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incognit0slut · 11 months ago

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PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Behind Closed Doors

Your admiration of his vest leads you to an empty office with his face buried between your thighs—and an urgent Emily demanding your whereabouts.

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) soft!dom spence (are we even surprised), fingering, oral sex (f), semi-public, slight overstimulation, and Emily kind of overhears because she calls Reader in the middle of the deed (oops). 5k words

A/n: I don’t have any excuse for this one, I just wanted to rewrite this scene of him because looking at it is not enough

You heard him before you saw him. It wasn't his voice per se, but the distinct sound of rapid shots cutting through the air. The noise seemed to intensify as you stepped into the control room, almost overbearing, but you'd long since grown used to its piercing sound.

"Is that Reid?" You asked, your polished boots echoing into the confined space. The officer monitoring him through the surveillance camera glanced over at you, and even though her expression didn't betray outright displeasure, you could hear a subtle edge in her voice.

"Agent Y/L/N," she greeted, her eyes darting between the rows of monitors, then to you, and finally settling on the clipboard in her hand. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Actually, I am. It’s Tuesday, my usual training day.”

"Not for another hour."

"I know," you countered, holding up your wrist to check your watch. "But I have some spare time, thought I’d come by early."

“I’m afraid it’s occupied right now. Agent Reid is still in the middle of his test."

This caught your attention. "What test?"

She glanced at you, her expression conflicted. "It's just a routine evaluation."

"He's currently not an active agent," you pointed out. It hadn’t been too long since his release from prison. It didn’t make any sense for him to go through an evaluation, not when he was behind bars for the past few weeks. Then recognition dawned on your face. "He's being evaluated to rejoin the team, isn't he?"

"I... I'm not at liberty to discuss that," she replied. Her gaze faltered momentarily before she nodded slowly, confirming your suspicions. "But yes, it's standard procedure for agents returning from extended leave."

"Oh wow—okay," you responded, absorbing the information. Your eyes flickered towards the monitor. "How's he doing?"

Her lips formed a thoughtful line before she answered, "Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp."

You let out a laugh, finding the comparison amusing. You'd known Spencer for what, three, four years? While he wasn't bad with firearms, comparing him to a historical figure like Wyatt Earp seemed a bit exaggerated. However, as you watched him through the monitors, despite your initial skepticism, you couldn't deny the truth in her words.

You had witnessed him handle a gun countless times, but always in situations where there was a real threat, where you both had to be on high alert. Yet as you observed him now from a different perspective, it was hard to tear your eyes away. It was as if he was in his element, and Spencer Reid in his element never looked so... attractive?

Now that wasn't an exaggeration. Although you had never admitted this to anyone—god forbid what your teammates would say—there was an undeniable charm to the confidence he exuded. While Spencer had always been attractive, there was something different about the way he handled the gun.

You were sure it had something to do with his time in prison. After all, who wouldn't be affected by such a daunting place, especially when you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place? Yet, surprisingly, Spencer seemed to be coping better than you expected. Despite the toll it must have taken on him, it was evident that his experiences had shaped him, perhaps more than he let on.

Although he was still the same sweet, adorable guy you considered one of your closest friends. But you weren't sure your current observation of him fitted the typical definition of friendship… because there was nothing remotely friendly about the thoughts running in your head right now.

Not only was it not friendly, but it wasn't exactly innocent. Because look at him. Look at the way he was gripping the gun, his arms defined beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Look at the way his protective glasses covered his face, the black-rimmed frames accentuating his handsome features. And even though you had seen him wear the uniform vest countless times, somehow it was undeniably distracting the way it hugged his chest.

Yep—there was nothing remotely friendly about how you wanted to climb up the man.

A sudden buzz echoed in the room, snapping you to reality. You glanced up and noticed the officer you were talking to entering the monitor screen and it dawned on you that you had been so distracted by your thoughts that you hadn't realized she had left the control room.

"I'll send the results to the review board this evening," the officer's voice resonated from the screen.

"Did I do okay?" His voice came through.

"Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp," she replied, echoing her earlier assessment. Her gaze shifted to the printed cardboard image of a man, supposedly representing the Unsub, which was shredded right around the face. "Or... Al Capone, maybe."

You observed Spencer's slight nod as she turned and walked out of the screen. Quickly, you exited the control room and met her in the hallway.

"Agent Y/L/N," she called out as she spotted you. "You can have the room in five minutes—"

"I need to reschedule."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Reschedule?"

"Uh... yes, something urgent came up," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

She regarded you for a moment before nodding. "Alright, just let me know when you want to reschedule."

"I will, thank you," you said quickly. Sensing her lingering gaze, you added, "Oh, I'm just waiting for Reid. I need his help on... something."

A faint smile played on her lips, though she didn't press further. "Of course, I'll leave you to it then."

With a nod, she turned and walked away just as the door at the end of the hallway opened, revealing Spencer emerging from the room. His eyes met yours in confusion, and you could sense his curiosity as he approached you.

"Hey," he greeted. "What are you doing here?"

You cocked your head to the side.

What were you doing here?

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before offering a shrug. "Just passing by, I guess."

His brow furrowed slightly as if he sensed there was more to your answer than you were letting on. "Alright," he said, though his curiosity lingered in his gaze.

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject. "So, how did the evaluation go?"

"So you've heard.”

"Yeah," you confirmed, starting to walk down the hallway as he stepped in pace beside you. "I can't wait for you to be back on the team. Officially, that is."

"If they let me back on the team."

"Of course they will," you reassured him, your hand finding its place on his shoulder, offering support. "You're more than qualified."

He sighed, and you tried not to notice the subtle movement of his vest across his chest, or how it shifted under your touch. "You think so?"

"I know so," you affirmed, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me, they'll definitely bring you back."

He stopped his pace, and so did you, before his eyes flickered towards your hand on his shoulder. He must've sensed something different, considering you weren't exactly the type of person who liked physical contact. Neither of you were, actually. While Spencer was known for his aversion to germs, you simply preferred maintaining a certain level of personal space.

"Seriously," he wondered, his tone laced with curiosity. "What are you doing down here?"

You cleared your throat. "I told you, I was just passing by."

"Really? Is that why you're talking to me instead of going through your usual training?" he pressed on. "It's Tuesday. I'm well aware of your schedule."

Damn him and his eidetic memory. You shifted away from his gaze. "Can't a girl just choose to have a chat with a friend?"

"You chose me over your scheduled routine?” his lips curved into a subtle smile. “Am I that much of a distraction?”

Yes, that damn vest is distracting me.

"Distraction might be a bit strong,” you replied, the lie sounding feeble even to your own ears.

"So you’re admitting I’m slightly distracting?"

"I never said that.”

Spencer leaned in and you felt the heat of his proximity radiating from his body. "But you didn't deny it either.”

You felt a faint blush creep onto your cheeks as you realized the shift in his tone. Dare you say he was... flirting with you? Or was it just your imagination running wild? From the corner of your eye, you caught the subtle way he licked his lips, and without meaning to, your own gaze was drawn to the movement.

It was a habit of his, one you'd observed countless times before whether it was out of concentration or a mere reflex. But seeing it up close now, the way his tongue traced the curve of his bottom lip, was driving you insane.

You swallowed hard. This was not friendly behavior. A friend wouldn't be imagining what it would feel like to have his tongue on your lips instead.

"Y/N?"

Your face felt hot as you met his gaze. "I..."

Before you could respond, the sound of laughter and chatter from down the hallway reached your ears. You heard Penelope's unmistakable giggle with JJ's animated voice, and suddenly your instinct took over. Without a second thought, you reached out and grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him into an empty office nearby.

The door shut with a soft thud, and you frowned, suddenly feeling embarrassed. You didn't want to be caught in a state of flustered panic like some nervous school girl talking to her crush, but as Spencer stood behind you, you realized you were overreacting. The more you dwelled on it, the more absurd it seemed to hide away when there was no reason to.

With a sigh, you turned to face him. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to..."

But as your gaze met him, your words faltered because he was standing closer than you expected. Close enough that the color of his eyes seemed to intensify under the soft light filtering through the window—a rich brown, like warm chocolate, with specks of gold that danced in the sunlight.

Your eyes involuntarily traced downwards, from the sharp lines of his nose to the curve of his lips, lingering on the stubble lining his jawline. Your mind wandered, and now you couldn't help but wonder how it would feel having it against your skin. Or how it would feel pressed against your thigh.

Your face grew hotter at the thought.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" he asked, taking a step forward. You squeaked in surprise, an actual high-pitched sound leaving your lips, as you felt the hard surface of his vest pressing against your chest.

"It's just..." You hesitated, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. "You're standing really close..."

He glanced down at you, his eyes resting on your lips. "Do you want me to move?"

"I... uh..."

His eyes flickered back up to meet yours. "I'll take that as a no."

Before you could process his words, his hand reached up, fingers gently gripping your waist. You felt a rush of heat spread through you at his touch, the sensation seeping through your shirt and you found yourself leaning into him, your breath catching in your throat as his face hovered closely above yours.

It was happening. Your heart pounded in your chest as his lips drew closer. You couldn’t believe it, he was going to kiss you—Spencer-fucking-Reid was going to kiss you.

But just as his lips hovered dangerously close against yours, he suddenly stopped.

"Just to make this clear," he began, running a thumb along your side. "I respect you, both as a friend and a colleague. I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable with, so if you think this is pushing any boundaries then—"

"Spencer," you cut in. "Just kiss me already."

With a hint of relief and a small smile playing on his lips, he finally closed the gap between you.

You never imagined his lips could be so soft. He had the softest lips that moved against your own with a hint of coffee and something undeniably sweet. Those soft, soft lips parted away from yours for a moment before he leaned back in, more desperate, more needy. And when he swiped your bottom lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, you couldn't help but welcome him with a soft moan of pleasure.

He devoured you then, his tongue pushing eagerly into your mouth, his lips enveloping you with a hunger that left you breathless as he pressed himself against you. Before you could fully grasp what was happening, you were walking backward until your back collided with the solid surface of the desk.

With strength you didn’t know he possessed, he effortlessly lifted you and perched you on top of it, prompting a surprised squeal to escape your lips. He laughed in response but you were too caught up in the moment to worry about whether he found you amusing.

Your hands eagerly roamed over his chest, fingers curling around the strap of his vest as you pulled him closer. He slipped between your parted legs with ease and when he pressed his evident bulge against your core, you both gasped in pleasure.

"We should... we should probably stop, right?" he murmured, his voice muffled against your lips. Despite his words, his actions betrayed his self-control as he began to roll his hips against you.

“We're at work, someone might—” He groaned. “Someone might… hear us..."

He was right, but you found yourself unable to care about anything else but the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your heat.

"We could stop, or..." you found yourself saying without thinking. Your hands moved with a mind of their own, finding their way between you as you started to unbutton your shirt, the fabric slipping away to reveal more of your skin.

"Or..." He prompted, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip yet again, his breath coming out in shallow, ragged bursts.

"Or..." you repeated, pushing the front of your shirt open. "We could be quiet."

"We could be quiet," he agreed all too quickly. "We could definitely be quiet."

You let out an amused laugh. "We’re going to get in trouble if anyone finds us."

“Then you shouldn’t make a sound.”

“Me? What about—oh.”

His lips were already trailing down your body, leaving soft kisses as they lingered on your neck, across your collarbone, and then he moved lower, sucking lightly on the swell of your breasts. A whimper of his name escaped your lips, your fingers entwining in his hair.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes drinking at the sight of your breast pushed up against your bra, a glistening sheen of his saliva coating your skin.

“You are stunning,” he murmured, before leaning back in to place a tender kiss on the spot where your collarbone met your shoulder. “How far do you want to take this?”

You blinked, trying to ground yourself into the moment between the lust fogging your brain. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he muttered as he rutted his hips against yours, drawing a needy moan from you. “How far are you willing to go?”

“If you’re asking whether I want to have sex with you, the answer is a hundred percent yes.”

You could practically feel his smile on your skin as he buried himself in the crook of your neck.

“That’s good to know,” he whispered, causing you to arch your back as your chest pressed against the hard material of his vest. “But I don’t think we can do much considering we’re supposed to be working. Well, you at least.”

You grasped his shoulders, pushing him away to meet his gaze. “I thought we agreed to keep quiet.”

“We can keep quiet,” he assured you, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “But I can’t rush my time with you. Besides, you deserve a much better setting than an unoccupied office full of dust.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers trailing lightly along your jawline. “Maybe, but it’s more about time, really. I just want to take—” His lips brushed against your cheek. “My time—” A peck on your lips. “With you.”

You melted right there and then. You could’ve sworn you were nothing but a puddle mess. If he wasn’t holding you for support you were sure you could fall right back to the floor.

“Alright then,” you finally said, reaching for the buttons of your shirt with trembling hands only to be stopped as his fingers curled around your wrist.

“What are you doing?”

You shot him a puzzled look. “I thought you didn’t want to have sex right now.”

“I didn’t say anything about stopping,” he replied, releasing your hand before his palms slid up your thighs. “There are plenty of other things we can do.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks. “Like what?”

“Well, I guess we'll just have to get creative.”

Your breath hitched when his fingers hovered over the button on your pants. You watched with a mix of excitement and disbelief as he started to undo them, your mind turning into a mushy mess. It was as if every neuron in your brain had decided to stop working.

“Lift your hips for me.”

You met his gaze, trying to summon up your composure but you couldn’t help the nervous twitch of your lips. He smiled at you.

“Come on, pretty girl, we don’t have all day.”

Not only were you melting, but you were practically liquid by now. Your body moved on its own accord—your hands gripping his shoulders as you lifted your hips, synchronizing perfectly with his gentle movements to slide the material over your hips and down your legs.

He placed your pants on the empty space beside you while his eyes never left your body. His gaze lingered on the rise and fall of your chest, and he leaned in, his fingers trailing over your skin before settling on the hem of your panties. His thumb slid to the front, brushing along the delicate material. Your hips bucked as he continued to run his thumb up and down as if he were trying to map out your slick folds over the fabric.

“Look at you dripping,” he mused, his eyes fixated on the way his thumb slid over to your clit. “Are you always this wet?”

Your cheeks heated at the question. He wasn’t even trying to make it come off as dirty talk; he asked it like a normal question, as if he were simply wondering about what you ate for breakfast. But the question alone had your face burning because you did not expect it to come from him.

“I… I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he asked, his tone amused. He hooked his fingers into the material of your panties before pushing it to the side.

“I-I don’t know.” You let out a breathless moan when his fingers grazed your slit. “Whenever I’m turned on, I don’t... I don’t exactly touch myself just to check how wet I am.”

Spencer chuckled softly, angling his hand between your thighs before gently pushing his middle finger into your entrance. You gasped at the sudden stretch, brows furrowing as he pressed further, and your hand instinctively gripped onto his arm.

“Do you often touch yourself?”

Your head fell back as he started to move.

“M-Maybe,” you managed to stutter out.

"What do you think of when you do?" he asked slowly, his own breath starting to grow shallow as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He observed the way your mouth fell open, your tongue slightly slipping out in the corner, and the way your eyes shut closed. He was fascinated by the effect he had on you, on how just a simple touch had you squirming.

“A… a lot of things,” you managed to reply.

“Have you ever thought of me?”

Whoa.

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked, momentarily stunned.

This was dangerous territory, but then again, nothing seemed quite as risky as being fingered by your coworker on a Tuesday afternoon. So what harm could it be if you admitted that yes, in fact, he had crossed your mind when you touched yourself wishing it was his fingers instead?

A lot of harm, actually. One, it seemed like an inappropriate confession given your friendship. Friends don't usually imagine each other in sexual scenarios. And two, you could die of embarrassment.

"No," you replied, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

He hummed skeptically. “I thought we were past the point of lying between profilers.” With a pause, he added another finger inside you, causing you to bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. “Is this how you imagined it in your fantasies?”

What was the point of lying now? You swallowed hard, trying to think of a witty response to distract from the intense pleasure coursing through your body.

“Uh… This is slightly better.”

“Slightly? I’m hurt.” He pressed his thumb onto your clit. “What else did you think of then?”

Your cheeks flushed even more. “You… well, um, you also used your tongue.”

The airy laugh he let out sent a shiver down your spine. “Really? And how did that fantasy play out?"

Your heart raced as you tried to find the right words. "Let's just say it involved a lot more tongue action and a lot less talking."

His smile widened, and he leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. “Then let’s reenact it.” He gently pulled his fingers out of you. “Lay on your back.”

With a shaky breath, you complied, sprawling out on the desk, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. When he reached for the waistband of your panties, you couldn't help but crack a joke. "If I knew this was the direction this day was heading, I would've worn my fanciest underwear."

Spencer shook his head. “Trust me, you don't need fancy underwear to drive me crazy."

He then deftly removed your panties, his movements confident yet tender, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. When the fabric pooled at your ankle, he got down on his knees and parted your legs wider, positioning himself between them.

You watched, anticipation building, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your inner thigh. Then, with a teasing glance, he pressed his lips to your skin, planting soft kisses along the trail of your inner thigh, inching closer to your core.

You shivered at the sensation and your heart raced with every kiss. His hands roamed over your thighs, tracing delicate patterns while his mouth brushed closer to where you craved him the most. You bit down your bottom lip, unable to contain the moan that escaped as his tongue flicked out, grazing your sensitive flesh.

This was definitely better than your fantasies, the ones you'd harbored in secret, too taboo to admit even to yourself. But here you were, living out those desires in the most deliciously real way possible.

You gasped as his tongue lavished your slit, tasting every inch, mixing your arousal that was beginning to drip from your core with his saliva. Your back arched off the desk, thighs trembling and when they threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag over your clit.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Somehow it felt like a dream, but everything was real. His face was right between your thighs; his mouth pressed against your cunt, his tongue lapping through your wet folds. And it wasn’t as simple as tasting you, he was eating you, devouring you, swallowing every drop of your arousal as if he couldn’t get enough of your taste.

You started to lose control of your mind, your body, your actions. Your hips bucked to meet his tongue, your jaw slackening as stifled moans spilled from your lips. And that was when you felt it—a faint vibration against your thigh. At first, you thought it was just the sensation of his touch, but then the loud, unmistakable loud ringtone of your phone shattered the moment.

"Shit!" You squealed, scrambling to grab your phone from your discarded pants. The last thing you needed was for someone to discover you in this compromising position.

