon: Now that you mention it, Azuma-san calls you cute every now and then, right? Like it’s so cute and innocent how you immediately get embarrassed whenever you talk about love.

Azami: That’s why I keep tellin’ him to quit it.

Kumon: That doesn’t make you happy?

Azami: Azuma-san is totally just makin’ fun of me.

Kumon: Eh~? I don’t think he’s teasing you though. I think he genuinely means it.

Q: Tell us the truth. Are you actually a scaredy-cat?

Azami: Nah, not really.

Kumon: Me neither! Actually, Azami and I went to a haunted house together the other day!

Azami: Right, Kumon said he wanted to go to one outta nowhere.

Kumon: I thought it’d be interesting so I invited Azami and we went right away. That haunted house was loads of fun!

Azami: Well. I guess I’m glad I went since I could use their makeup as reference.

Kumon: Maybe I’ll go with Summer troupe next time!? Ah, I wonder if they’d come though…

Azami: It wouldn’t hurt to try invitin’ them. …I can’t say for sure that all the members would go though.

Q: How would you confess? In-person, by phone, or by LIME?

Azami: H-HUH!? Who the hell would answer that!!

Kumon: It’s fine, it’s fiiine! By the way, I’d do it face-to-face for sure! I’d like to see their face as I tell them and make sure I'm getting my feelings across properly.

Azami: …I see.

Kumon: C’mon, Azami. How about you?

Azami: I’m not gonna say. Lay off me! Get to the next question already!

Kumon: I sure wonder when we’re gonna get to hear Azami talk about this stuff~.

Q: When you’re on a date… would you hold hands, link arms, or do something else?

Azami: Another question like this? You gotta be kidding me!

Kumon: Now, now. Chill out, Azami! Considering the distance with my girlfriend… I guess I’d like to hold hands. But I bet both are out for Azami! So for him, it’d be “something else”?

Azami: Hey, why’re you answering for me without askin’?

Kumon: I knew you wouldn’t answer so I figured I’d say something for you!

Azami: This isn’t somethin’ you talk about with other people!

Kumon: You weren’t saying anything though. You gotta give an answer here! For the Azami in my mind, I don't think he’d be interested in doing PDA outside—or rather, I don’t think he’d be able to do it in the first place… Ah, you see, Azami’s a serious guy! But I’m sure there’s someone out there who’ll say they like that about you!

Azami: Uh, why am I being encouraged right now…?

Kumon:: Anywho, what do you really think? Did my answer hit it out of the park?

Azami: Urk, don’t fricken ask me! No comment!

---

#a3!#a3! translation #hyodo kumon #izumida azami #act! addict! actors!

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pedgito · 2 months ago

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𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

summary | it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

author's note | in my heart, it's still flores. but canonically its de leon. i had the opportunity to watch the movie and hot take, it was...alright. but pedro's character made me just as feral as i expected. so here's this absolute monster for no reason other than, well, me ovulating.

content warning | 18+ mdni, the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

word count — 11k (sorry lmfao)

“Lucien?” You grumble around the chewy granola bar you’ve snatched from the craft table, “Lucien De Leon?”

The agent, Lucien’s agent—James, also working for a few of the on-set cast, looked hopeless.

He nods, squeezing tight at the phone in his hand, one more inconvenience text from snapping it in half.

“No,” You refuse, chewing at the sweet and sticky granola, “why—why me? My tiny apartment?”

“He’s exhausted any other chance,” The agent explains vaguely—yeah, real convincing, this guy, “listen—I like you, you’ve helped me in plenty of binds. It’ll be two weeks before he’s leaving for work, I just need somewhere to keep him for a while.”

“You’re making it seem like I’d be dog sitting or something,” You retort, watching as the agent glanced down at his phone, notifications spilling in, “this is Lucien—controversy magnet, and he’s rude—”

“You’ve gotta get to know him—”

“The one set I’ve worked on with him he spilled my coffee on me and acted like I made him do it. Fuck him, tell him to sleep on a bench.”

“I’ll pay you,” He scrambles, “Just—please?”

You pause, narrowing your gaze. Being a production assistant hadn’t been the life of luxury, minimal pay in an overpriced city in a shitty apartment with barely decent and affordable rent was nothing short of miserable.

“How much?”

“A thousand,” He offers—a shrug of uncertainty follows.

Silence stretches.

“Two thousand? Come on–that’s a thousand for each week.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal.”

The agent is quiet for a few seconds before he caves, sighing heavily, “Fuck, fine. Three. Can I drop him off tonight?”

“Tonight?” You balk, “You know, you’re actually the worst.”

His hands grip your shoulders, shaking you with far too much force than needed, “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

He’s long gone and buried in a phone call before you grumble a disgruntled, “You’re welcome.”

You consider later that evening that disclosing the recent…activities around your apartment complex would have been a good idea, especially with someone as high profile as Lucien taking up space in your one bedroom apartment.

Three break-ins in the past two weeks, noisy and unruly neighbors both above and sandwiching you—it wasn’t exactly peaceful or safe, but it was something.

You wait with a creeping anxiety as you tap your chopsticks against the homemade ramen you’ve made for yourself, one true moment of happiness in the day as you’re finally sitting down to relax, feet aching terribly.

It was coffee runs and constant back and forths over forgotten supplies or paperwork—it was the perfect job to keep you active and on your toes, never sure when someone might blow up on you for whatever reason it may be—you were nothing special, helpful, but when it came down to it, you were more or less in the way, so you often made yourself small out of habit.

The knock that startles you is hurried, like a panic. It sends your heart rate skyrocketing but your name echoes on the other side of the door, scrambling to open the door, you’re faced with two men.

The agent, James, a decent man despite his unorganized and erratic personality—and Lucien, a piss poor disguise covering his face.

You snort, addressing the ball cap and sunglasses with an amused expression, it was doing nothing to cover the instantly recognizable wispy brown hair of his and aquiline nose—the upcoming king of stage and screen. It was a wonder he even made it here in one piece.

“A natural chameleon,” You joke, widening your door to let them inside—the apartment was clean, thankfully. You’d scramble to get home after work and pick up, given you didn’t have much time to actually prepare, “seriously—get inside before someone clocks you.”

The agent stays though, like his feet were planted.

“He’s all yours,” He tells you, “you’ve got my number—don’t let him leave. I’ll check in when I can. Keep an eye out for paps.”

“Hey, no—” You interject, watching as the agent turned on his heels and departed, “we didn’t agree to—”, turning the corner with a shout of a long, helpless, “that!”

You sigh with a deep frown, turning over your shoulder to find Lucien with a chopstick in hand, noodle dangling from the utensil with a curious face, sniffing it cautiously.

“Hey!” You chastise, plucking the chopstick from his fingers, “Stop that.”

He looks at you curiously, obviously taken aback by your tone of voice and lack of intimidation by him, like a startled cat.

Jesus, okay.

You force a calming breath through your nose and look up at him, “Would you like some?”

“Is it gluten free?” Lucien inquires, peering over your shoulder at the still steaming hot bowl of soup.

“Actually, yeah,” Your brow furrows, “it—it is.”

“Sure,” He shrugs, beginning to remove his cap and glasses, along with his jacket, resting them haphazardly on the kitchen island as he takes a seat on the only other unoccupied barstool in your kitchen.