"It's Emily—“ You pushed his head away, trying to hide your flushed face as he looked at you with surprise. His lips were glistened with your arousal and his hair seemed messier. God, he looked so pretty.

"Don't answer it."

"It might be important." With a pointed look, you silently urged him to keep quiet as you brought the phone to your ear with trembling fingers. “H-Hey... what's up?"

Emily's voice came through the line, slightly muffled by the sounds of commotion in the background. “Hey, I need you to review the report you submitted yesterday, you left a few details about the Unsub.”

Spencer's lips brushed against your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine, and you had to bite back a moan. You shot him a warning glare, mouthing ‘stop’ before turning your attention back to the call.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “So… um, which report?”

"The case in Florida," your boss explained. "You mentioned that the Unsub was targeting women between the ages of 25 and 35…”

You were trying to listen, you really were, but it was hard when you felt his fingers ease into your cunt, your juices dripping out, coating his flesh as he curled them inside. You almost let out a whine as his thumb pressed to your clit, caressing in circular motions.

“…he's also been stalking younger women."

Your eyes screwed shut as he sped up his pace. His touch was driving you crazy, and you could barely register the conversation over the sounds of your own arousal echoing in the room.

“Y/N.”

You snapped your eyes open, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks as you tried to concentrate on the call. "Uh, yeah, go on," you managed to stammer, hoping she didn't notice your wavering tone.

“Are you okay? You sound... off," Emily's voice cut through the haze of pleasure. You shot Spencer another pleading look, but he simply smiled at you with a hand still between your thighs and the other slipping underneath your bra.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, fighting against the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. "Uh, yeah, I… I-I’m doing my training.”

You mentally cursed yourself for the terrible excuse. Emily didn't seem entirely convinced. "Training?"

"Yeah, you know, the uh... firearm training? I-It’s Tuesday.”

There was a pause on the other end before she spoke again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound like you're in pain."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan as his fingers curled inside of you. "No, no, I'm fine. Just... a little out of breath from all the… shooting."

Spencer let out an incredulous scoff, and you shot him a pointed glare.

“Are you with someone?”

You hesitated, racking your brain for a believable excuse, but all you could muster was a feeble, "Uh, nope.”

There was a pause on the other end, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken as your body flushed with heat. Meanwhile, Spencer seemed intent on torturing you, never stopping his pace. If anything, it seemed like his movements were increasing. Just when you thought you couldn't feel more exposed, another scoff echoed through your ear, this time from Emily.

“Alright, where are you really?” she pressed, her tone indicating she wasn't buying your flimsy excuse.

“I told you I-I’m doing my training.”

She laughed. “Y/N, we profile people as a job. I can sense your lie even through the phone.”

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. What was up with these profilers and their knack for sniffing out lies? You were one yourself, but apparently, you were no match for their scrutiny.

“I’m not—“ your words were cut short when he stood up, hovering above you. You looked up at him, smiling at you innocently as his fingers continued to curl deep inside you. You clutched his forearm with your free hand, attempting to steady yourself.

"I'm not lying," you managed to squeak out.

"Mhm," came Emily's voice from the other end. “Just come by my office and grab the report, okay?”

Your breath hitched as his fingertips delved deeper, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight of his hand moving between your legs, coated in your arousal with each thrust. You could feel your orgasm edging closer. Your hips moved in sync with his motions as the pressure built, the tension coiling tighter in your stomach and—

“Y/N!”

“Y-Yes, I’m… I’m coming.” Spencer's low chuckle filled your ears, and you realized what you'd unintentionally implied. Your eyes widened in embarrassment. “I mean, I-I’ll be there soon, okay, bye!”

You quickly slammed your phone down on the desk, ending the call with a thud. But before you could even take a breath, Spencer's fingers were back to their rapid pace, driving you to the edge of sanity. Your body staggered under his touch, your hips moving in sync with his relentless rhythm, the world outside the room fading away into a blur of pleasure.

"A-Ah—w-wait, fuck—"

You barely managed to utter a protest before his hand covered your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. Your back arched, your head thrown back as you tightened your grip on his wrist, your body writhing beneath him as your orgasm consumed you.

It lasted longer than you expected and Spencer seemed determined to push you over the edge as he shifted his attention from your cunt to your sensitive clit. His fingers withdrew momentarily, only to return with a renewed intensity, applying just the right amount of pressure.

Your senses were on overload as you moaned into his hand, the sound muffled but still audible. He worked you, over and over, and you didn't even know your body could take so much. Every stroke, every caress sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, building up to an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as the sensations reached a fever pitch. It was all too much, too intense, and in a moment of desperation, you pushed his hand away. When the last tremors of your orgasm finally faded away, you collapsed back onto the desk, panting heavily, your limbs feeling like jelly.

Spencer removed his hand from your mouth, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched you catch your breath. “Are you okay?"

You nodded weakly. “Yeah, just… that was intense.”

“Good intense?”

“Really good intense,” you replied with a sheepish grin, which only made him smile. With shaky hands, you pushed yourself up from the desk, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over you. As you began to dress yourself, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him—or rather, the evident bulge underneath his pants.

“That… that doesn’t look comfortable,” you remarked.

Spencer waved off your worry with a dismissive chuckle. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of it myself.”

“Here? At work?” Your eyes widened at the implication. “I didn't know you had it in you.”

He cocked his head to the side. “That’s not what I meant. It’ll eventually go away if I ignore—stop staring at it,” he added with a laugh. “You’re not helping.”

Your gaze lingered a moment too long on his bulge. "I can think of another way to help.”

Spencer's breath caught in his throat, his imagination running wild with possibilities, but he quickly regained his composure. "Go," he said, gently nudging you towards the door once you were properly dressed. "Emily's waiting for you."

Your eyes swept over him and a wave of awkwardness suddenly washed over you. What was the protocol after experiencing the most intense orgasm of your life? Shake his hand? Give him a high-five? You couldn't help but stifle a nervous laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

After a brief moment of contemplation, you decided to trust your instincts. With a hint of hesitation, you stepped closer and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. He blinked in surprise, but before he could respond, you were already rushing to the door.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you leave, a tingling sensation lingering on his cheek where your lips had briefly touched. But as he licked his lips absentmindedly, he couldn't shake the taste of your arousal that lingered there.

Groaning softly, he shifted uncomfortably as his mind filled with vivid images of you squirming under him; your mouth agape, eyes half-closed, your pretty legs spread apart. The memory of your moans echoed in his ears and his cock stirred in his pants.

He sighed, realizing he was in for a long day if he didn't do something about it. With a slight grimace—and the embarrassment gnawing at him for what he was about to do—he let his feet carry him to the nearest bathroom.

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undressrehearsal · 1 year ago

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dare to be stupid

summary: a drunken game of truth or dare overtakes your study session

tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs, alcohol, drunk sex, oral (r receiving)

a/n: listen idk how this turned into 7.5k. idk what happened. also this is my first time writing smut. idk if the sex is good but it was already so long. if y'all like this one i'll write a sequel or something idk

part 2

“Truth or dare?”

It had become a tradition for the two of you shortly after moving in together. It was common for the air in your tiny apartment to grow heavy, the stress and anxiety tangible in the air - often around midterms or finals, or if your roommate had a particularly infuriating project. During these times when the bags under your eyes grew too heavy to carry or the lines around your roommate's mouth deepened into canyons, one of you would barge into the other's bedroom - frequently in disarray with notes and textbooks strewn across every surface - slam a bottle of vodka down on the desk, and utter those stupid, little three words, and the game would begin.

And so you didn't even jump when you heard your bedroom door slam against the wall, heavy boots against the carpet. You had been bent over your desk for so long that your neck ached, your eyes swimming with letters that didn't quite make sense and didn't fit into any of the medical terms laid out on your flashcards. When Ellie slammed the bottle of vodka on your desk, you blinked your eyes clear and looked up to meet her eyes.

She smirked when she said, “Truth or dare?”

You didn't waste time in clearing off your desk, shoving your books and cards aside into a toppling pile. Ellie, without waiting for permission, set a shot glass down in front of you, kicked off her boots, and plopped back onto your bed.

Scooting your chair closer, you propped your feet up against the mattress, pursed your lips, and said, “Truth.”

Ellie groaned, flopping over onto her side and propping her chin in her hand. She had stripped off her jacket, leaving her in a dark t-shirt that almost made her skin look pale in the low light from your desk lamp. “You're such a fucking pussy.”

You rolled your eyes even as a grin pulled at your lips. “I've known you for too long, Els, and I know that I need a few shots before I'm willing to shove anything anywhere for your amusement. So, respectfully, eat my ass.”

“You'll have to dare me to,” she quipped back immediately. She wrinkled her nose as you choked back a laugh, tapping a finger against her lips. You tried to ignore how endlessly cute it was as she said, “Where's the weirdest place you've pissed?”

Another sound burst from your lips, some mixture of a laugh and a shout. You gaped at her, watching as a laugh crept up, a smile tugging at her lips.

Shaking your head, you said, “Weird, but that's a pretty tame one. Not gonna ask me about my favorite sex position or if I ever snuck drugs into our dorm room last year?”

Ellie only shrugged. “Gotta warm you up a bit first, babe.” You ignored the way your heart jumped at such an innocent word. After a moment's pause, she added, “But have you?”

“You'll just have to ask me. One truth per round, bitch.” You pretended to think about it for a moment, though you already had your answer. “Okay, so you remember when we first signed the lease here and we were a bit short on rent?”

Ellie nodded, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Like, a week before it was due, some girl on Tinder hit me up. She was passing through town and only staying for the night, and she was bored. So, she paid me.”

Ellie's frown deepened. “To, what, have sex with her?”

Laughter bubbled up your chest as you said, “No, she paid me to piss in her mouth.”

There was silence for several long moments. Ellie’s jaw hung loose, her eyes wide as she simply stared at you. Several emotions flashed across her face like a movie reel - confusion, shock, disbelief - before finally landing on pure, unfiltered amusement. The corners of her lips quirked up, her open mouth turning up at the corners until a loud, sharp laugh burst from her throat. When Ellie laughed - really, truly laughed - she did it with her chest, a sound so fathomless and full it filled up whatever room she was in.

In your small bedroom, her laughter bounced off the walls, echoing in the alley outside of your open window. You couldn’t contain your own giggles, muffling your laughter with a hand over your mouth, snorting as Ellie buried her face in your mattress.

When she finally looked up, her eyes filled with tears, she only said, around her subdued giggles, “How much?”

You grinned. “$200.”

Ellie’s mouth fell open again - you’d have to pick it up from the floor at this rate. “Dude, you’re fucking with me.”

“I swear,” you said, holding up your hand like a scout. “I’ll show you the Venmo if you don’t believe me.”

Ellie fell back against the bed, throwing her head back. “You have to go find this chick on Missed Connections, she can help with the rent.”

You threw one of your pens at her. Catching it in midair, she stuck the end in her mouth to chew on it. You wrinkled your nose at her, but she only grinned, the pen hanging from the corner of her lips.

“You're so gross,” you said, though you were still giggling.

“Bold words from you, Piss Girl. That's, like, the worst superhero name in existence.”

You threw your hands up, trying your hardest to glare at her and failing miserably. “Hey, $200 is $200. I'm not one to kinkshame.” Ellie threw the pen back at you. You grimaced when it hit your arm, leaving a small spot of spit on your sleeve before clattering to the floor. “God, it's your turn. Truth or dare, bitch?”

Propping herself up on her elbows, Ellie said, “Dare.” A grin pulled at her lips, her voice low as she added, “Because I'm not a fucking pussy.” You stuck your tongue out at her, ignoring her when she mockingly said, “Mature.”

Your desk was pressed up next to the only window in the room, cracked open to let the cool autumn air in. Your curtains fluttered in the breeze, the dying sunlight creeping in, casting light like liquid gold over Ellie’s skin. As you thought, scrambling to think of a suitable dare, you could not control how your eyes grazed over her exposed skin, the sunlight dipping in her collarbones like pools of ichor.

Blinking, you met her eyes once more, your throat tight. Your words came out almost choked when you said, “Okay, I dare you to make a spicy two-sentence story about something in this room.”

Ellie scoffed, sitting up and kicking her legs over the side of your bed. “I’m gonna take a wild guess that your drawer of sex toys is off limits?”

You sputtered, stammering over your own tongue as you felt heat rush to your ears. “Yes, that’s off limits. You don’t even know what’s in there!”

Ellie hummed, standing up from the bed and taking a few steps around the room. She didn’t look at you, but you could hear that fucking smirk when she said, “That’s what you think, babe.”

You watched her, tracking her movements as she slowly stepped around your room, scanning for inspiration. Your bedroom was about what you’d expect from a broke, overworked college student - aside from the furniture that came with the place, it was pretty barren. Ellie scanned the little touches you did have - her finger traced over the Funko Pop of Zuko on your bedside table, her eyes lingering on the pile of fantasy books you kept atop your dresser. She smiled at the posters hung crookedly on your walls, depictions of your favorite video games. She hummed again, looking back at you over her shoulder.

“So many options to choose from,” she murmured, running her finger along your jewelry box. She had her face turned away, so you could only see the corner of her smirk as she lifted the lid, pulling one of your necklaces from its home. You watched her warily as she approached you, the chain dangling from her slim fingers. She stepped behind you, out of your line of sight, and slipped the necklace over your head, the cold metal resting against your collarbone.

“She looped the chain around her lover’s neck like a collar,” Ellie said. You felt her cool fingers against the back of your neck, hooking around the chain and pulling it gently against your throat. You coughed against the awkward silence; your roommate had always been a little handsy, but this was something else entirely. What the fuck is she doing? you thought. “She pulled it taut against her throat and leaned in to whisper,” you felt Ellie’s lips against your ear, her rough voice sending a chill up your spine when she murmured, “good girl.”

Reaching back, you shoved Ellie’s head away; her laughter echoed through the room as she rounded in front of you, sitting back against your bed and grinning.

“Oh, you’re so fucking proud of yourself aren’t you?” you teased, trying - and failing - to keep your cheeks from turning red. Your skin felt aflame, a tingle lingering right where Ellie’s lips had pressed to your ear. You rubbed at the spot under the pretense of scratching your head, willing the feeling to go away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hardly hear her when she said, “Hell yeah, I am. I should’ve been an English major. I could write a whole fucking slutty novel and get famous. I'm an expert - I've done enough research.”

You rolled your eyes at her cocky smile, but Ellie only winked at you.

This is how your truth or dare games went - with Ellie being far too cocky, prancing around doing whatever dares you could think of and asking any outrageous questions that popped into her pretty little head; and you, simply trying your damnedest to keep up with her. You flailed, flustered, when she asked you about your toy collection, and begrudgingly relented when she dared you to bring out your favorite. Ellie took a shot before you had even finished daring her to text her last hookup (“I’m not reopening that bag of crazy,” she said, scrunching her nose at the taste.) You took a shot when she dared you to go mix all of the liquids in the fridge (which included pickle juice, old broths, and orange juice) into one amalgamation and chug it (“I’d rather chug the rest of the vodka, Els.”)

“Truth,” you said before Ellie could even ask the question. You were three shots in and could feel that lightness pressing against your temples, just at the threshold of tipsy. You had moved to join Ellie on your bed, where you sat with your back against the headboard and Ellie’s head on your thigh. The vodka bottle was balanced precariously between you.

Ellie rolled her eyes, but looked up at you and asked, “Out of our friend group, who have you fantasized about the most?”

She had not even finished her sentence before you served yourself a shot, a few drops splattering on your shirt. Wincing at the taste, you looked back down at Ellie; her eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree, her jaw slack.

“Don’t-”

“You have to,” she interrupted you, pinching your thigh and grinning when you squirmed away. “You have to tell me. You can’t leave me hanging here - you didn’t even let me finish the question!”

“Why did you even assume I’ve fantasized about any of our friends-”

“Because I know you.” She was scrambling up now, unsteady in her movements as she came to her knees in front of you, leaning back against her heels. She planted a firm hand on your thigh - your skin was still warm where her head had been - leaning into it, her eyes drawing so close you could almost see every speck within the hazel. “And I know that bitches like us always have somebody in the group they fantasize about. So, who is it?”

“Bitches like us?” you repeated, raising your brow. You were sure each line of her palm was going to be branded into your thigh. “So, there’s somebody you think about too?”

Ellie’s smile was on the very edge of teasing, a small quirk at the corner of her lips that screamed at you just how wrapped around her finger you were - and, somehow, she didn’t even know it. Her voice was low, nothing more than a murmur that you could practically feel in your own chest when she said, “You really wanna know?” You didn’t answer - couldn’t, really, not when her fingers dug into your thigh and you could count each freckle across her nose. You couldn’t answer when she leaned in closer, her warm breath brushing against your cheeks, smelling of the weed you knew she had smoked that afternoon. You could hardly hear her over the rush of your own heart when she whispered, “You’ll just have to ask me.”

Maybe it was the vodka warming your chest, tingling in your fingers - or maybe it was the way the light from your lamp cast sharp shadows across Ellie’s face, turning her skin into liquid gold - but you did not push her away. Your grip tightened around the neck of the bottle, but you held her gaze when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?”

Her voice was soft, her half-lidded eyes holding yours as she said, “Truth.”

“Who have you fantasized about?” The words rushed out of you before you could hesitate.

And for a moment, you believed she would answer. You let yourself believe that she would give you the answer you craved. It prickled at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arm, spreading warmth through your stomach. But your roommate had never been so straight-foward - had never given you an easy answer. She wet her lips, drawing your eyes to her mouth involuntarily, but she only pried the vodka bottle from your fingers. She held your gaze as she raised it to her lips, drinking straight from the bottle without even wincing.

“I can play that game too, baby.” She backed away, finally giving you a moment to breathe. She settled back against the wall, laying her arms over her knees, the bottle dangling from her fingers. The skin of your thigh still burned, branded with her fingerprints.

You looked away, huffing out a laugh that you prayed sounded sincere. You could feel her eyes on you when you leaned your head back against the wall, counting the cracks in your ceiling like they were the most interesting thing in the whole world. “It’s getting late, Els,” you said, even as your phone flashed that it wasn’t even nine yet and here you were, too many shots in, your roommate’s presence like a fire blazing in your room. “I should get back to studying.”