“Oh no,” You swiftly rectify his actions, “we’re not doing this—there’s a coat rack for a reason and a shelf by the door for things like,” You walk toward the front door, hand circling the object like a cherished belonging, “keys—sunglasses, hats,” You stress the final two words and point at the items before jutting your thumb frustratingly at the door, “—if you don’t mind, while I make your dinner.”

It was clear he’s spent most of the past several years with people ready and waiting on him, never questioning or ordering around, but it was basic human decency, you weren’t going to allow him to be amiss to it.

He obliges quietly, a surprise to you. You hide the satisfied smirk as you pour the broth into the bowl along with the noodles before placing the bowl on his side of the island, placing another dish near him, scattered with different toppings.

Lucien looks silently intrigued, the ends of his mouth curling down in interest as he sprinkles various toppings over his food, beginning to eat silently as you return to your own meal.

After a long enough silence and Lucien’s occasional slurping you decide to set a hard boundary, given the various personalities you’ve dealt with in the industry, it was you being proactive out of habit.

“Let me be clear, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” You inform him, locking eyes with his intense stare, something you hadn’t forgotten, not since the on-set incident, “This is still my home. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

“James said you were a firecracker,” Lucien smirks slightly, resting his chopsticks along the top of the bowl, “and a little bit of a bitch, but—”

“Good, he hasn’t lost his mind then.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional at this shit now. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Highly unlikely, you think.

He even makes a point by grabbing his bowl and emptying it before placing it in the sink before extending his hand out to your own bowl. You watch him wash the dishes, something that looks unnatural, but you aren’t going to complain.

“You always cook like that?” Lucien asks curiously over the running water, head turning over his shoulder briefly.

“No, only Friday. I never have time otherwise, work is…busy,” A generous way to describe it, but Lucien doesn’t seem to care or question, drying off the last dish before extending his hands out by his side in a grand gesture.

Maybe he was expecting a roaring applause, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You offer him a genuine thank you but it doesn’t extend beyond that before you’re trailing a few feet over toward the living room, a clean pillow and blanket draped over the couch, along with a fitted sheet if he felt like using it. It was all unmade, allowing him to set it up himself.

“Also,” You clasp your hands together at your front, “James didn’t mention this because I didn’t tell him but we’ve had a string of break-ins for a while now, so—always keep the deadbolt locked. Please.”

His eyes widen, looking around the apartment for the quickest escape. You were on the seventh floor, the only other escape option was a less than reliable balcony that you barely used.

“I have a bat,” You tell him, before pointing toward the door beside the entrance, “in the shoe closet, but I think we’re okay.”

“Think?”

You shrug, “It hasn’t happened yet, but the police have shit response time around here.”

Lucien looks overwhelmed, but nods.

“Oh, and the neighbors like to have really loud sex—walls are thin. Have fun.”

“No puedo creer esta mierda—” He mumbles under his breath as you turn your back, a sharp flap of a sheet, and a short laugh from you follows.

“Blame your agent, Lucien.”

He didn’t think you’d understand him, but your astute hearing proved otherwise.

Lucien was putting on an act with his gesture, clearly.

He doesn’t respond, pouting his way through the process of setting up his new bed for the next couple weeks in silence, ignoring the soft click to your door as you turn in for the night, the creeping and soft city noises filtering in through the thin apartment walls.

It wouldn’t be an easy night but he's never really liked big, empty houses anyways.

—

The weekend is uneventful; you fear it might be a dream, too good to be true, a complete fluke.

Maybe he had a change of heart overnight, but Lucien is overly polite.

He deconstructs his bed both mornings, packing it away in a corner of the living room, listening to the television at a reasonable volume with fresh coffee in the coffee pot, he cleans up his dishes and leaves a marginal mess.

The real kicker—he has the ability to keep the toilet seat down with your now shared bathroom attached to your bedroom, a real…gentleman.

You eyed him suspiciously most of the day, when he’s unaware and preoccupied, wondering when the facade would drop. Does he even remember the coffee incident?

He had to, right?

He approaches with a silent gesture of his emptied cup as you fill your own.

Fine—you pull the cup from his grip and fill it to the brim, sliding it back over carefully.

He sips gingerly as he raises it to his lip before speaking, “S’good coffee.”

“Thanks,” You answer nonchalantly, pouring a generous amount of sugar and cream into your coffee and stirring, watching as the dark black lightened into a soft brown, “are you a coffee guy?”

“I’m an anything guy,” Lucien responds, “but—good, it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Why?” You ask with a little more bark than needed, a flippant tone rounding out your morning irritation as you readied for work. “Are you—you really don’t remember, do you?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows in question, expectant.

“Your last job, up in Hollywood Hills. You spilled coffee all over me, blamed me, then got me suspended for a week, because of your outburst. I barely managed rent that month”

His eyes narrow, recollecting the thought like he’d been stricken with temporary amnesia.

“You’re all so much of the same, y’know?” You continue, sipping generously from your cup as his face relaxes, following your movements with a casual glance. “Cocky, egotistical, little dicked men. Without me you wouldn’t have that ridiculous fifteen dollar hyper whateverthefuck water you insisted you needed in your trailer, or your dry cleaning? God forbid. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Wait—” Lucien staunches, hold his hand up in pause, “hold on—”

You wait for approximately half a second before you roll your eyes, pushing beyond him to gather your bag and keys, “You know, I don’t need a disingenuous apology. I’m not doing this as a favor. I’m being paid.”

James had lied to him, that much he was figuring out as he processed the situation. You weren’t someone offering up free charity, a helping hand for a starving actor in need—except that wasn’t the case for him. Despite his team's careful guidance; he was a repeat offender of bad choices and money management, a part-time alcoholic, and a serial flirt. He knew how to play his hand and he was good at it, but with you—it was clear that you were a challenge.

But, it was only a couple weeks. He could survive that. He was a people person first and foremost and he’d charm the hell out of you if given the opportunity.

“James said he’d be by in an hour to pick you up for your meetings today—lock the door when you leave. Please.”

Still speechless, he watches you leave with a stiff, crisp shut of the door.

He couldn’t remember, racking his brain for one incident after another. His own fair share made him cringe in hindsight, but he…couldn’t remember. He’d almost hoped you were a fresh face, leaving him free of judgment, but it was clear that this situation was about pure survival.

“You did do that,” James confirmed to him as they left the first brand meeting that morning, “It was the morning of the big awards show—you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Lucien’s response, continuing, “Poor kid got her ass chewed out and had to take a trip to the clinic for the burns. It was…a mess. Never cried, though. I’ll give her that.”

And, like a strike of a match, it floods back. You’re shocked expression, mouth slightly agape as the sting of pain settled in, bracing for the impact of Lucien’s wrath because you knew. A man allergic to accountability, oozing power, it was almost too easy.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Apologies seem pointless now, but it could help. But…be genuine.”

“I’m genuine.”

James gives him a certain look, one that argues otherwise.

“I am.”

Only time would tell, really.

By the end of your work day, it was with great relief as you stepped through the door of your apartment until you remembered one fine detail you had told Lucien more than once.

Lock the door.

The eeriness hits you as the door clicks shut behind you, the place falling into a dead silence for a brief moment, your bag hitting the counter as you maneuvered your keys between your fingers, ready to take on what you could with what little strength you had to offer.

Just maul their face off, that seemed like the best option.

You count the seconds in your head, breath held tight and constricted in your chest. You quickly check the available pathways—living room, kitchen, before slipping down the hall, left with the only room to flee if not away from your apartment.

Bedroom light off, not a thing out of place, pristine even—but your eyes track toward the bathroom light seeping underneath the gap in the door. With careful, measured movements you approach the door although you haven’t thought through the actual process of what you wanted to do.

But, before you can react the door is swinging open as the bathroom is plunged into darkness, revealing a sopping wet Lucien, towel tied tight around his waist as he slings a smaller one over his shoulders, completely relaxed until he spots you.

Both of you scream—you out of anger and fear, Lucien at the incoming hand that he snatches by the wrist, your eyes landing on each other, your nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You’re insane!” Lucien shouts, shoving your hand away, “You nearly tore my face off.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” You seethe, “—what kind of maniac showers with the front door unlocked while home alone?”

“You said you had a bat,” Lucien excuses, “I could have defended myself.”

You sigh, plucking the keys from your grip before you toss them on your bed, stepping away from Lucien and away from the radiating heat of his body as it glistened, obnoxiously.

“Get out,” You snap, “get out—go—”

“I was just gonna…grab my clothes and come change in,” He weakly gestures toward the bathroom, earning a sharp look of distaste in his direction, “alright—alright, Jesus.”

He pauses for a moment, though. Before the lightbulb clicks on and he’s scrambling into the living room and back in record time, shoving a small white envelope into your hands.

“What is this?” You ask tensely, blindly ripping at the seal as you stare at him.

“It’s uh—what I owe you, for the coffee thing. I…I remember now. Figured I could pay you for the work I made you miss…is that about right?”

You peer at the wad of cash. It was indeed, enough.

“You’re unbelievable,” You reply, shaking your head.

It gives him false hope, wondering if it was all going to be brushed under the rug and that he could continue the rest of his stay in a somewhat semblance of peace, but then your expression flips and oh…that’s not…

“Are you physically incapable of saying the words “I’m sorry”—would it kill you? Allergic to accountability? God, you know what, I’m gonna call James and tell him I just can’t do—”

“No,” Lucien panics, hand around your bicep as you attempt to push past him, immediately recognizing the fierceness of his grip he loosens it, calms himself, “no—please, listen…I…I didn’t think you’d care enough to hear it. I do remember now and I was a dick, I was trying to offer a gesture of good faith. Peace, even?”

“Is this even your money?” You ask curiously, brow furrowed as you help up the envelope.

“Yeah, yeah—I pulled it out of my savings. Why? Do you…not want it?”

You quickly snatch the envelope away, “No, I’ll take it. But, words mean a lot. Like calling me an ignorant little bitch.”

“Okay, okay. I am sorry. I had a lot going on and I know that isn’t an excuse either, but I am.”

You tilt your head in examination, peering through the raw emotion on his face, whether he was putting on a masterclass in acting or not, it was believable enough. You could remain bitter, even if it meant suffering in silence, but you liked the peace just as much as he, so you compromise.

“You still have to get out,” You inform him, walking your fingers tauntingly toward the door, “and I swear, Lucien, if you used all the hot water—”

Lucien was insistent about rehearsing at least five hours a day, even on weekends. Luckily, most of those days you were spared, but when you’re barricaded away in your bedroom, sound travels. And Lucien doesn't care much to stifle his performance, maybe it was a weapon to backfire at your inconsiderate neighbors, but it was driving you insane.

He’s stuck on one scene, clearly a building tension that explodes and apparently he can’t nail, having heard the lines a hundred times over through the muffled walls—your first instinct was to complain, tell him take it elsewhere, but you remember your deal with James. Lucien just needed a place to stay for a while and this was his job.

Eventually, you poke your head through your bedroom door with a cautious expression, watching Lucien examine his face in the mirror, filing through various emotions before he finally gives up, tossing the script against the counter.

He spots you as he turns, already gearing up to apologize or maybe even excuse—but instead, you speak.

“Is it for an audition?”

“How’d you know?”

“The yelling, the emotion—I guess? I help on set with self tapes from time to time. I’ve learned to spot the difference between just memorizing lines and trying to feel the script.”

Lucien pushes his lips out in thought, tongue rolling over his teeth as his hands settle against his hips, pushing the sweatpants lower on his hips as he stands, deliberating.

“Just ask,” You tell him.

“You any good?”

It was a genuine question, not meant to attack your own ego. Besides, it makes you laugh.

“I’ll get your good side,” You promise him, surfacing from your room as you beckon for his phone with your hand, getting straight to work.

It only takes a few minutes to find a solid place to set up, against one of your cream colored walls, pictureless and plain, but with ample lighting from inside and out, it highlighted the wispy grays in Lucien’s untamed curls hanging over his forehead, the wrinkles creasing there as he looked down at the script and examined the text.

“Do you have them memorized?”

Lucien nods absently, his finger trailing down the side of the paper until it was suddenly gone, snatched from his hands with a smile on your face as you pointed for him to slide into frame. You take a step back, watching the screen with a careful eye before motioning with a finger for him to move a few centimeters to the left, “There. Perfect.”

You flatten out the creased paper as you speak, “From the top?”

Lucien smiles halfheartedly—the stress washing from his face for a moment—and nods.

–

You could keep up, that much was obvious.

Lucien is used to the monotone voice on the other side of the camera during auditions, forced tones and half-cocked emotion, it was hard to act against and with, but he’s learned to push through for the sake of a role.

It was an emotional scene, almost a requirement to have that intensity to act against and Lucien caught your eye line at one point, face buried in the script as you uttered the lines with teary eyes, letting your own emotion fill you to the brim and flow out, giving him a real and authentic reaction to act against.

He watched it back with a grin, mostly out of his own cocky admiration for himself but the secret you’ve been hoarding, a welcome surprise.

“Have you never considered acting?” Lucien asks curiously, emailing the video off to his agent.

“Cameras are daunting,” You shrug, folding and filing away some freshly washed towels as Lucien reclined on your couch, “I prefer being behind them.”

“You’re a natural,” He offers honestly, “that’s really rare.”

You shake your head in amusement as you riffled through the unfolded laundry, separating in different piles until you come across a no longer white blouse, stained a soft pink—and of course, Lucien. It was Lucien who offered to take laundry down the night prior, needing a moment away from being cooped up in the apartment, swearing he had it under control.

“I told you not to put this in the wash load with the colors! Look at this—” You held up the obviously stained blouse, crumpling up the fabric and tossing it to the couch with a frustrated huff.

“To be fair, it’s been years since I did my own laundry,” Lucien responds casually, “—don’t worry, I’ll have James buy you another.”

Your face twitches, actually twitches.

“No, no—it…it’s fine. It’s only a shirt,” You tuck a loose hair behind your ear as you heave the towels into your arm, “just—whites and colors, always separate them.”

And while living with Lucien had mellowed out some, it was still tumultuous at times.

Fighting over the bathroom was a regular occurrence, both of you guilty. But, that could be worked through, it wasn’t the end of the world. Occasionally it was the lights, a bad habit of Lucien’s to leave them lingering in his wait, lamps and fixtures, nothing was safe. Opened cabinets, items forgotten and out of place. It was all tedious and frustrating, picking and choosing your battles as they came, brushing far too much under the rub for the sake of peace.

You knew it was almost over, enjoying a quiet night to yourself while Lucien was apparently out at dinner—you weren’t sure, you didn’t really care, but you enjoyed the glimpse of what was to return to you, tucked away on the couch while half-dressed, hand stuffed into a freshly popped bowl of popcorn.