“Do you want to, though?” There was an edge to Ellie’s voice, as though that question was a dare itself. You lifted your head to look at her and found that she was already watching you, her eyes soft in the dim light.

You took a deep breath - and the vodka must have reached your brain, because before she could ask, you said, “Dare.”

You could see the vodka in the lazy tilt of her smile, in the way her head lolled against the wall. Her eyes were half-lidded, and yet there was something hidden behind her slow, sleepy gaze, something you were too afraid to name - something you were sure was only the imagination of your tipsy fantasies.

“Close your eyes,” Ellie said, words lazily falling from her lips, as deep and rich as the strings of a guitar.

It took you several moments longer than usual to process what she had said. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, as if the two of you were underwater. You shouldn't have felt like this after a few shots - you'd usually only be tipsy at this point. But something about the way the shadows dipped into Ellie's collarbones and the way her shirt rode up, exposing her boxers and the sharp cut of her hips, was intoxicating on its own.

So it took you several long, heavy moments to say, “What?”

She chuckled, but there was no malice behind it. There was something soft in the tilt of her head, the way she tilted her chin down to look at you through her lashes. Her hair fell in her face, brushing against her nose; you fought the urge to brush it away, knowing that if you did you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from running your fingers through her hair. You wouldn't be able to stop yourself from grabbing a fistful of the auburn strands-

“Close your eyes,” she repeated in that same honey-thick voice, breaking you from your thoughts. “For thirty seconds. And don't open them no matter what.” When you only stared at her for several silent moments, she added, “How long have we been friends? Don't you trust me?”

And the thing was, you did. You trusted her with your entire heart, and so you closed your eyes, and you waited.

You felt the bed shift next to you but you did not open your eyes. You did not open them when you felt her long fingers grip your shoulder as she struggled to steady herself. You felt her hair first, fine strands brushing against your cheek, smelling of sweat and her shampoo. You did not open your eyes, even when you felt the gentle press of a warm mouth against the side of your neck. You hardly dared to even breathe, your hands tangling in your sheets, afraid that you would not be able to control yourself otherwise. You counted the long, torturous seconds, biting down on your lip when you felt Ellie’s mouth part, the warmth of her tongue pressing against your pulse.

You had counted to twenty-six when she pulled away, a chill settling over your skin where that warmth had been only seconds ago. When you got to thirty, you opened your eyes to find that Ellie had settled back into her spot, leaning back against the wall. The only sign that she had even moved was the thin sheen over her lips, wet with her own saliva, and a small, pleased smirk.

You did not allow yourself to think about it, ignoring the way your skin burned where she had touched you as though she were a wildfire. You sounded breathless even to your own ears when you said, in barely more than a whisper, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What are we doing here, Ellie?” The words were out before you could stop them, slipping from between your teeth and hanging in the air like helium. The words felt almost tangible, and yet you couldn't grasp them, couldn't draw them back into your throat.

For a moment, you thought Ellie would grace you with an answer. She opened her mouth, and you thought maybe she would finally stop playing this game and let you breathe. Instead, just like before, she brought the bottle to her lips and held your gaze. You tried not to watch the way her throat moved as she swallowed.

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and recapped the bottle, settling it between you. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” You felt you could no longer trust yourself with any dare she gave you. Your hands were already shaking from clenching the sheets.

“How would you rate your last kiss?”

You squinted at her, confused by the innocence of the question after everything that had happened in the past hour (had it only been an hour?). “My last kiss was with that one girl I met at the bar a few weeks ago. She was drunk and way too sloppy, but she was hot. I guess I'd give it,” you paused, trying to remember the moment past the haze; you couldn't even remember the girl's name, “a six.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening. “A six?” She shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “You’ve got to be fucking with me. A girl like you deserves more than a six.”

“A girl like me?” Your voice sounded deafening in the quiet. You thought it had started to rain; you could hear the pitter patter on your window, could see the way it broke up the streetlamps outside like a mosaic.

Ellie was nodding almost absently, watching the rain. Her lips parted, and you didn’t expect her to hesitate before she said, “Yeah. A girl like you… deserves to be kissed like it’s the last gasp of air to someone drowning.” You watched her mouth as she spoke, even as your mind screamed at you to look away. You scolded yourself, screaming to end this now, but your body refused; it ached to draw her near, a tangible pain in your chest. “A girl like you should get one of those movie kisses - you know, like when the hero saves the day and shit and he kisses his girl and it’s like the world didn’t matter as long as he saved her. The kind that has the whole fucking theater holding their breath. A girl like you…. Fuck….” She trailed off her rambling. Ellie ran a rough hand through her hair, making the strands stick up at odd angles, and finally looked at you. There was a fire in her eyes, blazing in the dim light. “You deserve to be kissed like they’ll die if they can’t have you.”

Something had stopped in your chest - maybe it was your breath, maybe it was your heart. Your blood rushed in your ears, and you feared the thrum of your heartbeat was so loud it filled your entire bedroom. Your traitorous heart pressed at your bedroom walls, filling up the space and leaving room for little else.

Your voice was only a whisper, and you wanted to kick yourself when you said, “We should really go to bed. I have an exam tomorrow.”

Your roommate pressed her lips together, and she did not break eye contact as she said, “Dare.”

You shook your head, looking away from her to try, desperately, to break whatever spell had taken hold of you; but your eyes were drawn back to her as if she were the only fucking light in the dark. You had to get a hold of yourself before you did something you’d regret, but you felt intoxicated with something far stronger than the cheap vodka you had bought from Walmart.

“You’re drunk, Els,” you said, and you sounded so breathless you may as well have given up then and there.

Ellie leaned closer, holding your gaze, and you could see the exact shade of desire in her eyes. She was so fucking warm - your head spun from it, heat radiating from her skin when she planted a hand on the bed right next to your hip. Her wrist brushed against the bare skin under your shorts, and you felt her voice vibrating in your chest when she said, “Dare.”

And it was like she had finally pulled the last fucking thread that made you unravel, because you couldn’t stop yourself - didn’t even think to - before you said, “Kiss me.”

You only had a second to register the smile pulling at the edges of Ellie’s lips before she grabbed your face and pulled you in to smother it. You had never imagined what kissing Ellie would be like - had never allowed your imagination to wander so far over the edge - but she did not kiss like she was drowning. She kissed with the same slow gentleness as when she played the guitar, her long fingers plucking at the strings with the careful deliberation of a lover.

And she felt so fucking warm. You were high with it; high with the heat radiating from her fingers pressed to your cheeks; high from the way her breath snaked past your parted lips, gentle huffs of warmth against your skin. Your head swam as you pressed into her, your hands tangling into the fabric of her shirt, fingers unsure even as you ached to pull her closer.

Ellie pulled back for a moment - for only a moment, but each second her lips weren't on yours caused an ache in your chest. Her eyes hovered inches from yours, so fucking green it was dizzying - though you couldn't see much of the color passed the eclipse of her pupils. Her cheeks were flushed - from the vodka, from something else entirely - her freckles popping against the color. You could only imagine how you looked, could feel the desire written across every inch of your face.

Your fists tightened in her shirt, and you used the leverage to pull her back into you; and suddenly, it felt like you were the one drowning. You couldn’t breathe as Ellie devoured you, the gentleness replaced with a hunger you hadn’t known lived inside her. She pressed her tongue against the seam of your mouth until you relented, opening up to her, a soft sound escaping your throat when her tongue ran along the roof of your mouth.

That sound - nothing more than a breathy sigh - ignited something in Ellie. Suddenly, she was all teeth and tongue and hot, hot breath in your mouth, sucking your bottom lip between her teeth. She bit down when a shaky sigh forced its way from your throat, soothing it with her tongue and swallowing the moan it elicited. Her hands were in your hair, the strands twisted between her fingers, and when you bit down on her lip, she pulled - you gasped at the sharp pain on your scalp.

“Fuck,” she cursed against your lips, and you could feel that single syllable, hot breath in your mouth that you wanted to swallow. She didn’t continue for a long time, couldn’t form any other words past the way her lips made you unravel. Her hands trailed down your shoulders, fingers grazing lightly over the bare skin of your arms, before finding your hips, gripping them in a vice and tugging you closer. “Fuck, come here,” she said, her voice nothing more than a low growl that you felt in your chest.

And you were drunk - from the cheap vodka and sleep deprivation and Ellie. You were drunk on the way her eyes were eclipsed, her lips red and bitten and swollen, parted so you could feel each exhale against your cheeks. Her eyes were dark, hooded. Her fingers dug into your hips, and you were drunk, but shit, how the hell could you say no to her? How could you possibly say no when she was looking at you like she was starving?

Her hands guided you closer so you swung a leg over her hips and settled in her lap, your hands braced on her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the wall and just looked at you for several long moments, biting down on her lip. You couldn’t stop watching her mouth, mesmerized as she said, “Fuck, look at you.”

And then she was kissing you again, her hands gripping your hips like it was a lifeline. Your hands found their way to her hair, curling your fingers in the short locks, using it as leverage to pull her closer. You could feel how each point of your body fit into hers; your thighs against her legs, her hands curling perfectly over the swell of your hips. You could feel the swell of her breasts against your chest, and you so badly wanted to feel her skin against yours. You felt like you’d go crazy from the raw want radiating from your body.

Ellie’s lips traced a map across your cheek, down your jawline. You tilted your head so she could kiss the hinge of your jaw, the spot right below your ear. She paused there, planting hot, open-mouth kisses across your neck, before her teeth bit down on that sensitive spot, pulling the skin into her mouth, and you practically melted into her. You couldn’t control the sounds falling from your lips like honey, gripping at her hair as she soothed the bruise with her tongue.

“Ellie….” Your voice was nothing more than a whimper; you swallowed hard and tried again, pressing a hand firmly at her shoulder. “Ellie.”

She only hummed against your skin, and you could feel the vibration against your pulse. The sound went straight to your stomach and dipped even lower when she bit at your collarbone.

The next time you said her name, it came out as a moan; you cleared your throat. “We can’t do this - you’re drunk, Els.”

Your roommate hummed again, but she relented, leaning her head back against the wall to look up at you. And - fuck. Her lips were red and swollen, still wet from the kiss. Her cheeks were flushed, and - God, her eyes. You had never understood the term bedroom eyes, but Ellie looked at you as though she wanted to devour you. Like any second her hands weren’t on you was torture. Like she wanted to bite and kiss and taste every inch of your skin.

“Truth or dare,” she said, her voice so hoarse you had to clench your thighs around her hips.

“What?”

“Truth or dare,” she repeated, her eyes never leaving yours. And this wasn’t part of the game, but you played along anyway, unable and unwilling to tell her no.

“Truth,” you sighed.

One of Ellie’s hands traced up your side. She ran her fingers across your collarbone, up your throat, before stopping to cup your jaw, her skin rough against yours. “Do you want this?”

You nodded, the vodka making it impossible to feel shy.

“How long have you wanted this?” Ellie’s thumb pressed at the seam of your lips, and you let your mouth fall open. She watched, hypnotized, dipping just the tip of her thumb between your lips before withdrawing.

It was against the rules - two questions for one truth - but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. “A long fucking time.” Your voice was weak and breathy, and you couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about that either. Your attention had narrowed in on Ellie, and the way her fingers skirted across your chest, the way her other hand gripped your hip - how you could feel the warmth of her thighs between your legs.

Taking your chin in her hand, she drew you closer, and you could feel her lips moving against yours: “So what the hell is stopping us?”

This time, when she kissed you, you did melt into her. You gripped her hair in your fists and swallowed the moan it drew from her, shivering when her teeth caught on your lip. She had both hands on your hips again, and she gripped them so hard you were sure you’d find bruises there in the morning in the shape of her fingers. She pulled you closer, pulling your hips down into her; the friction through your pajama shorts made you moan against her lips.

And you decided to play her game.

“Truth or dare?” you said, drawing away just enough to see the eclipse of her eyes.

Ellie, always stubborn, murmured, “Dare.”

You tugged at the hem of her shirt, your fingers brushing the warm skin beneath; you marveled at the shiver that ran through her body. You ducked your head to kiss along her jaw, pressing the words into her skin. “Take this off.”

She didn’t waste any time tugging the shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor before skidding her fingers over the bare skin above your shorts. You lifted your arms and let her pull your shirt over your head before realizing you weren’t wearing anything beneath. Who wears a bra to study in their own apartment?

But you didn’t have a moment to cover your body in embarrassment before Ellie’s lips were on you again, as if it pained her to not taste you for even a moment. Her hands spread across your back, pulling you into her as she peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collar; you hissed when her teeth bit down over your collarbone, soothing the pain with her tongue.

“Tell me to stop and I'll stop,” Ellie said, her voice muffled as she kissed down over your chest; you shivered when her teeth sank into the skin of your boob, sucking another bruise there. She certainly loved leaving her signature on any inch of your skin that her mouth could reach.

You groaned low in your chest, your fingers tugging at her hair, pulling a gasp from her lips. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice - breathy and thick with desire - when you said, “Please don’t stop.”

The next thing you knew, Ellie was shoving you off of her lap; your back hit the mattress, your head just barely missing the headboard, but you couldn’t even think about that. Your roommate was crawling over you, and you were hypnotized by the way her muscles tensed, her arms caging you against the bed. Her skin was fucking obscene, smooth plains stretching for miles, cast in liquid gold in the lamplight.

“God, look at you,” she said again, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. Her hand was like worn clay when it traced a teasing line over your hip. Her voice was muffled against your skin, but you caught the end of her sentence: “- so fucking pretty.”

Your only response was a choked gasp when Ellie pressed the flat of her tongue to your nipple. You gripped her shoulder, feeling her lips close around you as she sucked your skin into her mouth; you winced when she released it, feeling her teeth graze maddeningly over your nipple.

“Truth or dare?” she said into your skin, her voice vibrating in your bones.

You groaned, gripping her shoulder when she licked a line over your other nipple. If you had thought about this (which, if anybody asked, you didn’t), you never would have imagined your roommate being such a fucking tease.

She hummed, and you could feel the vibration in every nerve. For a moment, you couldn’t find your tongue, your voice caught in your chest until she released your skin with a pop of her lips. She looked up at you, batting her eyes, and dammit if your body didn’t arch, searching for her mouth again.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched you through her lashes, an intoxicating smirk across her lips; they were still shining wetly. She broke you from your thoughts when she murmured, “Use your words, angel.”

Your thighs clenched around her words, automatically and unconsciously. You were sure you could get drunk on the way her voice filled the room, rough and rich as the chords she played. It was through clenched teeth that you said, setting your pride aside, “Dare.” Your cheeks burned when it came out as a moan.

You could feel her smile against your skin as she kissed down your stomach, silent for several long, torturous moments. You felt her teeth sink into your hip bone briefly, your hips jerking at the sensation. It earned you a chuckle before you felt Ellie’s hands pressing your hips into the mattress, holding you still. You groaned low in your throat when you felt her tongue against the skin over the band of your shorts, licking a stripe right above the fabric before taking the elastic between her teeth and tugging. You jumped when she released it, the band snapping back against your skin. You didn’t have to look at her to see the sparkle in her eye.

You swore your heart stopped completely when she murmured, “I wanna go down on you.”

Despite this game she was insistent on playing, it wasn’t said like a dare; it was said like a question, or a request. There was no expectation behind it. Ellie was asking, you realized with dizzying satisfation, for permission.

“Fuck.” It came out as only a breath, a whisper against your tongue. Your fingers ached from gripping the sheets and she hadn’t even touched you yet. “Fuck,” you tried again, and it was a groan this time but at least it was louder. “Yeah. Yeah, please, fuck.” Words were just falling from your lips because when you looked down, Ellie - your roommate, your friend - was watching you, propped between your legs with that fucking smirk, and how could you possibly string together a complete sentence?

And Ellie… didn’t. She didn’t follow up on her dare. Not immediately, at least. No, she took her sweet fucking time - always so damn precise, taking her time in hooking her fingers over the band of your shorts. She pulled them down so slowly you could feel every inch down your legs. And then you were lying beneath your roommate in nothing but your underwear - and dammit, if you had known this would be happening, you would have opted for something a little sexier than a cotton pair with constellations on them.

Ellie smiled. “Cute,” she said, before sinking her teeth into the flesh of your thigh. You were thankful it was cold out - you’d have to wear layers to hide all the places her mouth had been.

Your roommate ducked her head, and you gasped when you felt her press a featherlight kiss against the fabric of your underwear, right where warmth pooled between your legs.

You huffed, twisting the sheets between your fingers. “God, you’re such an asshole - fuck-” You were cut off when Ellie licked a stripe up your panties, warm tongue pressing against your throbbing clit. You moaned at the relief, feeling the wetness of her mouth through the fabric. It wasn’t enough - you needed to feel her against you, needed her tongue to unravel you piece by piece. You pressed your hips down against her lips but her hands held you in place.

You huffed out a breath, her name slipping from your lips when you moaned. “Ellie….”

And then she was yanking your underwear down your hips; you gasped, lifting your ass to help her shove them down. She had only gotten them just below your knees before she was pressing back in, too impatient to finish the job.

And - fuck, her mouth. Ellie’s mouth was fucking magic. You moaned into the quiet room when she pressed the flat of her tongue against your pussy, licking a stripe between your lips. You couldn’t control the curses slipping between your teeth when her tongue made teasing circles around your clit until you were whimpering, aching for her. She had released your hips to dig her fingers into your thighs, nails digging in, and you’d surely have crescent-shaped bruises there tomorrow - even more to cover up. You pressed your hips down against her, groaning, her name only a whisper: “Fuck, Els-”

And then she finally, finally, gave you what you wanted.

Ellie ate pussy like it was her fucking job, like she was clocking into a shift and working her ass off for those tips. She lapped at your clit like she was starving, pressing her lips against you until you were dizzy, your entire body tuned in to the warmth of her tongue and the gentle graze of her teeth. You shuddered when you felt that tongue press into your core, a brief pressure that pulled curses from your lips, words tripping over each other: “Ah - fuck - fuck, Ellie - oh my God, fuck-”

It didn’t take long for tension to build in your stomach. You were intoxicated; you were tipsy, yes, but something about the way Ellie moved her tongue - long, slow circles around your clit, using the flat of her tongue to draw you closer to the edge - was like a damn drug. You got what you wanted: She unraveled you with her tongue, tugging curses from your lips. You could hear your own moans echoing against your quiet bedroom and you couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it.