It was Friday and your neighbors never failed to come home from a rowdy night of partying with everything but sleeping on their mind, getting straight to business and your grab for the remote was immediate, turning up the volume to drown out the obnoxious moans and groans of drunk sex happening on the other side of the wall.

Lucien arrives back somewhere near the middle of the movie, the soft laughs from you pulling his attention to the couch as he clocked the nineties rom-com on the television, your cheek resting against your balled up fist, placing his wallet against the counter to signal his entrance.

“Loud enough for you?” Lucien jokes, approaching the singular piece of furniture in your living room, fingertips pressing against the arm of the couch as he takes in your appearance, shirt barely reaching beyond mid-thigh, thick socks keeping you warm as you curled in on yourself, careless that Lucien was definitely looking you make a noise in question, the words processing in a delayed manner.

You reach for the remote, pausing the movie briefly to reveal the reason; the insistent thump of wood against cheap sheetrock and moans, squealy and high-pitched, forcing a raised eyebrow from Lucien that needed no words.

“Nevermind,” He concedes,hands thrown up in defeat with a chuckle hidden behind his teeth, walking closer to examine the screen, filing through his internal rolodex of films and drawing a blank.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a total weirdo or are you going to watch the movie?” You ask with a joking tone, tucking your feet underneath you as you made room, glancing down at your phone as a notification brought the screen to life.

Lucien catches the faint tug of a smile on your face as you type away, clicking the phone into sleep mode a few moments later before continuing the movie without a word.

You’re not sure which one of you succumbs to sleep first, but it didn’t matter, finding that you both aligned together easily as you slept, covered with a blanket that Lucien must have snatched somewhere near without disturbing you—and when you wake in the middle of the night, complex quiet throughout, you can’t even find it in you to move.

–

Lucien’s length of stay was diminishing quickly and you were relieved, only a few more days and things would be back to normal, you’d be three thousand dollars richer, and you wouldn’t have to confront the fact that Lucien wasn’t entirely as bad as he seemed, temper aside.

You’re both on your way out the door on a weekday morning when you spot him, navy blue hoodie draping his body, one you favored because of its size and comfortability.

“That’s mine,” You utter as you’re fisting your keys into your hand and tucking a makeup applicator away in your bag, “that’s…mine—why is it on your body?”

Lucien looks down, perplexed. He could’ve swore…

“It’s mine, I swear,” You’re peering over his shoulder and pulling at the collar, examining the tag by his neck, or lack thereof—you always cut them out, hated the feeling against your skin.

“It’s mine,” You say with finality, “But, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyways. And now that you’ve worn it, definitely.”

“Ouch,” Lucien chuckles, shaking his head at your bluntness, “I guess I deserve that. I did think it was mine, though. Swear. Must’ve gotten mixed up somehow.”

“Oh, well, just burn it now—oh, shit, before I forget,” You point your finger at his chest, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ve got a date tonight. I’ll more than likely be gone when you get back here. I’m leaving a key under the mat, you know the deal. Respect it…protect it like you give a shit if anything happens, it’s all I have.”

“Date?” Lucien teases, “Sounds—”

“We’re not doing this,” You cut him short, finger raising higher in reprimand, “don’t do that.”

Again, Lucien values his well-being, so he admits defeat.

It was difficult for him, his eagerness to please and charm, to command the conversation and impress—but with you, it was impossible. Truly, it was mesmerizing to him.

It was several hours later when Lucien arrived at the apartment, pointedly locking the door behind him as you had reminded him several times—he wasn’t completely aloof.

His orders takeout on a whim, disguised under a fake name and the careful directions to leave at the door, having practiced the art of subtly when it came to laying low, enjoying a couple beers from a pack James had bought him as a small celebration for a week of good, decent meetings.

Things had been looking up recently and it made Lucien unsettled in a way, but thankful nonetheless, sipping at the beer generously and relaxing well into the night, dusk turning to black skies and few twinkling star lights, drowned out by the thick smog of city pollution. It started raining eventually, a soft pattern picking up gradually and he, for natural reasoning, is slightly concerned. So, he stays up despite some lingering exhaustion, barely hitting a quarter beyond eight o’clock when the door handle rattles, soft curses on the other side of the door that send him to his feet, peering through the peephole to spot a sufficiently blurry outline of you.

And what he opens the door to is not what he’s expecting, although, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting in the first place, but this…it wasn’t it.

You were wet, clothes dripping and rain water pooling at your feet, everything sticking to you like an uncomfortable glue, cold and shivering, your bottom lip trembling.

Without thinking, Lucien shifts into action.

He doesn’t ask a single question, not at first. Silently pulling the items off of you as you allow him; keys and purse first, clanging against the counter before he’s pulling your coat of, blouse, even kneeling down to remove your shoes before he’s carrying the clothes to the bathroom with you in tow, turning on the shower until it was steaming up the mirrors, heat radiating through the room as you pulled at the button of your jeans weakly, fumbling with cold and feeble hands.

He holds his hands up, careful not to approach in a way that would startle you or force you into attack mode, which seemed unlikely with the disheartened look on your face and he asks quietly, “Do you need help?”

You’re quiet for a long, tense moment before you nod, trying to quell the full body shivers as he assists you in stripping down to your underwear, also soaked. He pulls the curtain back and helps you over the side of the tub with the solid weight of his hand and speaks again despite your silence, “I’ll wait in your room—do you need anything?”

It doesn’t take a genius to piece things together as Lucien settles against the edge of the bed and it angers him for some forlorn reason, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. When the shower cuts off, he straightens, hesitates—should he leave?

You’d want privacy, right? Yeah. No, definitely.

He rises to his feet without another thought, his awful timing sending you straight into his chest as you swung the door open, towel snug around your body and smelling sharply of fresh, citrus body wash.

“S-sorry,” You stammer out, “you don’t—you don’t have to wait around, Lucien. Or give a shit, either. I don’t expect you to and I don’t care—”

It was unusually cold. He’s become familiar with your snark, that sharp and cunning personality, but this was different. This was a push, a defense of hard and impenetrable walls building up before his eyes and he speaks without thinking, hoping that it slips through the cracks.

“Regardless, I’ll listen,” Lucien provides—it wasn’t an overwhelming expression of fake, forced care or, god forbid, love. But, it was a raw enough response that it grabs your attention, “—if you want me to.”

—

He cranked up the heat while you dressed, flipped open his leftover takeout, and listened. You weren’t used to this and for a while, you were half-expecting him to find a way to turn the situation on himself, a sob story for a sob story. But, he doesn’t.

“This sushi…” You savor the taste, eyes falling closed.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien smirks, popping another into his mouth with careful precision, chopsticks in hand.

You could cry, it was such a strong and startling feeling that it caught you off-guard, “Yeah, really good.”

You clear your throat, tears shoved aside, “Have you ever ditched a date before?”

Lucien shakes his head with a subtle frown.

“Right, Lucien De Leon,” You respond jokingly, that magical emphasis around his name, “any woman would be dying for all of….this,” You gesture to him lazily with a faux disgust that couldn’t even be forced, both of you divulging into a laugh.

“Hey, you said it,” Lucien shrugs with a pointed wink that you shouldn’t find so attractive, but the natural charm he emits makes it impossible, “—but, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Even the ones who wouldn’t put out?”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole—“ Lucien begins, but you follow the rhythm of the conversation and it isn’t long before the lightbulb strikes on and you’re nodding.