Ellie took your clit between her lips and sucked, pulling you into her mouth and-

A long, low moan pulled at your throat when you came. Your hand came up to grip at her hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands. She moaned when you pulled, and the vibration against every nerve pushed you further; you could feel your orgasm in your chest, could feel it trembling in your thighs.

Ellie worked you through it, her tongue dancing against you as you rode out your high. She didn’t stop, pressing her lips against you, dipping her tongue into your core again, until you were shoving against her head, your hips bucking at the sensitivity.

When she raised her head, she was grinning, that wicked, infuriating grin she always had when she was pleased with herself. She rested her head against your thigh for a moment, watching you as you blinked the stars from your eyes. You relaxed your fingers in her hair, smoothing your thumb across her temple.

The only thing you could say, breathless and dizzy, was, “Fuck, Els. What the fuck?”

Ellie laughed, the sound unarming the silence around you, the anxiety of what this meant. She pressed a kiss to your thigh, right over the little indentations where her nails had dug into the flesh, and just said, “Yeah?”

You giggled, tugging at her hair gently. You looked down at your roommate - and you didn’t know what this meant for the two of you, but that could be a problem for tomorrow, when you weren’t drunk and sleep-deprived and naked beneath your friend. For now, you only said, “Truth or dare?”

Ellie blinked, raising an eyebrow, and said, “Truth.”

You considered not asking for a moment, unsure if you wanted to know, but curiosity pressed at you until you asked, “What do I taste like?”

The grin spread wider, Ellie’s eyes sparkling as she pushed herself up. She crawled up your body, taking a moment to press a kiss to your stomach, to the bruises she had left littered across your chest - you moaned when she took a nipple briefly into her mouth. She kissed her way up your neck, across your jaw, sucking at the skin beneath your ear - another fucking bruise to worry about. God, it was like she wanted her signature on you, branded in every inch of your skin.

Her face hovered an inch above yours, propping herself up on her elbows, smirking. She leaned in close, leaving room for you to turn away if you wanted. Instead, you tilted your chin up and kissed her again.

You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste of yourself against her lips. You didn’t like it, the way your own scent wafted over you. But fuck if you didn’t open your mouth when you felt Ellie’s tongue pressing at the seam of your lips. She moaned when your tongue ran along the roof of her mouth, pressing into the taste of you.

When she pulled back, her eyes were soft, her cheeks flushed. “Like that.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your face away; you had to admit, even if you hated how you tasted - tasting yourself against her tongue sent a wave of heat between your legs all over again. You only said, “Gross.”

Ellie leaned in again, and you felt her lips ghosting against your jaw. You felt her breath against your skin when she whispered, “Truth or dare?”

You lifted your chin to give her access to your neck, sighing when she pressed a kiss against your pulse. “Truth.”

Her breath huffed against you when she chuckled before raising her head to meet your eyes again, that same cocky smile spread across her lips. “Was that better than a six?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shoved against her until she rolled off of you.

She flopped back against the mattress, still laughing, but she was holding her arm out for you. You only hesitated for a moment - but even if she was your roommate, she just made you see stars, so it’s not like cuddling would push against the boundary you had already broken. You curled into her, laying your head on her chest, the sports bra she was still wearing soft against your cheek.

You sighed, skimming your fingertips against the warm skin of her stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. “Definitely better than a six.”

You were starting to fall asleep, your eyes growing heavy, your study notes effectively forgotten. You burrowed into her further, wrapping your arm around her and pressing your fingers against her hip. You briefly wondered where the vodka bottle had ended up in the mess, but Ellie didn’t seem in any particular hurry to untangle herself from you, so you figured it could wait - surely it would be okay if she slept in your room for one night.

Just before you dozed off, you heard Ellie murmur, “You left the window open.”

#listen i'm writing a novel rn so i forgot how to write short things #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #lesbian smut #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie williams tlou #tlou smut #idk man #tlou 2 x reader #i might change the title idk i couldn't think of anything #i haven't written fanfiction in. like 8 or 9 years i think lol

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haologram · 17 days ago

Text

wish you were here 🪻 j.ww [m]

synopsis: you don't do long-distance. you never have, and you never will. not unless it's jeon wonwoo - and those chances are slim, as it is. genre: situationship au ; fluff, angst, suggestive themes. pairing: situationship!jeon wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 6.5k rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: swearing, alcohol. drunken confessions, pining. kissing...that's about it. what to listen to: completely - jaehyun ; love of my life - harry styles ; sleepwalking - james arthur ; can't get you out of my head - johnny goth ; wish you were here - superm. author's note: after receiving that horrible enlistment message from pledis, i've decided to hurt myself even more! welcome back to haologram, where we wallow in despair. i know this might be similar to my previous wonwoo fic, except it's not at all because it's 10x shittier and if you say that then you hate me and you don't have to read this ♡ i'm so SAD AUGH !!! anyway, floral dividers are by @/saradika-graphics ! enjoy.

– TUESDAY, 10:52PM.

Message From: Jeon Wonwoo [Yesterday] [11:49PM] i know i don't deserve to tell you this [11:49PM] but i miss you [11:49PM] and i know you're asleep but i wish you were here.

You're barely reading your messages from the night before.

You turned your phone off when Mingyu started spam calling you. You saw, from Tzuyu's location, that they had all gathered at their favorite bar, likely buying hoards of liquor to drown the sudden plummet in their chests when Wonwoo dropped the bomb on them.

A bomb he dropped on you – over text.

A singular text message, less than a week ago.

Message From: Jeon Wonwoo [4 Days Ago] [9:21AM] hey…i'm leaving town next month for a while. i got a good job offer overseas, and i took it without considering anything else. i'm sorry, and i think we should end whatever this is. at least for now.

You hadn't replied, only sat on the edge of your bed and felt your chest constrict.

His job wasn't the issue. It'd never be the issue, you wanted him to succeed. You wanted him to feel fulfilled.

The issue was him…well, it was…

Ugh.

"Stupid men." You muttered to yourself, taking a swig out of the bottle in your hand. It was the nasty bourbon he liked, the one that burned your esophagus all the way down. Your stomach wasn't empty, per say – there was a bag of chips sitting next to you on the couch. It wasn't as enticing as it usually was, but you didn't care that the salt and vinegar didn't pair well with your drink of choice. A drink that reminded you of Wonwoo, and would be the only thing that would once he was gone.

Unless you counted the smell of his cologne in your sheets. Or the hoodie that's draped over your shoulders, the plaid boxer shorts that belong to him covering your upper thighs. Or the champagne mustard you keep in your fridge specifically for him. Or the toothbrush he keeps at your apartment, despite the two of you being nothing more than friends.

Friends that kiss. Friends that undress each other in a frenzy, aching to feel the warmth of each other's skin. Friends that risk it every time, the raw feeling of skin on skin far too euphoric to give up.

Friends that say I love you in mumbles as they kiss, as they undress each other, as they give themselves to each other without a second thought.

Friends that had each other at arm's length for the last three years: you, because you were afraid of being too much.

And him, afraid of not being enough.

"I hate him." You mumble wearily, fumbling with the remote to flip through shows. You don't like anything, your eyes stinging with tears as you switch streaming services. Your Amazon Prime screen is too bright, and you flip through your Continue Watching…

Only to see his favorite movie sitting there, right after the last episode you'd watched of Bad Girls Club – Dead Poets Society.

Sighing, you toss your remote to the side and slide the bottle of bourbon onto the coffee table. You lean your head back onto the couch, feeling the effects of the liquor start to sink into your bones as you rustle the bag of chips. Popping one in your mouth, you chew lazily as the tears begin to slip down your face, rolling into the shells of your ears as you swallow.

"Wish you were here. What a fucking sadist."

You don't do long distance. You never have, you never will. And now, knowing that Wonwoo was leaving – the chances of you ever giving it a go were slim to fucking none.

Knock knock.

You jolt, coughing around the remains of the chip. The bag tips over, kettle chips scattering over your couch as you curse under your breath. You swipe them all back into the bag, dusting your couch off and scrunching the bag at the opening. You take a quick swig of the bottle, making a noise of disgust as it goes down.

Knock knock.

"Coming, I'm coming! God." You're wobbly on your legs, and you force yourself to concentrate as you toss the bag of chips onto your dining table. Not bothering to look through the peephole, you unlock your door to an apologetic Kim Mingyu holding a tipsy Jeon Wonwoo tight to his hip.

"No." You shake your head, moving to close the door when Mingyu gives you a pleading look. "Please, Y/N. He won't stop crying about you, and I don't know what to do anymore. I'll literally wait in the parking lot if you can't calm him down. Please, help me out." "Mingyu, I'm too drunk for this right now." You pinch the bridge of your nose, holding onto the frame of your door to keep steady. You're lying – you're not even near drunk. You're probably just as tipsy as Wonwoo is, and that's enough for you to not want him in your apartment. It would only end badly.

"Please, Y/N." Mingyu begs, and Wonwoo is seemingly staring straight through you. "Don't hate me." He mumbles, and you can't help but look up at Mingyu through teary eyes. "I'll be right downstairs, Y/N. I promise." He assures you gently, carefully shoving Wonwoo into the threshold. Wonwoo stumbles into your apartment, toeing his boots off in the foyer and disappearing into your kitchen. "I promise, Y/N. I think he just misses you." "He ended things, Mingyu." You whisper, hearing the door to your refrigerator open. You hear him jostling around the jars of condiments, and Mingyu runs a hand through his hair as he nods.

"I know, sweetie. He told me." He winces, before rubbing his face in frustration. "I think…maybe just talk. I'll be here, I swear." He holds out his pinky, and you weakly link your own as he ruffles your hair with your other hand. "I got you." "Thanks…" You murmur, before moving back to shut the door. Mingyu takes his leave, quietly clambering down the wet stone steps as you turn back into your apartment. You peer slightly into your kitchen, seeing Wonwoo holding a butter knife between his teeth as he fumbles with your jar of strawberry jam. He's got the bag of bread open on top of a plate and your toaster is on, peanut butter rolled on the counter haphazardly. You roll your eyes, watching as he stares at the jar with confusion before sighing.

"Y/N!" He calls, taking the butter knife from his mouth. He leans against the pantry door, his cheeks flushed as he calls your name again. "Y/N! I need your help!" "Idiot." You mutter to yourself, walking into the kitchen. He doesn't say anything as you grab the jar, spinning the top off with ease and holding it back out to him. He holds the knife out to you.

"It tastes better when you do it." He mumbles, his eyes low as you scoff. "Please? I didn't have dinner." You grumble inwardly as you turn away from him, fishing another knife out of the drawer as he slides the other one into the sink. You tuck your chin into your chest as you take the bread out of the toaster, chewing your cheek as you spread the jam thickly.

"This is mine." He tugs on the hem of the hoodie you're wearing, and you glance down at the brown material covering your torso. You shrug.

"So?" "So, I want it back." "You're in my apartment, not in my good graces and I'm holding a knife. I wouldn't test your fucking luck tonight, Jeon." You grit, before swiping the knife on the edge of the bread to get the jam off. You open the peanut butter, flicking the cap towards the backsplash of your countertop when you feel his hands fisting the fabric as he leans into you.

"I want you back. You're mine, too." He rests his head on the back of your neck, and if he feels your shoulders tense, he says nothing. "I want you. Always." "You're drunk." You mutter, feeling tears sting your eyes as you swipe a thick layer of peanut butter onto the toast. He groans, his breath warm against your neck and you can smell a light layer of grapefruit tequila on it. You liked the taste of it off his tongue, not so much out of the bottle.

"I need you." He tugged absently at the hoodie, "I need you to know that I love you, Y/N." "You're drunk, Wonwoo." Rolling your eyes, you stick the bread together and slice the tip of the knife diagonally, making two triangles. He was an iffy guy, never one to finish a sandwich alone. "Here. Eat." He doesn't take the sandwich, and you feel his hands grip your hips before turning you around with ease. Your face screams disinterest, but you can feel your chest heating at his proximity and the way his peachy cologne fills your nose. You meet his eyes, raising a brow as you take in the glassy look of his. "You're drunk." "I've had three shots and a beer, I am not drunk. I love you."

"Stop saying that." You shove the sandwich closer to his face, a pointed look in your eyes. It's like the bourbon you'd been drinking did nothing, because you're hyper aware of his every move and the very feeling of your blood coursing through your body. "Stop saying things you don't mean." "I've always meant it. I'll always mean it and I'll always feel it. I love you." He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he kneads his hands into your hips. You swallow a sob, feeling the ache in your throat as you look up to will away the tears threatening to fall.

"You dumped me." You forced your voice not to tremble, cursing yourself internally as a tear slipped. You wipe it away quickly, and he nods frantically. "I know, honey. I know, I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry." He buries his face into your neck, and you can feel his own tears begin to soak through the thick fabric. You sniffle, letting yourself breathe out around the lump in your throat shakily. "Please, forgive me. I'll beg. I'll do it, just don't leave me." "I've never left you, idiot." You scoff, staring at the sandwich in your hand. You make no effort to comfort him, to run your nails down his back in soothing spirals like you would before you would fall asleep facing each other. You make no effort to soothe him, his shoulders trembling as he cries into your (read: his) sweater. You let your tears stream freely, feeling Wonwoo's arms wrap tightly around your waist and pull you impossibly closer to him.

You've always been weak when it comes to Wonwoo. You proved it time and time again: when he needed you to fill the girlfriend role at his graduation party a few years ago so his aunt would stop trying to set him up with one of the neighborhood girls. When he kissed you in a fit of jealousy at a bar in front of a nice boy who was trying to buy you a drink, and you let him take you home. When he undressed you with ease in the comfort of his bedroom and sank his teeth into any part of your body he could reach in bouts of possession, any time you'd go over.

Something you never understood, because you weren't his. Not really, not ever.

"I love you, Y/N." "You're drunk. Sleep on the couch, we'll see how much you actually 'love' me in the morning." You mutter, shoving him off your body. You can't bring yourself to look at him, so you hold the sandwich up to his face, "Open." He pushes your hand away, "I love you." "Wonwoo–" "No, Y/N. I love you. I love you and I'm sorry. Please, let me love you the way you deserve and if I can't live up to it, I'll walk out of your life forever." His arms are still loosely wrapped around your waist, and he pulls you close. Your hands are squished between his body and yours, and you sigh inwardly. He plucks the sandwich from your hand, putting it back on the plate as he sniffles.

"Please. Just give me another chance." "You're leaving, Wonwoo. You're leaving me behind."

"Come with me. I'll buy your ticket, I'll even get someone to take over your lease and we can be together, I promise–" You cut him off with a shake of your head, closing your eyes.

"You're leaving. That's enough to want to move on, isn't it? You don't love me, Wonwoo. You love the thought of me." You mutter, "You love knowing I'm always here. You love knowing that I wait for you, time and time again. You love knowing that even when you fail, I show up." You open your eyes, peering up at him with a bit of poison dripping in your voice.

"You love having someone, it doesn't matter who it is. So find someone else." He doesn't reply, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he tilts his head to the side. His eyes narrow slightly, his arms loosening around your body. You move back a bit, your lower back hitting the edge of the counter as you cross your arms and look away. "How can I prove to you that that's not true?" You scoff, rubbing your face with one hand. It feels hot, and you're not sure if it's from the alcohol or the closing proximity between his chest and yours.

"Tell me. I'll do it. I'll do anything." His hands are on either side of you now, gripping the counter gently as his teary eyes scan your face. For a hint, for an emotion, anything that says you want him too.

You shake your head, feeling your chest constrict as you clear your throat. "There's nothing you can do, Wonwoo." "I'll rescind my offer. I'll drop it." He tested, and you shook your head slowly.

"There is nothing, Wonwoo. And I wouldn't want you to lose out on a major opportunity just because–"

"You are the major opportunity I'm missing out on. I took the fucking job because I couldn't stand the idea of not being enough for you. I couldn't stand laying in my room and thinking that one day you'll realize what a fucking coward I am and pick someone else. It was never about the fucking job, Y/N. It's about me not being enough for you, but still wanting to have my cake and eat it, too."

His eyes are full of sincerity, but something inside you burns.

"How can you say that about yourself?" You whispered, your eyes filling with tears as you looked up at him. "How can you think that, Wonwoo? Not enough? For me?"

He breathes out, looking at the ground between the two of you. Your socks are his, too.

"How can you not? How can you stand here, in my sweater and my boxers and my socks and tell me that you don't? Tell me that I'm a coward, tell me that I keep running from the things I love because I want to be enough and when I finally return, it'll be of no use. I'm trying to…I want…This is hard for me. Tell me it's not enough just to love you, and I'll do whatever it takes. Please." You can hardly see him through your tears, the vision of the broken man in front of you blurred just like many of your drunken memories with him. But you remember every single one. Every kiss, every caress, every drunken I love you. Every sober I love you.

Every single time Wonwoo showed up for you – when you needed a date to an office party so your coworkers would stop hounding you about going on a date with Hyesung from Finance. When you went on a trip with your sister and got stuck in the woods, and he drove over eight hours to get to you. When he picked you up from the shittiest date known to man, and drove you to his apartment – only to change you out of your uncomfortable dress and take you out for ice cream.

When he said I love you, every single time you needed him. Even if no one else was listening, even if you were both fully clothed and sitting in his car listening to music.

"Please." "We should talk in the morning. I'm tipsy, you're tipsy…" You trail off, your hands coming to rest on your eyes. The cool feeling of your fingertips was enough to get you to stop crying, "This is too much for right now. You're still leaving." "You're the only reason I'd stay." He admits quietly, his voice thick as you cross your arms again. You stand upright, tilting your head towards the sandwich on the plate. "Eat. I'll clean up the couch for you." He lets you slip out of the kitchen without a word, but you can feel the heat of his gaze on the back of your head. You're silent as you walk around your apartment, gathering your thickest blankets and a few pillows for him to rest on when you hear your phone buzzing incessantly on the coffee table.

Incoming call: Kim Mingyu

"Hello?" You tuck the phone between your shoulder and your cheek, and hear a sigh of relief.

"You okay? You didn't tear each other to shreds?" His voice is meek, making you snort. "It's fine, he's just tipsy. He's sleeping on the couch. I'll call you in the morning?" "You sure? I can come get him right now." You glance up, seeing Wonwoo staring at the calendar on the wall in your dining room. "Nah. Goodnight, Mingyu." "Keep me posted." You hang up, tossing the phone over your shoulder and moving the cushions around. You don't pay him any mind as he walks towards the bathroom, figuring he's going to brush his teeth. Fluffing pillows, you listen quietly as the water turns off and on, and the sound of the toothbrush moving back and forth.

You cap the bottle of bourbon and put it back on the second layer of the coffee table, where Wonwoo usually left it. You turn your television off, leaving the remote on the arm of the couch in case he wanted it or woke up in the middle of the night and wanted something to entertain him.

You turned off your lights, leaving the overhead stove light on for Wonwoo. It was odd to make up the couch for him – he never slept there, always in your bed. He'd wash his face, brush his teeth and snuggle into your side.

Walking towards your bedroom, you see him fishing out a pair of sweatpants from your last drawer and undoing his belt simultaneously. You roll your eyes, ducking into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. You let your mind wander as you do so, quietly doing your night routine and hearing Wonwoo walk about.

It brought you some comfort, hearing the floorboards creak under him.

Sighing, you looked at yourself in the mirror as you wiped the wet sink down. Eyes swollen and red from the tears, the shoulder of your sweater damp from Wonwoo. Wrinkled around the waist, from his grip on it.

You turned the light off, tucking your hands into the pocket of the hoodie and slipping into your bedroom.

Only to see him lying on your bed, under your purple duvet. His glasses are still on, but his eyes are closed.

"Wonwoo." "Mmh." "Wonwoo, go on the couch. You're not sleeping here tonight." You tapped his shoulder, only for him to hum in response. "Wonwoo. I'm serious." He peels an eye open, "I never sleep on the couch. I didn't sleep on the couch that one time everyone stayed over because they were too drunk to drive, you got me used to a life of luxury. Don't take it from me." You huff, crossing your arms on your chest as he closes his eye.

"Get in and shut up." "Yeah, right. Wonwoo, out." "No." "Wonwoo!" You groan in frustration, stomping your foot petulantly. You knew him. You knew he was stubborn as a fucking mule. "This is my apartment, I am not sleeping on the couch!" "Wow, crazy." He replies lazily, before plucking his glasses off his face and sliding them onto your nightstand. "Goodnight, Y/N." "Jeon Wonwoo, so help me God–"

He turns on his side, bringing the duvet further up on his shoulder as you gape at him.

Rubbing your face angrily, you round the bed and slide in. You turn your back to him, "Stay on your side." He doesn't respond.

– WEDNESDAY, 2:48AM.

You can't fall back asleep.

Instead, you're laying in bed facing Wonwoo – who did not stay on his side. Your leg had been pulled over his hip, his hand splayed across your lower back, under your sweater.

You were counting his eyelashes as he slept.

"You're a pain in my ass, you know that?" You start, your voice soft so as to not stir him. "You're a pain in my ass every single day, Jeon Wonwoo. You come into my life right when I'm going through one of the biggest transitions of my life, and you kiss me in the backseat of an Uber Pool. But no, you couldn't let it stop there, could you? You had to help me move into my apartment. You had to welcome me to the neighborhood, you couldn't just be the weird one-night-stand I met at a bar while celebrating my big move to the city. I would have never thought you'd be so outgoing." Your hand moved to gently brush his hair out of his face, your thumb moving down his sideburns gently before you traced the shell of his ear.

"And then you just kept coming around. I don't know what it was that made you keep coming over, and at first I thought nothing of it. I was fine with the sex, with the shared meals, and having a companion. You were nice, and you showed me a bunch of places, and you took pictures of me and helped me get them framed. Then you introduced me to Mingyu, and oh God. He's a whirlwind, isn't he? I love that guy." You sigh, lightly swiping your knuckles across his cheek as he breathes in quietly. "I love knowing you. I think it took me a minute to understand you better. We were never really just friends, but you made it feel like one of the most fulfilling friendships I'd ever had when we weren't fooling around. You engaged me, and you shared your passions with me. You drove me around when I didn't have a car, and I'll never forget when I called you scared out of my mind during that trip with my sister. You came. It took you eight hours but you came and I can't imagine ever not having you." Tears well up in your eyes, and you wipe them quickly before they can drop onto him.

"I love you, Wonwoo. Even if you're leaving. Even when I think I'm too much, you don't hesitate to calm that storm before it's even come to the surface. You've always been so gentle, and I can't imagine someone like you looking at someone like me, the complete opposite of you, and wanting that. I won't say for the rest of your life, because you're still going to be gone in a few weeks. But right now, at this moment, you're here. With me. And I love you."

You sniffle slightly, pressing your lips to his hairline in a featherlight kiss before closing your eyes. Your nose barely brushes his as you do, and you feel more tears slip out as you mumble again.

"I'll miss you." You don't see the crystalline tear slide down his face and sink into the pillow.

– WEDNESDAY, 3:15AM.

"I hate it when you cry. You always say you look bad, but you don't." Wonwoo's eyes are glued to your face, so close to his he can count every eyelash you have. His lips touch yours slightly as he speaks, but he can't bring himself to move back and risk waking you up.

"You'd never be too much for me. I was made to love you, even if you don't believe me. I said I'd walk out of your life forever if you didn't believe me, but I lied. I could never do that, and I've never felt more seen by someone in my entire life." He can't touch your face like you did him, because your arm is wrapped around his shoulder and your hand is nestled in his hair. He's satisfied with the warmth of your back on his palm, his thumb tracing light circles into it. He's satisfied with this, wanting to kiss you so deeply that he's the only thing you can taste for days.

He wants to be the only one who kisses you. For the rest of your life.

"I gave up the offer. You're going to be mad when I tell you, but I'd rather ask your forgiveness than have you think I wouldn't give up everything to have you. I'd give the shirt off my back in a winter storm in the middle of Minnesota if it meant I'd have you forever…but that would also probably mean death, so. I guess I'm saying I'd die for you." Your face scrunches suddenly, and you shift in your sleep. Your hand in his hair slides down, your fingertips breaching the collar of his shirt. He stops breathing as you run your nails across his skin gently, before it snakes back up to his hair. Your thumb moves in a circular motion behind his ear, before it stops and he feels a soft exhale from your lips.

Years of confessing to you in your sleep tell him you're still out.

"I love you, more than anything. I love that you keep champagne mustard in the fridge for me after I said I liked it once. I love that you called me when you needed that date to that office party, even if it was to get your coworkers off your back. To call you mine, in front of other people and even just have a taste of the idea…it ruined me. I can't think of anything else, with anyone else but you. Being in love with you feels like I'm constantly unwrapping a gift, but the wrapper is the gift. It makes you, it's everything you are." Wonwoo sighs, and your face shifts closer to him. Your forehead touches his, and he's sure if he says anything else, he'll be kissing your lips.

A reward so sweet, that he has yet to deserve.

But he speaks anyway, and hopes your heart hears him.

"You don't have to miss me. I'm here. Please, only miss me when I'm at work. Only miss me when I'm not able to come over because Mingyu conned me into going out with him and the guys. Only miss me when I'm asleep and can't talk to you, but know I dream of you. Know that everything I am is you, and even when you're asleep next to me, I wish you were here. Talking, telling me every thought that comes across your mind. I love it, I love knowing you. I love you, Y/N." He adjusts slightly, his nose bumping yours slightly but his lips no longer aligned with yours.

"Please, only miss me when I'm actually gone. Wish for me and I'll appear, my love." His eyes close, the sting of tears overwhelming as he buries himself into you as best as he can.

"I love you. Please, love me, too."

He doesn't see the pout on your lip when you hear him sniffle.

– WEDNESDAY, 5:53AM.

You're awake again, despite your protests to whatever God was out there.

Wonwoo is also awake, his eyes glued to your necklace. A chain, actually, that you stole from him a year ago. Classic. You're both frozen in position, your fingers tangled in his hair and his still on your back. Neither of you have said anything, and you're waiting for your alarm to go off so you can have an excuse to worm yourself out of his grasp. You have nowhere to go. You work from home, Wonwoo knows that.

"You work today." Your eyes glance down, seeing Wonwoo still staring at your neck. His voice is nice and raspy in the morning, and your fingers tighten in his hair out of reflex. He winces, and you grimace, rubbing the back of his head in apology.

"I do." He doesn't say anything, instead wiggling slightly to meet your eyes. He looks up at you, tired eyes scanning your face before he closes them. He hums. "Can we talk before you jump out and run with the excuse?" He murmurs, and you nearly scoff – when you realize he knows every trick in your book. You frown at yourself, before sighing. His eyes open, and you reach behind him to grab his glasses. He doesn't budge as you silently brush his hair out of his face, sliding them over his ears before settling back.

"...I suppose." "I love you." You feel your breath hitch in your chest, and you move to pull away from him when he shakes his head, holding you tightly to him. "Please, stay." His lips are too close to yours for you to say anything without brushing them. The ache to kiss him is deep in your stomach, but you will it away with a sigh.

"I love you." "I know, Wonwoo." "I love you so much, Y/N." He mumbles, his hand sliding out from under your sweater to your thigh, high on his hip. He pulls you impossibly closer, "It'd be selfish of me to want a life without you, when I know you feel the same."

You look away, your eyes glued to your headboard as you try to speak around the lump in your throat.

"What does it matter? You're leaving." His hand moves to your jaw, gently squeezing your cheeks together when you glance back down at him.

"I'm not, I won't be making that mistake again."

He presses his lips to yours, inhaling your soft sob as you kiss him back as best you can. He pushes you onto your back gently, never disconnecting his lips from yours as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him flush to you. Your fingers find home in his hair, earning a soft groan into your mouth as you tug lightly. "I love you. Please, please believe me." His forehead is pressed to yours, lips brushing yours as he speaks. Your eyes dart all over his face, and you choose to swallow your insecurities. You choose to allow it – if he wants to love you, flaws and all…

It's his prerogative.

"Please." He begs, his hand cradling your jaw gently as he molds his lips to yours chastely. He holds you like you'll break, with such care as you look up at him. "Love me, too. Please."

"I heard you, earlier. When you said you rescinded the offer." You murmur, watching as he nods carefully. "You need to fix that. You need to take that job." He shakes his head, "No. I want to–" "You need to take it, Wonwoo." You repeat yourself, your eyes pointed as your hand wraps around his wrist. His eyes are full of worry, ignoring the way your thumb against his wrist tickles and the way your warmth against him is making his head spin. You look hesitant, but breathe out gently as you speak.

"I'll still be here. I promise, I'll still love you then." You whisper, watching as he nibbles on his lip before ultimately shaking his head. "I can't." "You can, and you will, Jeon Wonwoo."

"I can't. You'll be here and I'll be there…I couldn't even go a week without seeing you, what makes you think I can go six months?" He groans, slumping his forehead against your collarbone. You hum, running your hand through his hair.

"Well for one, I'm hoping things are more than just this–" "They are! They are, I love you. Please, be mine. Be my girlfriend." He jolts up, making you snort as he squishes your face with his hands, "Say yes. Say yes right now, before I lose my mind." "You could ask me over breakfast, at least. We could shower–" "Can you just answer?" "Together." His insistence stops, and he acts nonchalant as he leans back, his hands sliding on your thighs. He shrugs, tonguing his cheek, "I mean, if you insist. Together, and all." "You're such a fucking loser." You kick his hip lightly, making him huff as he pushes your foot away. "Go, start the water." You shove him away gently, and he casually slides off the bed, stretching his arms over his head. You look at the clock on your nightstand, 6:17AM. You furrow your brow, reaching for your phone and seeing your alarms had been turned off.

"What the hell?" "Oh, I turned them off last night when you were brushing your teeth." Wonwoo squeals as he sprints out of your bedroom, followed by a throw pillow being chucked after him. It hits the doorway as he skids into your bathroom.

"Missed me!" "You're dead when I get in there, Wonwoo!" It's silent for a second, before you hear the water start running…

And the lock click.

"I love you, too!"

– 2 MONTHS LATER: CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.

"Whoever said long distance was easy fucking lied." Wonwoo grumbles into the phone, "My paid week off isn't for another three weeks and I feel like I'm losing my mind. I wish you were here, sweetheart." He leans back in his desk chair, the clock reading 9:32PM. You're on the subway, he thinks. You've got a Pilates class you take during your lunch hour.

"I know, honey. Hey, on the plus side, I sent you a care package! There's lots of good stuff in there, it should arrive soon. I checked the tracking." Your voice is kind of strained as you talk, and Wonwoo frowns.

"The time difference is also a bitch. I'm about to go to bed and you're not even halfway through your day. You've got Pilates today, right?" He clicks around on his laptop, pulling up your shared calendar. He squints, seeing an added red section marked MINGYU lasting through the next three weeks. "What's going on with Mingyu?" "The time difference does fucking suck, I agree. As for Pilates, my instructor actually overbooked my session. She won't refund me, that old hag." You scoff, "Mingyu is going out of town, and he wanted me to see if Tzuyu needed anything. Tzuyu told me in the politest way possible that she wanted me to fuck off because she's going to spend her entire week sleeping. God, I wish that were me."

"Agreed. I've gotta get going, honey. If I don't go to bed now, I'll fuck my sleep schedule and this weekend is the only free one I have. I might go some places, pick some stuff up for you." He nods to himself, and you hum in response.

"I miss you."

He feels his heart sink. "We agreed we wouldn't say that, Y/N."

"I know, it's just…ugh."

"I'll be out there in three weeks. Before you even know it, I promise." Wonwoo rubs his eyes, seeing his doorbell pick up some movement on the app. "Hang on, I think your care package is here." "Ooh, unbox it with me! I wanna see the reaction." He laughs, "I'll send you a video. You need to get your camera fixed, this phone call shit is ridiculous." "Pay for it to get fixed, man! All that work abroad and nothing for the lonely sugar baby at home." You chide, making him snort.

"The most I've got to give you is all going to the ticket back to Seoul. You'll get some sugar soon. Hang on." He stands up, stretching his hands over his head as he walks to his door. He can still hear your disgusted sound from the foyer, and he peeks out his peephole to see no one on his doorstep but the box. He opens the door cautiously, the hinges in desperate need of ointment when he feels someone looking at him. He glances up, seeing you leaned against the wall in his brown hoodie, with your duffel bag swung over your shoulder. "Think you can give me that sugar now?"

He gapes, "You…I'm…Y/N." "Is that a no? After I flew all this way here?" You fold your arms across your chest, rolling your eyes with a flair of sass. "God, Wonwoo. You are the one that said wish for me, and I'll appear. I am here! I appeared!"

You're right, he did say that.

"Your phone camera isn't broken, is it?" He crosses his arms, and you grin, holding out your phone that's in perfect condition. "And Mingyu's at your place, isn't he?" "He wanted to deep clean my apartment! What was I supposed to do, say no?" You shrug, and Wonwoo just scoffs as he reaches for you, pulling you towards him by your belt loop. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "I missed you, Wonwoo." "I missed you, too. How long are you here?" He pushes the two of you into the apartment, inching the care package into the foyer before slamming the door with his foot. "Three weeks." You murmur against his lips, moving your arm to slip your duffel bag onto the floor. He hums in response, his hands gripping your waist as he maneuvers the two of you to his bedroom.

"Hungry?" "Nope." "Tired?" "Maybe when we're done."

Wonwoo doesn't do long distance. He never has, and he thought he never would. And now, knowing that you are the distance away that he needs to brace himself for – the chances of him ever giving it a go were undeniable.

He'd go days without seeing you, as long as you still loved him. He'd go weeks, months even, without seeing you as long as he still heard your voice before he went to bed and as he made his commute to work. He'd go years without seeing you, as long as he could wish you were there and you'd appear.

Yeah. Wonwoo does long distance. And so do you.

904 notes · View notes

jamiefartt · 7 months ago

Text

richmond's receptionist

part 2.

pairings: jamie tartt x reader, basically all of richmond is mentioned tho

summary: where you're the receptionist at richmond fc and you slowly but surely form a close bond with star striker jamie tartt

words: 6864

warnings: none just swearing and a little bit of rude jamie

—

day in and day out you watch the people of richmond fc enter and exit the home of their beloved football team. you spend your days behind the blue reception desk doing admin; sending emails, taking calls, and making sure everything is running smoothly. you've been the receptionist at Richmond for a little over three months, and you had no complaints so far. your favourite part of the day was watching Rebecca arrive to work. you always hear her heels before you see her, then she struts past your desk with a swift 'good morning' every day. not one day has gone by where she hasn't greeted you that way, and the acknowledgment lightens your mood each time.

as you're checking the company emails one morning, you hear Rebecca's footsteps approaching. you look up to smile at her, expecting the usual greeting, but instead she goes off-script.

"ah, good morning y/n. i'm not sure if you've seen the email but we are implementing a new daily register system. every morning, when our staff and players arrive, they must tick the box next to their name and note what time they arrive at. for visitors, they will have to sign their name on the bottom." you nod along attentively to her new instructions.

"okay, great! so, in the evenings, should everyone just do the same thing; tick the box, add the time?"

"you catch on fast. see, this is why I knew we needed a better receptionist," she smiles at you genuinely, adjusting her handbag on her arm before turning to walk to her office. "oh, and everyone should have received the email so I hope that saves you wasting time to explain this to everybody."

thanking her with a kind smile, you bid your goodbyes. you open your personal staff email, only to find an email from Higgins including a pdf of the sign in sheet. you take it upon yourself to print a week's worth, attaching them to a clipboard and placing it on top of the tall desk. you smile to yourself, looking forward to getting to know everyone's names and have more opportunities for small talk in the mornings.

the clock is nearing 8:30am, and you're already deep in your inbox forwarding and responding to emails. you've only had to explain the new system to a handful of staff, including Laughing Liam who, naturally, laughed at it. the players should be arriving soon, so you take the time to straighten your blouse and sit up straight in your chair. presumably, these men don't check their emails first thing in the morning, so you're expecting to have to repeat yourself a lot this morning.

"good morning y/n!" Colin chirps. he's the first of the team to arrive, as per usual.