“Right, you probably don’t have an issue in that department. Stupid question, sorry.”

You pluck the last piece of sushi off the styrofoam and chew, speaking behind your hand, “I should’ve known that dude was a prick, only stared at my tits the entire date.”

Out of reflex, his eyes drag to your chest and you click the movement in an instant, “Not helping,” You warn him lightly, “I guess I was too blunt, he kept…touching me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable going back to his place, he made some excuse to go to the bathroom and I waited for a half hour. Until the server came by with the bill—so, not only did he ditch me, I paid a hundred dollar tab and I didn’t even eat my food.”

Even in Lucien’s wild days, he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not when he was drinking more heavily, partying, hooking up on a daily basis—before his first failed marriage, it was foreign to him.

“You could’ve called me, or James, shit—an uber.”

“Phone died,” You shrug lamely, “it doesn’t matter, anyways. And don’t get me wrong, casual sex—it’s fine, but I got too hopeful, I guess. All men are the same.”

“Come on,” Lucien jests, “that’s not fair.”

“Fine, enlighten me, then.”

“You can’t expect fairytale shit—I mean, I’m one failed marriage and plenty of missteps in my life. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?”

Lucien sighs in defeat, scratching at his mused hair as he tosses the empty food container aside.

“I’m fucking with you,” You offer in a quieter tone—even if you weren’t friends with him, he didn’t have to put in the effort to help or listen, but he was, “I’m—just, thank you.”

“I’m in good graces now?” Lucien asks curiously, that playful mischief gracing his face with a smile.

You make a motion with your hand from your head as you grab, like pulling a thought and throwing it away, “Coffee incident? Forgotten—unless you pull some heinous shit.”

“You know, I might actually miss this,” His finger does a swirling motion, encompassing your living room, “you—eh,” a shaky hand motion that earns a jab to his thigh from your foot, “shit, ouch—that was a joke.”

“I know,” You concede with a smirk, “—I won’t, though. I want my couch back. And my bathroom.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’re a catch,” He tells you, “although, I do like the ones that bite, so—“

You reach forward this time, swatting playful at his chest with the back of your hand, but his fast reflexes beat you, your fingers smacking into solid rings.

He snickers softly and examines the grimace on your face as you pull back, “Pobrecita,” He coos mockingly, reaching for your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against the skin, “see what I mean?”

You ignore the heat that strikes through your body like a freshly lit match, pulling your hand away with a distinct eye roll.

He’d be gone soon and this would all be a ridiculous memory to think back on.

There was no room for newly evolving feelings, or worse, infatuation.

—

The three months you spend falling back into your normal routine is monotonous, safe, but the kind of security that has you itching for change. You find yourself checking on Lucien more often than you should, regular social media checks, the occasional subtle question to James when you happened to catch him on set. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself.

He did seem more erratic, often coming across other quick clips and social media stories of him at the club during waking hours, pure reckless abandon, he was having the time of his life—you couldn’t blame him, but it was…slightly alarming.

It was a Saturday night when all hell broke loose, police sirens raining down the street as you raced to your open window, peering down at the obscured face of a man in cuffs as he was roughly shoved into a police car before there’s a pounding knock at the door, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest at the sound.

Turning on your heels and swinging the door open, you can’t help but find yourself speechless at the sight.

“Think they caught your burglar,” Lucien notes under his baseball cap, eyes catching the cascading red and blue lights outside your window, duffel bag at his feet and a regretful look on James’ face.

You tilt your head at the discovery, your brain working overtime before your eyes widen.

“Just hear him out,” He pleads with prayer like hands, phone sandwiched between two begging palms, “Lucien—go,”

Lucien seems to stutter-step in his mind, not expecting to be the one leading this proposition as he side-eyes James, “I…need a place to stay…again,” Lucien squints his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, looking almost embarrassed, “for the next six months.”

“No,” You nearly shout out incredulously, “the first time wasn’t a trial run.”

There’s a long moment of tense eye contact and uncertainty.

An underlying worry in your gut at the sight of Lucien, a little worse for wear but still mostly himself, gripping tightly at his carry-on bag in his hand, thumb rubbing nervously at the leather strap.

Goddammit.

–

He’s paying the entire six months of rent he planned on staying there while he filmed for a movie they were shooting a short ten minute drive from your complex, a quaint little studio gracious enough to let the crew film free of charge—he’d given you the whole spiel, in one ear and out the other still wondering how you’ve tangled yourself in this web again.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You inquire, helping him file away some of his clothes in a drawer you had emptied out for him like this was normal. He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment with his lips pursed together, tired sunken eyes staring back at you, “Why not get your own apartment? A house? I mean, you’ve got the money?”

Lucien clears his throat, scratching at his neck where it jostles his chains, fingers slipping under the silk fabric of his shirt, “I, uh—feel weird…livingalone,” He rushes out, quickly turning to grab more clothes as you stand, hand placed against the top of your dresser as your brow furrows, feeling like you’d just fallen deaf.

“Come again?”

A small huff as Lucien passes a stack of expensive shirts, material that had to be ethically sourced or…some bullshit like that, he’s told you the story before in passing.

“I don’t like living alone, ‘s why I float,” He offers lamely, tossing the empty duffel into the corner of your room—you’d pick it up later, it didn’t matter, “I left all my old stuff to my ex-wife, it was easier that way.”

Often you had to remind yourself that Lucien was older, nearing his late forties while you were still managing through your late twenties, a big thirty on the horizon.

It dawns on you then that you don’t know much about Lucien at all outside of tabloids and gossip sites, the rumor mills running through Hollywood—you often find yourself reminding you of the fact he was still a person, with troubles, clearer now more than ever.

“It wasn’t always like this,” He assures you, “I’m a fuckin’ mess, I already know.”

“I think we’re beyond judgment, Lucien,” You assure him, “You saw me sobbing and nearly naked—just keep this place clean, like you give a shit about it, alright?”

Lucien nods dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”

–

You learn quickly that his long term stay meant that little quirks were beginning to surface—always organizing your things out on the sink opposite of his own, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed when you were rushing out the door on days he wasn’t given a call time. Or how he always made sure there was food waiting when he arrived before you—takeout or not. He wasn’t a great cook, but he could manage.

In turn, you tried to cook more often. And he loved to hover, but not with a homey, warm feeling that made you feel safe, rather like a curious dog nipping at your ankles. And more so, he would finish his own plate before looking cautiously at your own before you nod, allowing him to pick from your plate with a greediness that made you giggle under your breath.

“My ex-wife never cooked,” He had told you once, “I mean, she tried—but she was terrible. And this,” His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he steps at the homemade ravioli, “is there anything you can’t do?”

“Say no, apparently,” You gave him a solid once-over, a look from head to toe—he’s never offended anymore, taking the playful jest in stride, it had already been a month and it was beginning to feel like normal, again, having him there.

Your conflicting schedules meant a lot of time away from each other, which wasn’t bad. It almost helped more than you expected and while your apartment wasn’t well-fit for a roommate, Lucien made the place feel less empty.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to understand the charm. You could see beyond the facade and the persona—a troubled man with ambition, purpose, but a mountain of struggles. The drinking wasn’t a surprise, nor his uptick in smoking. He always smoked out the window so the smell wouldn’t permeate, but the drinking started to become…an issue.

It wasn’t that Lucien couldn’t handle himself when he drank, but he often did it to fill the dead time—so he said—when you were still at work, fighting with his own demons in his mind. He always ended up on your bed those nights, curled up in a fetal position at the wrong end and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move him, draping a blanket over him before you decided to spend the night on the couch. It was a weekly occurrence after a while, slowly growing in frequency.

He always apologizes, tells you he won’t do it again, but eventually you find yourself melding around him, sleeping in a way that keeps you comfortable and doesn’t disturb him. You don’t judge him, don’t think any lower of him—but there was concern and Lucien could see it growing with every passing conversation as the weeks dragged along.

By the third month, the dam breaks.

You don’t sugarcoat anything for him either.

“Do you need rehab?” You ask bluntly, watching him peel the gold-flaked under eye patches from his face, shoulder leaned against the doorframe, “Or, like, therapy?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends, washing his hands under the warm water, “I can get sober if I wanna, but it helps with the stress, you know?”

“No,” You respond honestly, but softly, “I don’t. Unless this is just some big excuse for you to sleep in my bed, which if it is—”

Lucien chuckles, toweling his hands dry, “You caught me.”

“You would tell me if it was getting bad, wouldn’t you?”

It seemed like the least he could do, considering how greatly you were carrying the burden for him by allowing him to stay in the comfort of your own home, treating him like a human. You ignored the tabloids anymore, always negative and nefarious toward him, like he wasn’t allowed to make a few mistakes along the way. He had to be perfect, given his troubling start in the industry. DUIs, cheating, eventually settling down to marry but that didn’t work out great for him either—you’d done some research lately, out of pure curiosity to understand what he wasn’t always willing to share, but you preferred to hear it from him.

Lucien squeezes at your chin in a comforting manner that makes you grimace in feigned disgust, forcing a gentle laugh through your nose as he answers, “Yes, I would.”

–

When he should, he doesn’t.

Award season was approaching and work was hectic, Lucien had wrapped on his next project and his previous one was gearing for a big release and line of promos, which meant Lucien had to be on his game.

The lamp in your living was broken, a shattered glass bottle on the floor beside it, a trail of clothes following to your room and a heat in the apartment that was sweltering in a way that had you stripping down immediately to the thinnest layer you could manage without getting to your underwear, jeans and a thin strapped top as you walked barefoot toward your room.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting or hoping for, but it isn’t this.

He’s naked, completely bare, save for the blanket draping his groin to save his modesty, out cold but skin obviously clammy, reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can’t help scrambling to the floor, unable to form any type of tangible sound. You check for a pulse, fearing that you might have just found yourself in an inescapable scandal, but it was there. That soft thump, thump, thump under your fingertips before you press the back of your hand to his skin and despite the sweat, he’s cold. He must have sweat out most of the alcohol in his system, your eyes dragging to the forgotten bottle on the ground.

You sigh, eyes falling closed as you gather your thoughts. You devise a plan, slow and methodical—first was to clean, grabbing the clothes and broken glass from the ground, leaving no trace of his mayhew before you’re returning to your room and straight for the bathroom, immediately turning on the cold water, the stream forceful as it pushed through the showerhead.

“Fuck,” You curse to yourself as you glance at Lucien who is mostly dead-weight, struggling to understand how you can get him from one point to another—with another quiet huff you approach him, shifting until you can get your arms under his armpits and heave him up, blanket falling from his waist as you yelp, eyes shooting toward the ceiling as you continue to drag his slumped body toward the tub, “okay—god, Lucien, you fucking owe me.”

It takes some maneuvering and the unbelievability that you are so incredibly close to his bare ass and dick in a way that most would fall over backwards for, regardless of the situation—it felt wrong, seeing him in such a manner and so completely helpless, but you shove the thought aside as you finally get him in the tub, the cold water waking him almost immediately.

It starts with a gasp, a sharp tug of the curtain and coarse, “Shit,” that assures you he was alive and well, coherent, even. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hear him let out a string of curses before he finally settles.

“There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the counter—take it,” You instruct behind the curtain, “I’m going to grab dinner—try not to hurt yourself, please.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, not that you expected it. And it doesn’t take long to grab the food either, calling it in and driving there and back in about twenty minutes, finding Lucien freshly showered and sitting on the stool near the counter, eyes telling a story of exhaustion but his insistently bouncing leg telling another.

“Chicken or steak?” You ask nonchalantly, holding the styrofoam containers in both hands.

He takes a moment to answer, unsettled by your calmness, “...steak.”

You hand it over without a question, grabbing a couple drinks before you’re digging in, standing opposite of him rather than sitting, eating in a silence that grows, thickens.

“It’s quiet,” You note the obvious before you scroll through your phone, searching for a soft tune to play through your speakers, something to fill the air, “better—how’s the food?”

“I like it,” Lucien responds with a full mouth, somehow endearing as he swallows and sips at the second water you offered him, attempting to help keep him hydrated, even if it was still annoyingly hot in your apartment, “—I…I think I broke your AC.”

“You did. I’ll put in a work order for it to get fixed,” You answer, a solution to the problem, “are you okay?”

If Lucien was being honest with himself, he can’t remember the last time anyone has asked him that—not genuinely, anyways. He falls silently, biting at his bottom lip in deep thought as his eyes squint, poking quietly at his food.

Talking was hard, you understood that. But, you hoped there was some trust built between you in the past few months, that you hadn’t laid your vulnerabilities out bare the night you came home rain soaked without the ability for him to share too. Plus, he’d broken your favorite lamp.

“It’s complicated,” Lucien diverts, but that doesn’t stop you, eyes lying in wait as you laid your utensil down to listen, “—I’ve got two kids. One, he’s eighteen…awesome, awesome kid. His name is Raynor. I didn’t meet him until a few years back, I’ve been tryin’ take make up for that. We even went on a roadtrip a couple summers back.”

Lucien fiddles with the cap on the water bottle idly, speaking further, “I, the other, my daughter, she’s a couple years old—it was a crazy night with a co-star,” You clock the information immediately, knowing who he was talking about without the confession, and he knew too—it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret in Hollywood as Delia was now married, to another co-star, raising that child, “a long story for another time, but we’re going through this nasty court battle.”

It would explain his financial situation a little, his willingness to take roles as he could, but the growing stress on his face as weeks passed, the tendency to hide or ignore the situation rather than face it—you understood, to a degree.

“So, all the drinking? The transiency?”

“It just helps,” He shrugs—helps him forget, temporarily, before it all comes barreling back at him, “she wants to revoke shared custody—she’s got her more anyways, with my work and everything, but she wants to deem me unfit, make it—” Lucien’s throat tightens, exactly why he wanted to avoid this conversation entirely, “she wants to erase me and the moment the press gets wind—”

All hell would break loose.

“Lucien, I don’t think it works that way,” You assure him, even if your knowledge was slim, “there’s…that's your right, she’s your child.”

“Given my history, the judge could consider it,” Lucien replies lackluster, ashamed, “look—I’m sorry to dump this shit on you, I fucked up your apartment, I can find another place to stay and I’ll pay out the rest of the rent like I promised.”

You look at him with a gentle expression, tilting your head until his eyes finally rise, “I asked,” You remind him, “and I hated that lamp anyways, so you did me a favor,” It was a lie, but given his emotional state it was acceptable, watching as he forced a weak laugh, “I’m not kicking you out either, if the media publishes anything about it, you hunker down here. I can deal with a few paps, you know? We do work in the same industry, after all. I may not understand the full scope but I do understand, Lucien.”