"hey Colin! I thought I heard tires screech outside." you joke. "I'm not sure if you saw the email-"

"stop right there. i saw the email this morning." cutting you off, he picks up a Richmond pen before sliding the clipboard towards him and signing in. you chuckle to yourself and wave him goodbye.

soon after, the rest of the Richmond players flood into the building. some are in pairs, others in groups, and they even form a small queue as they wait their turn to sign in. Dani's excited by the new organisation plan, Roy grunts but still cracks a small smile, and Ted holds up the line talking to you whilst Beard signs both of them in. the only person to arrive alone, and last, is Jamie Tartt. he rolls right past you, not once looking up from his phone. you quickly call after him: "Uhm, Jamie!" you've never spoken to him, nevertheless called him by his first name.

his head lifts at the unexpected sound of your voice, and he looks around trying to find the source.

"sorry, Mr. Tartt. I didn't mean to shout... or call you Jamie," your voice goes quiet as he turns around to look at you, eyebrows raised in confusion. "what?" he replies, slowly walking towards the desk.

"basically, there's a bit of a new system here now. every morning and every evening you'll have to check in and out on this sheet. just tick the box next to your name and then add the time you arrive and leave." you explain with a smile, holding his questioning gaze the entire time.

"right, right, okay... what if, instead of me wasting me time clocking in and out, you just do it for me. you see me arrive, you sign me in. you see me leave, you sign me out. simple as." he states, and he sends you a quick wink before spinning around and heading straight for the locker room.

your mouth snaps open and shut a few times, surprised at his refusal to cooperate. you knew he had been a pain, despite his talent, but ever since he returned from manchester city he'd dropped his act a little. still, all you could do was watch his back, his bright orange jacket disappearing around the corner.

—

the sign-in system is easily integrated into richmond fc's daily routine, everyone dedicating those few minutes every day to tick the box and smile at you. some even taking the time to have a chat with you and soon enough, you know everyone's names.

while your typing up an email to Keeley about a new sponsor, someone walks up to your desk and drums his hands atop it. your eyes snap up and a smile takes over your face at the sight of Ted.

"hi Coach, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing great, y/n, thanks for asking! I would ask how you're doing but I'm here about someone else..." Ted's gaze narrows and your smile shrinks slightly.

"what's up?" you turn your chair to face him to show your full attention is on him.

"my pal Higgins has informed me that one of my players hasn't been signing in with you every day."

"yeah..." you trail off, "Jamie hasn't really been making the effort. I'm sorry if I should have been doing it for him I just wasn't sure if that would be... against safety regulations... or something?"

Ted raises his eyebrows at you, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "did he ask you to sign him in and out every day?"

"yes, he did. he said I should just watch out for him coming and going then write down the time."

"oh okay, I see. I will talk to him at lunch. Don't you worry, y/n."

as he walks away, you sigh in relief, worried you were getting in trouble for Jamie's slacking. you turn back to your computer, cracking your knuckles before getting back to your work.

later that day, as you log out of your computer and start packing up your stuff, the team pours out of the locker room. some sign themselves out, some sign themselves and their mates out. you make sure to keep your eyes peeled for anyone trying to avoid the responsibility, but the only person who strides past the group with no remorse is, once again, Jamie Tartt. your eyes meet Ted's who is looking at you with an apologetic look. you shrug in response, brushing it off. Jamie is his own person, you're not in charge of him.

the next morning, the day starts as usual; Rebecca is the first to arrive, followed by some members of staff, before the coaching team and players pour in from the car park. despite people greeting you and talking, you only half-respond. you're too busy looking over everyone's heads trying to spot the stubborn player you just haven't been able to crack.

"I've spoken to that prick. he can't keep fucking you over. let me know if he causes any problems." Roy grumbles, interrupting your focus.

"cheers, Roy," you smile at him warmly, wondering if his words will have had any effect on Jamie.

when the clock strikes 9, you sink back into your chair. the last of the staff have arrived for their day, and training is about to start – but still, no Jamie Tartt.

you grab the clip board and flick through the pages, making sure you didn't miss him signing in. still, on every page, the boxes next to his name are left blank. you sigh, shaking your head, unsure of how to tell Rebecca you got through to everyone expect for one measly player.

"y/n?"

"that's me," you say, before looking up from the list of names.

there's two coffee cups in front of you, both with the name Jamie scribbled on the sides in black marker. you lift your gaze, and funnily enough, Jamie is stood in front of you.

"listen yeah, I jus' wanted to say sorry for not doin' the whole... sign-in sheet shit. Roy had a proper go at me yesterday, so... I brought you coffee. hope this makes up for it." he can barely meet your eyes as he speaks, but ends his apology with a small smile.

"oh, wow, thank you. that's very kind, Jamie." you genuinely smile at him, hoping his might lift even a little bit more. instead, his eyes soften.

"I just got you a latte. I hope that's okay, I weren't sure what you liked and didn't have time to ask Keeley so,"

"that's perfect, Jamie, thank you so much. you really didn't have to do this."

"yes, I did, I think. it's not fair for you to be worrying about your job because of me."

thanking him again, you take one of the takeaway cups, taking a small sip of the warm coffee. Jamie nods at you as if to say goodbye, and you return the nod with a cheeky wink. you can't be sure, but you think you see Jamie's smile finally reach his eyes as he turns around.

the following morning, as you're talking to Isaac about becoming the new team captain, you're interrupted by none other than Jamie. your face lightens up at the sight of him, and you laugh as he pushes Isaac with his shoulder, making him leave the front desk.

"what's this for?" you ask as he sets another coffee cup down in front of you.

"I dunno... I was already getting meself coffee, so I thought I might as well get you another latte."

"you don't have to do that, Jamie. but if it means you come to the desk to sign in then I won't complain."

you can't seem to take your eyes off his hands as he picks up the pen Isaac had just used. his fingers seem to move slowly over the page, smoothing over everyone's names until he reached his. you admire the rings on his fingers, taking a special interest in the gold signet on his pinky as it supports the pen gliding along the form.

"do you like it?"

you blink a few times before snapping out of your daydream, looking up to see Jamie smirking down at you.

"hm?" you ask, gulping down the embarrassment of being caught in your daze.

"do you like my ring?"

"what? your pinky ring? uhm, sure, yeah. it's nice..."

"good save, love. it's me granddad's. he gave it me when I first went to play for Man City."

"it's beautiful..." you say, smiling before looking down at the ring again. you notice how delicately his hands move as he puts the pen down. you didn't expect such a machismo to have such nice hands but you can tell Jamie takes good care of himself.

he smiles, huffing out a small chuckle at your admiration. "see ya later, y/n." "

"bye, Jamie." you smile, taking the clipboard from him. you glance down at his name, spotting a small heart drawn beside it. it's uneven and a bit jagged, but the doodle still tugs at your heart strings.

from then on, every single morning, you are greeted by a latte and a chat from Jamie. every day, he lingers more and more as you talk to each other, and you always end up drinking half of your coffees before he pulls himself away from your desk. in the evenings, he's always one of the first to sign out. instead of saying goodbye, he simply winks at you. you hate to admit it but you start memorising what times Jamie arrives and leaves. as much as you love talking to him, and especially him winking at you every time he leaves, you love waiting for him. you love the nerves that build in your stomach as you watch the clock, and by the time he finally reaches you, you're already slightly blushing. when he turns to leave your desk, your eyes follow his figure and you let the blush take over your cheeks completely.

—

"hey, y/n, have you got a minute?" Isaac walks up to your desk.

"Isaac! of course!" you chirp, taking the last sip of your latte. Isaac reads the name written across the cup and raises his eyebrows knowingly.

"ah, speak of the devil,"

"what?" you turn the cup around, running your thumb across Jamie's name, "oh, yeah,"

"about Jamie... I really hate to involve you in actual football shit but he's been slacking a bit in training."

"oh, okay, would you like me to pass on the message to Rebecca?"

"no, no, it's just... he's been showing up late to training and then leaves early. during trainings, he's always... agreeing?" you raise your eyebrows at Isaac's words, "he never puts up a fight anymore, and we kind of need that Jamie Tartt for our big game this Saturday."

"I'm sorry, Isaac, but I'm not really sure what I can do about this. I really would love to help but there's not much I can do."

"I really hate to ask this from you, but," he takes a deep breath, a small smile appearing on his face, "I need you to piss him off a bit this week."

you laugh out loud, attempting to brush off his obvious joke by turning back to your computer.

"I'm not joking." his smile drops instantly, and your laugh falters before your face goes serious. "he likes you, so if you start acting cold towards him, it would really throw him off." Isaac's smile returns, and you giggle at his idea. trying not to read into his phrasing too much, you take a deep breath and nod.

"got it, Captain." you salute towards him. his eyebrows furrow as he curtly nods at you before turning around and jogging away.

what does he mean with Jamie liking you? a blush creeps up your face at the thought of him mentioning your name every time he's late, making up some excuse about the sign in taking too long. you start to brainstorm how you're going to turn the cold shoulder to Jamie this afternoon, feeling ever so slightly bad but trusting Isaac's judgement at the same time.

sure enough, Jamie is the first person out of training. you look up at him, and he smiles at you from the end of the hallway before jogging towards you.

"hi, y/n," his fingers drum on the desk, clearly excited to see you.

"if you'd just like to sign out for me there please, Jamie." you speak up, not looking up from your screen.

Jamie's immediately taken aback by your tone and from the corner of your eye you can see him pull his head back in confusion.

he chuckles awkwardly, attempting to diffuse the situation, "uhm, okay... what's the time, y/n?"

you don't respond, instead you point up at the clock on the wall behind you.

Jamie scoffs, quickly scribbling down the time and dropping the pen with a little bit of force. you don't react, as much as you wish you could just look up and meet his eyes.

"okay, bye then." he sighs deeply then heads towards the car park. as you see Isaac approach your desk, the rest of the team in tow, you hear an engine roar off into the distance.

"sounds like you've already pissed him off," Isaac says, "how did you manage that?"

"I just didn't look at him." you shrug nonchalantly.

"mhm, yeah he hates that. good job, bruv." he holds out his fist for you to bump. your knuckles meet his as you wink at him.

—

"hi, y/n, you alright, yeah?"

you hear Jamie place down a coffee cup. he whistles a little tune trying to get your attention, but when you still don't look up at him, he just picks up the pen and quickly signs in.

"listen, I'm not sure if you're just busy or what, but we play the Spurs tomorrow and I'd really like to see you there."

before you can even look up at him, Jamie turns around and leaves. you wait until he's a few feet away before looking up to take your coffee. you stare at his back, sighing to yourself. you understand the Captain's orders but it doesn't feel right ignoring Jamie. you would never tell him but your little routine has become your favourite part of your day at Richmond. you watch as his pinky signet ring catches the bright lights of the hallway and you take the opportunity to rake your eyes over Jamie's figure. his grey skinny jeans hug his legs perfectly, and his black jacket accentuates his broad shoulders. you lift your gaze to see his hair is gelled back neatly. you continue to stare at him, and as he's just about to turn the corner, he turns his head to take one last look at you. your eyes just about meet before you quickly snap your head down, pretending you weren't looking at him.

"y/n! I heard you fixed Jamie!" Keeley squeals as her and Roy walk up to the desk.

"I know, I hate it!" you reply, slumping your shoulders.

"don't worry, y/n. he'll be back to normal after tomorrow's game." Roy helps.

"sure but I don't want him to hate me."

"trust me; he doesn't fucking hate you." he adds, raising an eyebrow.

Keeley nods, "it's true. he's got a soft spot for you."

"he still invited me to the game." you shrug, hopeful that means he doesn't hate you.

"ah! brilliant! I'll talk to Rebecca, I'm gonna get you a seat with us. that way, you can watch the match without him even knowing you're there!" Keeley bounces excitedly on the balls of her feet.

"doesn't that defeat the point of me being there?"

"no babe, it's all about the teasing. he's gonna be fuming when he thinks you're not there, and then after the game you can surprise him! it'll work wonders, I swear."

you give her a questioning look, turning to Roy for a second opinion. he stays completely silent, simply giving you a single nod.

"if you think it'll work, let's do it." you hesitate slightly, but ultimately agree. you won't mind teasing Jamie a little bit. it's all he ever does.

your eyes drift to the picture of him plastered on the wall beside you. the cocky smirk on his face taunts you as you consider just texting him an apology.

"good morning! whatever you said to Jamie really worked, y/n. he never passes to me anymore!" a chipper Sam says to you as he signs himself in.

"is that a really a good thing?"

"it is for now. but please, after tomorrow, bring him back to normal. he's almost my friend and I want to keep it that way." he gives you a sad smile before bidding you goodbye.

throughout the day, you take calls and file more admin work. you talk to Higgins, Ted, and Keeley, filling them in on the plan for the Tottenham match tomorrow. it's a struggle to sit at your desk with Jamie constantly filling up his bottle from the water fountain in front of you. there's plenty of others for him to use, but he's clearly making the extra effort to see you in the hopes you'll talk to him. much to your dismay, you continue to ignore him. it's only been two days that you've been ignoring Jamie, but it's still hard avoiding the one thing that makes your day just that little bit better.

all packed up to go home, you wait for the last sign outs of the day. Rebecca's heels descend the stairs, and once again you hear her before you see her.

"y/n, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting."

"no worries. that's my job," you smile at her, moving to exit your desk. you step down from the raised platform, about to shrug your jacket on.

"ah- ah- ah, I'm afraid I'm not the last to go home." Rebecca interrupts your movement, pointing a finger down the hallway.

"oh, uh, who's left?" you ask her, already taking your jacket off again.

"I think there's someone in the gym. oh, and there's a package for you in the coach's office. don't forget to pick that up before you leave."

you shake your head, confused; "uhm, okay then. I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Welton." you smile at her politely, giving her a small nod.

"Rebecca." she assures you with a small which mirrors yours. as she turns to leave, you hold back a sigh and place your jacket and bag atop the desk. you iron down your shirt and fix the pleats on your trousers before venturing down the hallway.

you can hear small puffs and the whirring of a treadmill as you get closer to the coach's office. choosing to cut through the locker room, you look at the large empty space. you look over each name on the far side, reading them out loud quietly to yourself. moving towards Sam's locker, you smile at the photo of the Nigerian national team he keeps on his shelf. turning around, you read the names on the other side of the room. eyes landing on the locker at the end of the row, you finally let out the sigh you were holding in. "Tartt" you say out loud to yourself. butterflies fill your stomach before a nervous twist takes over. "he likes you" Isaac's words replay in your head. "he's got a soft spot for you" you remember what Keeley said. you ponder on their words, wondering why you of all people were Isaac's choice. Surely Roy could've talked some sense into him, or Ted if he got angry?

you shake the thoughts from your head, quickly looking away from Jamie's locker just in case your clouded mind takes charge again. looking through the window into the office, you see a white parcel on Beard's desk. there's a bright yellow sticky note on top of it:

'For y/n. You'll need this tomorrow! - Coaches'

you smile softly before pulling off the sticky note and picking up the package. the sound of the treadmill is louder now that you're right next to the gym, and the huffing and puffing increases too. loud beeps sound out and suddenly the footsteps on the treadmill seem to be going impossibly fast. pushing your curiosity aside, you cut the corner of the white bag, ripping it open. inside it is a neatly folded jersey – a Richmond jersey. you pick it up by the shoulders, holding it up in front of you. when you turn it around, you let a laugh escape your lips, hoping the treadmill covers the sound. it reads the same as Jamie's locker: Tartt 9.

shaking your head in disbelief, you fold it up neatly and place it back in its package. you hug it tight to your chest as you move quietly towards the window into the gym. you peer in, and to your surprise, you see Jamie almost destroying the treadmill with how fast he's going. his feet barely seem to hit the rubber, running like he is being chased by something twice his size. your smile falls and your brows crease together. he seems pissed, even though you can't see his face, his ferocious speed tells you enough. you turn back around, grabbing the post-it notes from Ted's desk and writing something down. you end your note with a small heart, hoping the coach sees it before the match.

—

"come on Richmond!"

the ear deafening crowds cheer and chant for Richmond FC as they file into the stadium. you're sitting in the owner's suite behind Rebecca and Keeley, with Higgins next to you.

"did you get my package?" Keeley asks, teethy smile across her face.

"I knew it was you! you cheeky little shit!" you laughed loudly, clapping her hands into yours. you take your jacket off, turn around and bring your arms up, pointing two thumbs at the back of your shirt.

"ah, young love..." Higgins sighs.

immediately turning back around, you scoff at him; "pfft, we're not in love! in fact, I'm not even sure we're friends right now."

"don't worry about it, y/n. I promise." Rebecca assuredly says to you, before turning to watch the match begin.

the whistle is about to blow, so you quickly try to find Jamie on the pitch. your eyes scan over the group, and you soon spot him in the middle of the pitch jumping up and down. he spits on the ground and claps his hands together, clearly riled up and ready to lead Richmond to a win.

the crowd roars as the whistle blows, and Jamie initiates kick off. you didn't think you would ever see him run as fast as he was on the treadmill yesterday, but somehow he is beating his own personal record. in the blink of an eye, he runs from one end of the pitch to the other. by some miracle, he seems to always have the ball in possession. after passing it back and forth, any time he's anywhere near the goal, the ball is at his feet.

in the 40th minute of the game, Jamie is crashing through Tottenham players, bumping shoulders with every single one as he makes his way towards their goal. you can see his cheeks puffing air in and out of his lungs rapidly, and after finding himself completely unobstructed, he kicks the ball with so much force that his mouth opens and you can almost hear his shout.

everything seems to go in slow motion. you hold your breath and raise your hands to cover your mouth. the ball flies through the air, magically curving towards the goal. the keeper jumps, hands in the air, and his finger tips merely brush the ball. but he's unable to push it hard enough, the ball crashing straight into the middle of the net.

the stadium erupts in cheers and roars, and you jump into the air with a loud scream. you hug Higgins in excitement and shake Keeley's shoulders before high-fiving Rebecca. you watch the team celebrate by running up to Jamie, who is stood completely still in the spot from where he scored. you can see his chest heaving, catching his breath as his teammates hug him and clap his back. but he doesn't seem to celebrate with them, instead you watch as he looks up and into the crowd without even a smile on his face. your expression falls, feeling your colleagues' eyes on you. Keeley grabs your hand, snapping your attention from the pitch to her; "go." she says, squeezing your hand. you purse your lips and nod at her, squeezing back, before pushing past Higgins and running inside.

as you rush through the VIP bar, you hear the half-time whistle. you head down the stairs and out the back of the stadium. you curse yourself for wearing your boots as you try to run to the main building. running doesn't seem to be your best bet, so you settle on a speed walk as you get closer and closer to the door. finally, you push open the door, passing by the reception desk you would normally sit at.

you continue your journey down the hallway and then turn right, heading straight for the locker room. you can hear the team from far away, cheering in celebration. as you turn the corner, you see all of them fall into the locker room in a line. they're so excited they don't notice you leaning against the wall watching them. the only person who isn't too busy celebrating, though, is Jamie Tartt, who is trailing behind the team like a sad puppy. his hands are wrapped in his shirt, and he's looking at his feet which he's scoffing across the floor. clearing your throat, you hope it catches his attention, his mind clearly elsewhere.

his head snaps up and looks in your direction. stopping dead in his tracks, he drops his hands from his shirt and fixes his headband. quickly glancing into the changing room, he goes unnoticed by the team as he dips his head and does a few long strides towards you.

"Jamie, I-"

"are you alright? like really alright? did I do somethin'?

"Jamie," you sigh deeply, not knowing how to explain Isaac's orders. "I'm sorry for ignoring you the past few days. it wasn't my idea, I promise."

"your idea? what're you talkin' about?" Jamie crosses his arms and shakes his head, a lock of hair moving forward into his eye.

you reach a hand up, gently moving the strand out of his vision. you watch as his eyes soften, dropping to the floor before they meet your gaze again. a sad crease appears between his eyebrows when you bring your hand down to your side again.

after taking a deep breath, you begin to explain; "Isaac said you were playing too friendly during training, slacking a little bit – and yeah, turning up late and then leaving early. he wanted you to be ready for today's match, y'know. so he asked me to rile you up a little bit, just so they could have the old Jamie Tartt back."

Jamie pouts, brows furrowed in confusion, as he blinks at you a few times. avoiding your eyes, he starts slowly nodding, tongue poking his cheek as he thinks to himself. after a few long seconds, the corner of his mouth lifts as he huffs a sarcastic laugh. you look up at him with wide eyes, hoping you haven't upset him. licking his lips, Jamie's smile widens as his laugh grows. you crack a small smile at him and try to find his gaze again, moving a step closer to him. placing a hand on his strong bicep, you try to get him to look at you. instead, he shrugs you off, leaning down and digging a finger into his sock. you stare, confused, waiting for his next move.

"so- if Isaac told you to ignore me a bit... what the fuck is this?" he unfolds a pink post-it note holding it up to you before reading it out loud; "dear Tartt, I don't even like lattes". Jamie raises his eyebrows at you while you stifle a laugh. "what makes this worse is the stupid fucking heart at the bottom of the page!"

"I was just trying to piss you off! Isaac told me!"

Jamie finally lets out a loud laugh, and you do the same, dropping your head into your hands in embarrassment. you don't have the gall to look up at him, suddenly so ashamed of the stupid gag you pulled. you feel warm hands wrap around your wrists, and you lift your head to look at Jamie as he pulls your hands away from your face.

"darlin' I hope you know the only reason I've been late to training is because I can't stop talking to you. and I leave early just so I can see you before the rest of the lads hound ya..."

you blush – hard – and you stare into Jamie's dark blue eyes. his hands slide from your wrists to your hands, softly holding your fingers in his. you sneak a glance at your touch, and when you look back up Jamie's even closer to you. as he towers over you, you can't help but look down at his lips before meeting his eyes again.

"now, don't lie to me... do you really not like lattes?"

"I love lattes." you whisper, smiling sweetly up at him as he shakes his head with a chuckle.

"can I take you out tonight? I wanna celebrate our win since you're the reason for it."

you scoff and shake your head: "Jamie, it's half-time."

"I can give you a lift home after, yeah?" he ignores your obvious statement.

"what if you lose?" you tease.

now it's Jamie's turn to scoff at you, squeezing your hands slightly as he says: "as long as you're in the crowd I'm sure that's not gonna happen."

"Jamie! we need you, buddy!" Ted interrupts the moment, sticking his head out of the door of the locker room to beckon him in.

"see you later, Jamie." you pull your hands from his, although against your will, as if you had it your way you would kiss him right then and there. he doesn't move as you turn around, about to turn the corner into the hallway before you feel a hand grab yours again. Jamie pulls your hand, making you spin around to face him again. as he tugs your hand, he wraps his other arm around your shoulders in a hug. your face presses into his hard chest as he holds you close for a moment. you let out a deep breath as you enjoy the heat radiating off his body.

as he moves back to let go of you, he leans down so his lips brush your ear before whispering: "nice shirt, by the way. my name suits ya."

your breath hitches at his flirtatious tone and a blush already starts creeping up your neck. he pulls back and flicks his eyes up and down your body. as he turns around to join his team, he winks at you, and even though he winks at you every day, this one hits you a lot harder.

as you watch Jamie retreat to the locker room, you lock eyes with Ted at its door. you try to fight the shy smile growing on your face, but fail miserably as a blush takes over your face. Ted lifts his hand to his forehead and salutes at you. you mirror him, bringing two fingers up to your head and saluting him back.

you walk back to the stadium fanning your face with your hands, desperately trying to cool yourself down. after sighing in relief, you laugh to yourself thinking about how your time at Richmond has changed over the past few weeks – and it was all due to Jamie Tartt.

when you return to your seat, Keeley squeals at you, making Rebecca jump. you shuffle past Higgins and sit back in your seat, touching up your hair and taking a deep breath.

"he asked me on a date!" you finally exclaim to Keeley and Rebecca, and the two respond with even louder squeals, which you join in on. your celebration is interrupted by the ref blowing his whistle, and you all focus on the game again.

the guys walk onto the pitch in single file, Isaac leading them out. their faces are stone cold, clearly ready to destroy their opponents. you stand up from your seat, eager to see Jamie after your encounter in the hallway. you finally spot him, and you can see him bouncing on his feet as approaches the pitch. once he's at the halfway line, and all the other players are finding their spot, you see him turn towards your side of the stadium. he looks up at the suite you're sitting in, and you quickly put your hands in the air, hoping he'll spot you. you assume he sees you, as he brings both hands to his lips and blows you a smooth kiss, before patting the Richmond badge on his chest and sticking his tongue out. you cackle at his antics, loving his dramatic entree. you quickly blow a kiss back and wave, praying they win this match so messing him around wasn't just for nothing.

you've never been more nervous watching a Richmond game. you've gone to a number of them since beginning your job as receptionist, but you've never been so enthralled by the sport itself – well, the players... one of the players.

Jamie sprints across the pitch, back and forth and back and forth, the ball at his feet. you, Keeley, and Rebecca scream and shout as you watch Richmond score three more goals. Colin scores with an impressive header, Dani bicycle kicks the ball straight into the net, and of course Jamie punts the ball past half the other players and the keeper, securing the last point for Richmond.

after the match, you find your way back to Richmond's headquarters, pushing open the same door you entered through earlier. this time, Keeley and Rebecca are walking in tow. you all stop at the reception desk, chatting about the game and your weekend plans.

"so how did he ask you out?" Rebecca lowers her voice, just in case Jamie turns the corner. you laugh nervously, shaking your head and waving your hands dismissively.

"no, no, no, he didn't ask me out. he asked me on a date. there's a difference."

"but he's so obviously into you! what's stopping you from just grabbing him by the hair and shagging him!" Keeley exclaims, a lot less subtle than Rebecca's careful tone. you sputter and laugh, Rebecca doing the same, both of you shocked at how direct Keeley spoke about you and Jamie.

"shut up you two! I'll let you know how it goes tonight, you go celebrate!"

Rebecca and Keeley hug you goodbye before walking down the hall. you turn around and giggle to yourself, blushing from Keeley's comment. lifting your head, your eyes fall on Jamie's wall sticker again. just thinking about how close he was to you earlier makes your heart race, your head dizzying at the memory of lips brushing your ear. fixing your hair, you move around the desk and sit in your usual chair. you try to calm your breathing and bring your heart rate down, not wanting to look like a yearning, blushing mess.

after managing to pull yourself together, your heart beat pounds against your chest again when you see the Richmond team crowd into the hallway. Isaac cheers when he sees you at your desk, and Colin, who is on his back, joins in.

"well done, boys!" you call to them while you wave at everyone passing you by.

"bye, y/n! see you on Monday!" Sam says to you with a big smile. you wave him goodbye and sigh happily, genuinely excited for the team.

their cheering goes quiet the further away they get from the door, and you wonder where Jamie is. you check your phone for any text messages, but there's nothing from Jamie. there is one from Keeley, however; 'don't forget to use protection!'

you scoff at her suggestive words, texting back a thumbs up with a kissy face. placing your phone down on your desk you look up, only to see Jamie sauntering towards you.

"hi, y/n," he says as he gets closer to the desk.

"hi, Jamie,"

"how ya been?"

"just fine, what about you, Jamie?"

"yeah, good, yeah... happy about our win."

"I can imagine. you were a proper superstar on that pitch."

wide smiles grow on both of your faces as you continue the small talk; "thanks, love. what can I say? Roy says I've got a right foot kissed by God, so ya'know this is just a regular day for me."

you chuckle at his feigned cockiness, standing up from your chair and leaning over your desk. "don't you want to go celebrate that win with your teammates, Jamie Tartt?"

"nah, that's alright, thanks. I've got other plans."

"oh yeah?" you tease.

"yeah, I've got dinner plans with a really pretty girl,"

you nod along with your eyebrows raised, smiling playfully at Jamie. his hair is still damp from the shower, but he's kept his same hairband look from on the pitch. he's wearing a bright orange t-shirt under a dark green jacket, an unexpectedly nice look on him.

"who's this girl then?"

"ah you'd love her; she's friendly, funny, gorgeous. she doesn't like lattes, though. and she pretended to ignore me but is still wearin' my name on her back."

you laugh, breaking character. you smile at him, raking your eyes up and down his body shamelessly. his eyes widen as you do so, surprised by how forward you're being. you bite your lip at him before saying: "you gonna treat her right, Tartt?"

he teases you back, matching your flirtatious tone. licking his lips, he lets his eyes drop to your lips: "if she'll let me."

———

just something from my mind hope u like it !

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #phil dunster #ted lasso #fanfic #imagine #one shot #jamie tartt fluff

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inkskinned · 1 year ago

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it is the first snow today. i think we should all have off work, even though it didn't stick. i think there should be 4 national holidays, one for each season. happy first snow, go home and make cookies. for spring it can be the first crocus. for summer the first lightning bug. for autumn, the first golden leaf. go home, kiss your dog, feed your cat (who is absolutely already-fed but somehow still starving.)

i think we should all take more showers together, but i mean that in the soft way. i mean it like taking a nap. two years ago i had 5 adult friends in my queen bed, all of us laying across each other, head over belly over thigh over hand. any time one of us would giggle, it would ripple over each of us, like pulling on a spiderweb. kim actually needed to nap and didn't get to sleep and i am still sorry for it even though this is one of my most precious memories.

i think we should all wash each other's hair, i mean. i walk my dog and i watch someone put up twinkle lights around their front porch. alex and i just moved, and i love the neighborhood. already so many of our new neighbors have stopped by to say hello. the nice lady downstairs also collects plants, like me. she gave us her number on a pink post-it note. i am trying to decide whether to make her cookies or brownies.

i am going through a very hard time. something bad happened this weekend that i do not wish to discuss. it is hanging over me. i think of the green ribbon, and the woman who had her throat cut. it feels like that sometimes, inside of my body. like i am walking and talking despite being half-corpsed. like i am hanging on by a ribbon, standing on some kind of cusp. i keep saying - at least it wasn't worse. we are so lucky it wasn't worse. the idea is river-rock smooth now, all the edges worried off.

in this very dark night - the sun sets by 3 now - people don't need to, but they try anyway. they paint the missing light into things. i have an embarrassing number of missed calls and texts, but i feel the love from them nevertheless - hey. if you need something, i'm here. i will bring you food/puzzles/anything. i got you.

i think we should all have a big group chat where we do errands with strangers. this week i got lost in a home depot, which is wild because i'm a lesbian and we are actually hatched in a lowe's lumber section. there were two other women in the whole store. we ended up shopping together, at first by accident (we all needed things in the same aisle), and then because, well, why not. one of the ladies was taller than me, so she pulled down the screws i needed. i am agile and have the personality of a raccoon, so they sent me after anything below 3 feet. we talked about holiday plans and never learned each other's names, but did learn all the drama about each other's families.

i am making you cupcakes, because i have so much affection i want to pour it into batter. you ask me if i am eating enough per meal. i wrap your gift twice, trying to do it prettily. i get excited to give it to you, just because i hope you'll be excited too.

my parents drive an hour just to see the new apartment and to do the parent thing; standing in the kitchen saying things like "oh you'll get so much use from this dishwasher" and "well, you could paint that" and "when your mother and i moved it was uphill both ways and in a snowstorm and of course your brother was an infant." my mother brought me a plant for housewarming. i always say i love you before she leaves.

i play dnd on tuesdays still, after all these years. we all keep that night free. at one point, between grad school and marriage and all of it, we had to have a serious discussion about how to keep it running. we will keep going, we decided eventually. just to see each other, even if we don't play - you are all important to me. sebastian is not prone to affection but last night he stole my usual sign off - i love you all, be good, he said. he was laughing.

i don't love the winter, actually. i like snow in theory, but i grew up in the north, and am too-familiar with the season of "mud and sludge". i don't like being cold. but i do love something kind of soft and rare: every year around this time, people remember oh yes. you and i are human together. and i have love to spare.

it is the first snow, and something in my heart is finally warm again. i have spent what felt like the last 18 months just going-through-the-motions. it has felt blank and immediate, like i would never actually feel again. that sounds extremely trite and stupid - but that is the boring and familiar experience of depression. life just washes up against your windows, and you watch it happening. you see things that should be lovely and affecting, and it just whispers too-thin. i was desperately uncreative. uninterested in my hobbies. unimpressed by my writing. i told my therapist, often, i don't know how to find hope again.

almost sheepishly, something strange and lovely is burning in my chest. i keep not-looking at it, worried it will scamper back into the shadows again. it is skittish and wild, but it is so warm i want to sink my hands into its fur and feel it breathing. i love-hate it: if it's real, it can hurt me when it leaves again. but i am icarus-born, sun-lover and poet: i can't help myself. despite my best intentions, i am falling in love with life again.

i am planning to make cookies for my friends. alex and i are going to go christmas tree shopping. we picked out matching dish towels last night, and they have little mushrooms on them.

i love you. it does come back. yes, even after a long time. even for you. i promise. keep trying. you will wake up and it will be a day you can smile about.

write me when you get there. we will take the day off of work, and i will wash your hair, and we will both be laughing.

#spilled ink #writeblr #pos #recovery #my brain is like - don't trust it!!!!!!! AHHHHHHH!!!!! we can't be wrong again!!!!!!#and im like. what if the sorrow is the thing that's wrong though.#what if this - this!!!!! - is the truth

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mountainsandmayhem · 8 months ago

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BDSMaid - Chapter 3

Pairing: Millionaire!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Rating: E, 18+, Minors dni

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You decide it's time to put yourself on Joel's radar.

CW: Age gap (Joel 45, Reader 22), dual POV. Specific warnings in small red below the cut, do not read to avoid spoilers.

WC: 10k. Sorry, grab a snack!

AN: I'm continuously surprised by the love, excitement and joy that this story brings anyone but me. That probably doesn't even make sense, I'm just lost for words, tbh. Forehead kisses to @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk, and @milla-frenchy for screaming with me or pre reading this for me. @lotusbxtch gets a forehead kiss and a tip of the nose kiss for deep dive beta reading this, she's solely responsible for every semi colon.

Series Masterlist || My Masterist

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates to be alerted for future chapters.

Content Warnings: Flirty, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual acts, kissing, mutual pining, reader being pinned against a wall, sexual tension, touching. Reader does have some description so may be considered more of an OFC.

The week after Joel removed you from his club goes by in a well-scheduled blur. You work your usual three days, cleaning mansions of people who don’t tip as well as Mister Miller. You pour yourself over LSAT study guides, practicing insane logic questions. You enjoy a coffee date with Jamie who asks you what happened the night at the poker game. You tell her a practiced lie that feels like acid on your tongue as it leaves your lips. You hate lying to your friends, especially her. You can feel that lie sitting heavily on the top of your stomach the entire time you’re with her, but you simply cannot afford to get fired with three years of law school on the horizon. You spend an evening with your roommate, Odette, watching Netflix and eating dumplings from her favourite spot, the only spot in Austin that has those little white paper boxes with the red writing.

If you decide not to lie to yourself, on top of everyone else, you also spend at least an hour a day watching videos of women tied up and dominated, thinking of Joel goddamn Miller the entire time. Since learning his full name, and the name of his club, the Google searches you swore you’d stop doing have been much more productive. You’ve found multiple blogs and Reddit posts, not just about kink, but also about Joel. It turns out that he’s well-known in the kink and BDSM communities around the world, but is essentially changing the face of kink in Austin.

One night, you get lost in a Reddit wormhole of women in Texas, and one in Paris, who have been a submissive for a man that sounds a lot like Joel. They don’t actually mention him by name but there’s advice on what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he never actually has sex with any of his submissives. It also sounds like some of these women pay him to be their dom, and, based on the conversations in the comments of one thread, it seems like he has a few submissives at the moment, and majority of their interactions happen at the club.

The club. Fuck, Jamie wasn’t kidding when she said JMK was exclusive. Anyone can join, assuming you can pay the yearly membership fees that, according to Reddit, are around $80,000 per year. From the minimal, cryptic information you find, Joel Miller is the main owner and he has two business partners. One you assume is his brother that you served the other night, but the third you are unable to find any information about.

Since everything you find online is up to interpretation, it’s hard to say what is and isn’t true. According to one disgruntled poster, once you become a member at JMKink, there are a lot of rules to follow. Everyone has to get tested monthly; it’s highly recommended that women are on birth control; and even if you’re married to the guest you bring, men must wear condoms. You can’t just bring anyone in with you: every member and their guest has an app, and the only way to get that app is from a QR code and an assigned activation code. According to another poster, the app is full of waivers and consent forms. You can’t stop the shy smile that crosses your face when you remember how concerned Joel was with your consent the first time you met.