He returns a look with sad, red-rimmed eyes as you reach to clean up your shared dinner, before approaching him with a careful few steps, a hand gliding over his bicep and your fingers rubbing at the small dip in the back of neck, your first real initiation of genuine touch. He was a touchy person himself and seemed at ease by the feeling, your lips coming to press a soft kiss against his cheek. Kind, friendly, you pat at his back.

Something changes between that touch and the look he gives you as he turns, eyes flicking toward your lips out of desire, silently he pushes logic aside and leans forward, pulling your chin into his hand like he has before, a familiar touch followed by a foreign one, plush lips against your own that has you swimming in a mix of emotions, eyes falling shut briefly before you realize what was happening, lips parting slightly as the tip of his tongue touches your own before you’re ripping away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” You utter out, wishing the words had stayed inside of your head, “I, uh–I’m—”

You stutter relentlessly before you’re scrambling toward your room, door falling shut with a soft click as you sink into your sheets, heart racing uncontrollably and your hands covering your face, unable to face what you had just escaped from as a knock comes a few minutes later on your bedroom door.

You couldn’t face him. You couldn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. Slow footsteps that eventually lead toward another door that closes too, unsure of where he was wandering off to, but you couldn’t think about that, not with the conflicting, battling emotions in your head and chest, a startling yearning coming from just a simple touch.

He was everything you despised—somehow finding level ground, adoring him, caring about him, it was never supposed to go this far. He started as an inconvenience, a disruption to your life…and now, you weren’t sure you could imagine it without him there, in some form.

It takes a couple hours, already deep into your slumber, but the dip of weight in your bed startles you for a moment before the movements stop, the strong press of a back against yours, and an unspoken security that pulls you both under quickly.

He’d gone out drinking again, but at this point, you couldn’t blame him.

–

He awakes to a sweet smell, distinct and fresh. And air, cool air. It can’t be dawn, the sun is too far in the sky to be early morning. Lucien rises with a heavy grogginess, rubbing at his eyes as he finds his footing and walks toward the living room of your apartment, finding your back turned to him as you fiddled with the buttons on your AC as you bid someone goodbye, a man carrying a toolbox descending toward the hallway.

He gears up for an apology, the words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, you’re in front of him, two filled mugs in hand, coffee just the way he liked.

And Lucien doesn’t know when or why the feeling overtakes him, but he kisses you again. It isn’t a simple peck. It was full, all-consuming, feet lifting off the ground type of kiss.

No, literally—you rise to your tiptoes as the cups jostle in your grip as two large, warm hands curl around your back and his lips melt against your own, earning a starling gasp that slips through slightly parted lips, followed by his name after a moment too long.

“Coffee, coffee,” You mumbled quickly, “hot—burning, my toes,” Lucien pulled away quickly at the words, watching as the tan liquid pooled at your feet before he rushed to clean up the mess.

You watch with an amused expression before you finally hand the cup of coffee over, “Good morning to you too, I guess,” You smirk, biting down on your cheek to stifle the laugh that was fighting it’s way out, “please don’t tell me you’re still drunk.”

“I need to apologize,” Lucien tells you, “...again—I’m—I’m sorry for kissing you—again, like that, assuming that was something you wanted. I got pulled into the moment—”

You’ve had all night and morning to think it over, mulling over the emotions and feelings, still not quite sure, but you couldn’t help the swirling feeling of nervousness that had grown more frequent in Lucien’s presence, his looks, his flirtatious nature and touches. You were under his spell completely.

And if you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have stopped him.

Besides, you didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news after his terrible night, having been let go from your job position that morning, no notice—you were still reeling, but didn’t want to burden Lucien with the news.

You needed something else to occupy your mind.

“Drink,” You instruct, taking a seat on the couch as you sip at your coffee in silence, watching as Lucien mirrored your actions and sat at the opposite end, legs out-stretched and his chest on display, tanned skin with neatly trimmed chest hair, soft tummy leading into the charcoaled, stretchy lounge pants leaving little to imagination as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Lucien’s face immediately flushes with guilt, “The—a bar. I didn’t drink. I swear, I—”

He makes a small noise of frustration and closes his eyes, “I did something stupid, I needed a distraction, alright? I shouldn’t have kissed you, that’s not what you wanted, I know that.”

With a silent reservation, you press the coffee cup into the table in front of you before slowly make your way toward him on your knees before you pluck the half-empty mug from his grip and return it to a similar spot, feeling a surge of bravery as you climb onto his lap—there’s some underlying stupidity there, you think. But, fuck it.

“You don’t know what I want,” You assure him, fingers dragging along the top of his head before you’re tugging at the stands to tilt his head back, kissing him soundly, sweet dark roast on your shared breaths as you lick into his mouth, the opposite hand pressed flat against his bare chest. It takes a while, but eventually his brain catches up, along with his movements, and his hands curl around your bare thighs, fingertips grazing the silk shorts you wore to bed the night prior, like butter against your soft skin as his fingers climb and dig, pressing into your skin as you continue to discover every inch of him he had to offer—mouth, tongue, neck, chest.

It was a dormant hunger that had awoken after careful thought and pure primal need, tired of waiting things out for perfection when you had something tangible in front of you.

He’s mumbling your name softly as you lean into him, the bottom of your lip dragging against the tip of his nose as he pulls you away, strong hands encompassing your face as he looks at you, searching your glazed over eyes, “What are you doing?” He asks, apparent concern.

“Distracting you,” You tell him, immediately diving back in to kiss him, nipping at his chin playfully, a shaking sigh falling from his lips, “are you distracted?”

He chuckles weakly, “What happened to me being a cocky, egotistical, little dicked man?”

“I can go back to hating you if you want,” You respond, nipping at his ear before you pull back to look at him, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, “If you’re into that sorta thing.”

He could see in your eyes that you needed this too, a way to shut your brain off for a while, months of failed dates you’ve told him all about, in detail, he can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, stifling a groan as you core grinds against him, cock stiffening with the movement.

“Maybe,” He’s undecided, “we’ll see how this goes.”

You smile wide, feeling a surge of pride as he returns the kiss more fully, a hand twisting around the back of your neck as he kisses you fully, all wet and uncoordinated but it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Let me taste you,” He begs, clawing at your top in an attempt to get his hands on your skin, pushing up the fabric as you follow his movements, top off, stripping your shorts down along with your underwear, an eager Lucien gripping at your hips to maneuver you down into the cushion as he hastily shoves the table away with his feet to make room for him on the floor, no reprieve as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and splits his tongue through your folds, licking up the center.

A man of his word, he tastes. Noisily he licks and prods, tongue dipping inside of along with wandering fingers, sucking gently at your clit until you’re yanking at his hair, hand curling over the back of his scalp, fingernails digging into the top of his back, moans spilling from your lips like a flowing river, the rapids rushing through, walls clenching around nothing but cool air as Lucien parts from you, admires.

He’s got two hands on your thighs to keep you open, “Wider,” He coaxes, your breath quickening as he squeezes at your thighs, “right there, don’t move.”

He shoves his pants down his hips, the heel of his palm rubbing down his shaft as he wraps his fingers around his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you, glistening and eager, your fingers digging into the cushion fabric—you’ve seen him before, naked, in starkly different context.

But, he had nothing to be ashamed of, your eyes counting the faint splattering of freckles on his chest as his hand glides over his cock, tugs, thumb sliding over the tip to spread the precum down his shaft and you don’t hear him calling your name until his hand touches your skin, gliding over your knee as he taps, coming to with a weak, “Huh?”

Lucien laughs under his breath before he’s beckoning you closer, pushing up with your palms as he cups his hand under your chin and asks—no, demands, “Spit,” He tells you, following his order without missing a beat, the saliva dripping into his hands as you push it past your lips and he moves closer, knees settled on the plush rug in your living room, guiding you until your ass was nearly hanging off the couch and using your saliva to aid the tug of his cock.

“No condom,” You quickly interject, slightly out of breath. His mouth opens like he wants to respond but you quickly shush him, “we can avoid the spiel, I’m on the pill.”

Lucien shrugs with a cocked smile, “Just checking. You alright?”

You nod eagerly, dying for a reason to shut your mind off.

It was the perfect angle, his hips just level enough with your hips that he slid in with ease, adding his own string of spit into the mix as rubbed it down your cunt and pushed his cock inside—deeper, deeper, the head of his cock sliding against your folds teasingly as he rocks his hips until he’s fully flush inside of you.

Your anxious hands are taken hold by him, curling around his wrists instinctively before they’re being shoved over your head and against the back of the couch, his towering frame leaning over you as his hips piston you at a bruising pace, deep enough that it aches. It’s been long, so long and you feel pathetic for already wanting it so bad, core pulsating with an insatiable need.

His breath is hot, wet against your skin as his teeth graze against your breast, sucking the skin between his teeth as you gasp, “Louder,” Lucien coaxes, “let ‘em hear you. Think they deserve it after all they’ve put us through.”

You laugh at that, full-body and airy, eyes falling shut as Lucien plants a foot against the floor, changing up the angle to an intense degree, his cock slipping out briefly as he adjusts, catching glimpse of the string of shiny slick that connects you both before the thick head of his cock pushes back in, a soft squelch of admittance, a tell-tale sign of your obvious enjoyment.

If he knew this would shut you up, he would’ve tried seducing you months ago—though, he had a feeling the attempts would be futile, he was floating on his own cloud of disbelief that after all his wrong-doings, his missteps, it hadn’t pushed you away.

“Show me—huh, show me what you like,” Lucien pleads through baited breath, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat, his own hands leaving yours with the silent promise that you wouldn’t move them, finding purchase underneath your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, your fingers gripping around the back of the couch in desperation, “touch—touch yourself, show me.”

The drag of your hand is slow, but eventually your fingers hover over your cunt, pressing against your sensitive clit as you circle, slow and intentional movement that rips a loud moan from your chest matched with his pointed thrusts, feeling his stamina weaning as he watches, hips stuttering.

“You’re a fucking dream,” Lucien admires, “makin’ a damn mess, too. You hear that?”

He slows down on purpose, partially for his own benefit but he’s proving his point, that sticky squelch of arousal, his faint grunts mixed with your quickly rising moans.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” He asks curiously, eyes locked on your pussy, watching his cock split you open, gripping him and pulling him back in eagerly with every thrust, “Look at me—answer me, baby.”

There’s something so distinct in the way he says it, laced with an addictive drug.

Your eyes peel open, bleary behind near tears and you shake your head.

“Do you wish it did?” You counter, earning a subtle head shake from Lucien as he pulls out.

A moan of disappointment leaves your mouth before he’s quickly jostling your around, chest against the couch, his hand spreading wide over your back as he bends you over, fisting his cock as he feeds it back into your greedy cunt, the swollen head making you gasp as it pushes through your over-sensitive folds.

He uses the leverage as his hand climbs, gripping at your shoulder to pull you up, bracketing your body into the couch with a knee at your side, pressing you tight into his chest, his hand sliding around to your chin and turning your face to his, lips parting as he fucks you with a newfound ferocity, eyes rolling back so deep you aren’t expecting the fingers that find your clit, circling the senstive nerves until you’re tipping over the edge, soft encouraging words pulling you through your orgasm like a gentle wave, his fingers slowing down as you resurface.

He comes soon after, his hips stuttering out of pace again as you lean forward, feeling him pull out at the last possible moment before he’s painting thick strips of come against your lower back, the fingers of his left hand digging into your skin as he grabs you tight, the tip of his cock sliding against your ass.

You collapse with a content laugh, oblivious to Lucien searching frantically for something to clean you up before settling on one of the kitchen towels, your body slumped lazily against the couch and sighing when you feel his warm touch, the words slipping out on their own accord, “I got fired.”

“What?”

He tosses the dirty towel aside and passes over your clothes, pulling his own lounge pants back up his hips, sans underwear—and it makes you curious how often he does that normally, comfortable as he takes a seat, legs spread wide as he settles into the cushion.

“They called this morning,” You explain easily, pulling your top over your head and maneuvering your panties and shorts back on, “wouldn’t give me a reason, but it doesn’t matter.”

Lucien’s brow furrows in thought, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips out of habit.

“Is this one of those situations where you’re gonna ask if I’ll sign an NDA?” You half-joke.

He shakes his head almost immediately. He doesn’t seem to find it amusing, almost slightly concerned—or wounded?

“Come work for me,” He insists, “I’ve been needing an assistant.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” You ask him, staring at his flush chest and mused hair, evidence of rigorous sex all over his face, it was almost enough to have you confessing some unspoken feelings, but you weren’t that easily broken down.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you just trying to find a reason to stick around longer?” You tease him, a smile peeking out behind your tired expression, “Because it won’t work.”

“No—I’m serious about getting my shit together,” Lucien promises, “I might need a little help…but I want to.”

“Can I think about it?”

Lucien nods, hands dropping to his lap as he fiddles with a ring on his finger, eventually trailing toward the chains around his neck before his head is popping up, a quizzical look on his face.

“Wait—was that because you were having a bad morning?”

The sex, he means.

A smile breaks out on your face, “Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”

He can sense it isn’t the full truth, but he doesn’t pry.

“Damn straight,” He chuckles, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

–

Your answer doesn’t come for a solid week, thinking over the pros and cons. It was complicated, indeed bound to be messy if you allowed it, but Lucien was promising to double your pay, no undermining, no hovering—it seemed too good to be true.

But, you were taking the risk.

Lucien was still awaiting the imminent release of the court documents, the storm of press, but when you were secured in the safety of your apartment, hidden under the blankets as Lucien clung to you, head buried in your chest and his cock still buried inside of you, a slow and lazy day was what he needed, but he also craved you—and he was addicting, impossible to deny.

“We can’t keep doing this when I start working for you,” You remind him.

“Who says we can’t?” Lucien asks curiously, adjusting his hips as he slides deep inside of your cunt, peering up at you with soft eyes, “We keep it casual, if we decide we wanna stop. We stop. It won’t affect your job. I’m not that much of a dick, baby.”

“Well, for starters, you can’t call me baby at work.”

Lucien nods dutifully, listening to you divulge into a long lists of hardset rules, eventually pulling your focus back to him, his hips moving at a slow but gradual pace until you can’t focus any longer, giggling loudly as he buries his face into your neck, a sufficient end to the conversation.

The rest could be figured out later.

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

#lucien flores #lucien de leon #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien de leon x reader #lucien de leon x you #lucien flores smut #the uninvited #the uninvited fic #lucien de leon smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #my writing

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