The Monday before your usual every-other-Tuesday shift at Joel’s, you find a blog post about becoming a submissive, and it’s like it was written just for you. The writer explains how she had a hard time shutting off her brain and how, by the end of the day, she was so exhausted from making decisions that all she wanted was someone to tell her what to do for once. This led to her and her husband exploring a sub/dom partnership. Now, she feels lighter and freer; they’ve both discovered new ways to get pleasure outside of the idea of sex that society feeds us. Being a submissive isn’t always about orgasms or pleasure; it’s helped her build confidence, and she’s found that as they progress, that little voice that tells her she isn't good enough has stopped being so loud.

After reading through the post a few times, you shut your rose gold laptop and stare at the wall behind your desk. You feel seen, heard even though you didn’t speak. At first, you found yourself feeling ashamed of getting off to these videos, like there was something wrong with you for being turned on by it, but it’s really that ability to let go of control that you crave, the feeling of someone else making the decisions for once. You want that, but more so, you think you need that, and badly.

As a firm believer of ‘everything happens for a reason,’ it all comes together for you. You aren’t even nervous as the thought consumes you. If Joel shows up at his house, tomorrow I’m going to ask him to teach me.

On Tuesday, you do as you always do, following Joel’s instructions to a tee while listening to a podcast. However, today you only wear one AirPod in hopes of hearing that familiar and comforting engine rev that signals him either coming or going. Every creak or pop of the house causes your heart to flutter, but it’s never him. Much to your chagrin, Joel doesn’t come home.

Inside the envelope is that expensive matte black paper again, ‘Thanks -JM’ neatly written along it.

Great, you think to yourself sarcastically, we are on initial terms again.

Twelve hundred dollars is tucked into the envelope this time, you roll your eyes after thumbing the crisp green bills. The first tip you ever got from him felt sincere, but after walking in on him, and everything since then, it’s feeling more and more like apology money. You shouldn’t complain; people would kill to make this kind of money, but everything would be so much easier if he’d just fucking talk to you.

Your fingers run along the thick, rich paper that he uses as company letterhead. You can’t explain it, but the paper feels like Joel. It’s rough and thick, yet has a vulnerability to it, like you could easily destroy it with just a pinch of your fingers and a flick of your wrist. Your mind flashes back to his club the other night. He was literally begging you to leave, you can still hear it, the pleading in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me”. Your fingers trail across the golden ink of his neat handwriting and then open the paper the rest of the way. At the very bottom of the page, in shiny black print similar to the JMK logo at the top, is a phone number. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your eyes scan across the numbers.

When you get home, you unfold the note on your kitchen counter and pace the three or four steps it takes to walk the length of your small kitchen, never taking your eyes off the paper, looking at it like it’s a live bomb or like it’s going to disappear if you let it out of your sight. This is it: you could call the office, make an appointment or something. You’d probably have to lie, but you just need to see him; you need to make a case for yourself. Your stomach lurches, throat tightening at the thought of being in the club with him again. You open the freezer and grab the bottle of tequila, taking a big swig right from the bottle. It’s a cold burn and you clench your eyes as you swallow it down. Your body shivers involuntarily.

You dial before you can talk yourself out of it and before you know it you have an appointment under a fake name to speak to Joel tomorrow afternoon before your study group meets. You take two more large gulps of tequila after hanging up the phone.

Fuck, this is really happening. You take another large sip of the frozen tequila for good measure, your nose scrunching up at the taste.

Joel’s office isn’t attached to the club, it’s in a smaller building across the street and that has seemed to tamp some of the nerves that are vibrating your very core. Still, you can stop from nervously smoothing the wrinkles that have formed on the short, flowing skirt of your white sundress as you sit on the red velvet couch across from Joel’s receptionist. She is a small woman with a chin length bob, she’s probably in her late fifties and you wonder if her kids or grandkids know that she works for the owner of a kink club, or maybe she’s part of the community too. You’ve done copious amounts of research; kink isn’t just for young people, and you suppose Joel isn’t exactly young either. For all you know, she very well could be a dominatrix in her spare time.

She says your fake name in a soothing tone as she stands and walks towards the tall black door, pulling it open effortlessly. “Go on in, sweetheart. Joel’s ready for you.”

You smile at her sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously as you walk over the threshold to try to convince the millionaire whose home you clean to dominate you. The air in his large, bright office feels heavy and thick. Blood rushes through your ears as he looks up at you from his seat. He slips off his 1950’s style black horn rimmed glasses and places them on his desk. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he assesses you. Your heart lurches, knees trembling as you take a few nervous steps towards his desk. As his eyes meet yours you feel it again, that exposed and naked feeling that only his gaze seems to be able to cast. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress, but it’s an unseasonably warm March day and even before leaving your apartment you were sweating in a mix of nervousness and excitement.

You see his lips move, but you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart. You stop just past the door, then hear it click shut behind you. Joel’s silky lips move again and this time you hear your name followed by a calm, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The words come out before you even think about them, you practically yell them at him, “I want you to teach me.”

His hand waves to the chairs across his desk. When you don’t move he harshly says, “Sit.”

You rush across his expansive office, the plush carpet feels luxurious under your shoes. When you reach the black leather chair you sit on the very edge of the seat, your knee nervously bouncing up and down in time with your heart.

“You want me to do what?” He asks hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair. He looks absolutely beautiful in the late afternoon sun - orange hues reflecting off his tanned skin, the few greys along his temples glistening like the moon on the ocean. He’s in a black dress shirt again, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You noticed today that he’s wearing a black watch and a gold ring on his right ring finger. Between his accessories and the veins that line his toned forearms your mouth goes dry.

“I - umm, I want you to teach me.”

The last word has barely passed your lips when he scoffs out, “No.”

Your face falls, “Joel, please. I’ve been doing research and I’ve decided that, well, that I want to be…that.”

He places his large palms on the desk, the square black diamond in his ring glittering in the sun, and pushes himself up. You crane your neck to look at him as he slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes already locked on yours. His intense eye contact wraps you up in a weighted blanket of safety and comfort, which is a dangerous and vulnerable place, a place that has the ability to rip you in half, much like you could do with that company letterhead he left you. He walks slowly to the other side of his desk. Once in front of you, he leans back onto it, keeping his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black dress pants.

“You can’t even say it.” He challenges.

You furrow your brows, ready to confront him like you always seem to do. In the few interactions you’ve had with Joel, more often than not, it’s been him trying to tell you what to do, you fighting him over it, and then him ultimately winning. It’s infuriating, but not this time. No, this time you’re going to win. You have valid reasons to want this, and they’re all backed up by your research. You are leaving this office as his submissive.

“I can too!”

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, “Say it then. You wanna learn how to do what, sweetheart?”

You sit up tall on the edge of the chair, crossing your arms under your breasts, praying your cheeks don’t flush as you finally admit it out loud. “I want to learn how to be a submissive.”

“No.” One of his meaty hands comes out of his pocket, waving you off as he says it again.

“Please!” You plead, “I want to learn how to be a sub.”

Joel actually squirms at the sound of you being so needy. He lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath and then whispers your name, “I can’t do this with you.”

Got him, you think to yourself, failing to fight the smirk as you lower your voice and sweetly beg, “Please, Mister Miller?”

Joel ‘Your-Consent-is-Most-Important’ Miller is not a small man: his broad shoulders take up almost an entire door frame and he’s easily nearing six foot four, but at the sound of you calling him the one name he’s asked you not to, he moves faster than your brain can comprehend. You gasp as he lunges towards you, his hands landing on the arms of the chair, his wide shoulders pushing you back as he cages you in. Your exposed back hits the back of the chair, your short skirt riding up your thighs slightly. He is practically on top of you and for a second you can imagine that this is what having sex with him would look like. His knuckles blanch from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly, his eyes are practically black, and that familiar flush he gets when you challenge him paints his neck and cheeks.

His voice is deeper, thick with arousal, rattling your bones as he speaks slowly, “I said not to call me that. You can’t even…You can’t.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. His tone softens as he opens his eyes, “No, I ain’t doin’ this with you, sweet girl.”

You practically writhe in your chair. Sweet girl. He’s terrifying and commanding and so fucking beautiful like this. He obviously has a soft spot for when you beg, so you soften your eyes and stick out your velvety smooth bottom lip enticingly before whispering, “Please, Joel.”

He lets out a groan as he pushes himself off the chair and walks towards the large wall of windows behind his desk, his hands resting on his tapered waist. He avoids your gaze as you sit up, squeezing your thighs together tightly to calm the need at your core. “Lemme set ya up with someone else. My brother Tommy. You were gettin’ him a drink at that poker game.”

“I remember,” you mumble, looking down at your hands like you always do when your lack of confidence gets the best of you. You can’t let that self-doubt creep in now, not when you’re this close. You look back towards his broad back. “But I really don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?” He spins towards you, the lighting behind him gives him an almost ethereal glow. There’s absolutely no denying it, Joel Miller is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You tuck your hands under your legs, simply stating, “I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a horrible guy.”

You let out a sad laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s right, you don’t know him, but you have a feeling about him and you consider yourself pretty good at reading people. “You’ve never given me reason to think I couldn’t trust you. Even that first day. You were so calm and apologetic.”

Joel presses his lips in a thin line, eyes raking over you. You subconsciously slip your bottom lip between your teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two,” you immediately regret lying; the avenue of trust is of utmost importance between a submissive and their dominant, so you quickly add, “Almost, I turn twenty two on Friday.”

“I can’t do this.” He croaks and you can’t help but feel a little bad. You’ve put him in an uncomfortable position and his voice sounds defeated.

“Please. I always felt I needed more but,” you stand up and take a few slow steps in his direction. “But…I didn’t know what more was and I - I think it’s this.” You audibly swallow pleading, “Please. I need you to help me. I want you to help me. Teach me.”

He holds his hands up and steps back as you inch closer. A silent call that signals you to stop or that he doesn’t trust himself, not here, not with you. “Jus’ let me set ya up with Tommy. You’re his type.”

Your heart sinks and an acidic taste lines your tongue. Of course. You aren’t that tall, slender icy blonde girl he had strapped to his desk. No, you have curves, and stretch marks along your hips, your boobs are a B cup on a good day. He can get whatever woman he wants, why would it be you? You look down at your hands, pushing back the nonexistent cuticle on your right thumb. This nervous habit of yours used to drive your mom crazy, ‘you’re going to have no skin left soon’ she’d lecture, but you can’t help it. The immediate result of the nail bed looking clean and perfect is like a dopamine hit. It leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is, the initial confidence you had about this decision on Monday night has dwindled and you’ve been so anxious about this meeting that every single finger has a nicely pushed back cuticle.

It’s silent in the room for a while, you shut your eyes as you sheepishly ask, “Am I not attractive enough for you?��

“No!” He says insistently and without hesitation. His hand runs through his beard, a faint scratching sound fills the room drawing your eyes open and away from the skin of your thumb. As they land back on him you wonder what his patchy facial hair would feel like between your legs or along the soft skin of your stomach as he kissed you. His voice softens, “That’s not it. I just - I’m sorry. I jus’ can’t do this, sweetheart.”

You feel your chance to become the woman you want to be slipping through your fingers. Your plan is failing and for once in your life you don’t have a Plan B, this is the only plan that makes sense to you. Sadness creeps into your throat, “Why?”

“‘S not a good idea, sweet girl,” he answers, his soft brown sugar flecked eyes reaching out to yours.

His face and voice seem to be at war with his words. He’s saying no, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and a caring undertone to his voice. You’re not sure how you know it, but him calling you sweet girl means something to him. “Because I’m not your type?”

He shakes his head, that same curl falling into his eyes as it did in his foyer the other day. “That’s the problem, you’re exactly my type.”

Hearing that you’re this beautiful man's type should feel like you’ve won the lottery, but the way his shoulders slump as he says it only builds that lump in your throat. As you swallow the sadness down, his eyes travel to your neck, watching as the muscles flex and relax with the motion. “I - then why?”

He lets out a long breath and as he walks to the door he says, “I ain’t havin’ this conversation. I said no. And someone who is cut out to be a submissive would just take that answer for what it is.”

“You’ve made it clear that I’m not a submissive,” you counter and walk towards the door. He cracks the door open and you step in close to him, unconsciously taking in his leather and ash scent before adding, “Have a nice night, Mister Miller.”

Joel

The door feels like a feather behind his hand as he slams it shut - your body, warm and already vibrating, trapped between him and the solid piece of wood that separates the two of you from his receptionist. He made himself a promise in his rear view mirror the other week; he had to cut this off, create distance. He needed you to be just his house cleaner. Because everytime he looks into your eyes he feels the same way he felt at seventeen when he met Tiffany in that garage. Everything about you oozes sweetness and innocence, his sweetheart, his sweet girl. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling that way again. And he definitely should not feel this way for someone who is younger than his own daughter.

His large frame looms behind you, forcing your chest and forehead to rest against the door. He uses his foot to spread your legs wide. A breathy gasp passes your lips as your hands scramble for purchase against the wood grain of the door. He keeps pushing your legs apart, wide enough for your short white skirt to ride up your creamy thighs. Thighs he’s imagined wrapped tightly around his head as he makes you scream.

Joel takes a small step forward, caging you completely, making it so you’re completely at his mercy. He can smell the sweet scent of your arousal growing between your thighs; he knows if he reaches a calloused finger to the gusset of your panties they’d be soaked through. His cock is hard as steel, pressing against the zipper of his pants and the small of your back. You’re practically panting and he fights to keep his breathing steady when really he wants to mirror the quick, uneven pace of your breath. This is much more serious and intimate than when he had you trapped in the chair. This is dangerous. This could lead to more.

His strong fingers wrap around your dainty wrists. He loves the way you don’t fight him as he pulls them above your head, gathering both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the door roughly. His free hand draws a slow line down your arm, then along the sensitive skin of your neck, and down your spine. Goosebumps break out over your skin and you instinctively arch your back into him, a desperate whine passes from your lips between laboured breaths, and that sound nearly buckles his knees.

His lips come to the shell of your ear, his beard tickling you as he speaks in a slow and commanding tone. “Do you feel what you do to me when you call me that. I’ve asked you not to. Multiple times.”

Your mint and lavender scented shampoo fills his nose as he nudges at you to tilt open your throat to him. He revels in how easily you oblige, cocking your head to the side like the good little girl he knows you are. He continues, lips just a hair away from your pulse point; he’s sure if he pressed his lips to it he’d feel how hard your heart is racing. “But I don’t want you to stop. In fact, I fucking love that you haven’t stopped.”

Your soft skin is warm against his rough fingers as they continue their trail down your body, running over the firm globe of one of your ass cheeks. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, distracting himself from the urge to spank you for calling him Mister Miller yet again. Finally, his fingers find a home on one of your thighs. He brushes lightly against your soft inner thighs, small little touches jumping from one leg to the other. The little involuntary twitches of your body and the needy little gasps of air you suck through your teeth has his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He’s aching for you in a way he hasn’t felt for years.

“You infuriate me with your insubordination and it makes me weak,” he mutters. “Makes me absolutely insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about what’s underneath those clothes, and after seeing your perfect breasts and your little pink nipples… fuuuuck, baby. All I can think about is how good they’d look with my handprints tattooed on them after I slap them while you orgasm. Can’t stop thinking about how wet your little pussy must get. How tight she would be around my fingers as I claim her as mine. How fucking delicious she must taste. How goddamn sexy your cries of pain and pleasure would sound.”

Your whole body shudders against his. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he knows he needs to stop before he crosses a line, but the way your body responds to him is precisely how he likes it: pliant and ready. His mind reels with all the naughty things he’d like to do to you. If he reaches just a little bit higher he could finally know how you sound when you come, how silky your cunt is, how you taste. He runs the tip of his hooked nose down your neck, the light citrus of your perfume replacing the scent of your shampoo.

“That what you wanna hear?” Joel continues. “How fucking weak you make me? How desperate? I can’t do this because once I start…I ain’t gonna be able to let you go. Ain’t gonna be able to stop. Never gonna be able to have any other little play thing. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. If I start this, this is it for me.”

Joel releases your wrists with a growl and walks away, carding his fingers through his curls and looking out at the cityscape as the sun begins to dip behind the tall buildings. He doesn’t look back, he can’t look back or he’ll fucking crack. He’ll haul you over his shoulder and take you into his club. He’ll show you everything right now and he won’t stop. His eyes flutter closed as he takes controlled breaths to slow his heart rate, the unmistakable sound of his office door opening and closing behind him.

You

You yank the door open and walk as fast as your legs will take you, your mind swirling, every emotion trying to win for first place. You’re painfully turned on, you can feel how soaked your panties are. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. It’s like it’s been carved into your brain. Only you. You jam at the elevator close button as your lungs scream for fresh air, and as you step out into the warm spring night you suck in breath for what feels like the first time since you made this appointment last night.

Your phone vibrates in the small purse you have across your body. He doesn’t have your number, you remind yourself as you reach for your phone. Jamie’s name across your slightly cracked screen. “Hey!”

“Are you ok?” her voice is thick with concern.

Your chest feels tight, “Ya, why?”

“You sound like you're out of breath.”

You laugh a little, “Oh. I was..” fuck, what was I doing. “I mean I am walking. Like on a walk.”

Even a toddler wouldn’t be convinced by your lie, and Jamie isn’t either as she gasps loudly on the other end before whispering, “Were you having sex?”

“No! God no!” Your clit twitches at the thought of how close Joel was today. “I’m on the street, can’t you hear the cars.”

“Ok. You do need some sex though,” she laughs.

“Jamie,” you sigh, “I have to get to a study group. What’s up?”

She giggles devilishly. “Wellll - It’s your birthday weekend. I want to throw you a party at this really amazing club on Friday.”

“Umm, ya. Sure. Nothing too crazy though, right?”

“Promise you can keep your top on this time, prude.” She says teasingly and you laugh. “It’s called Mystique. The owner is an old family friend and she gave us a sweet VIP booth and bottle service, all completely free!”

You slide your key into the door of your SUV to unlock it, “Ok. Let’s do it.”

“Good, because I already invited the girls.” You sigh and your phone buzzes in your ear as Jamie’s computer dings on the other end. “Oh, weird. Your regular every other Tuesday clean just requested for you to go on Friday. Weren’t you just there yesterday?”

Joel. You say dreamily in your mind.

“That’s shitty,” Jamie continues, “That’s your birthday. The shift is only 4 hours, but I can offer it to someone else if you want.”

“No!” It comes out too eager and you remind yourself to chill the fuck out as you put her on speaker phone and open the app. “I mean, no, that’s ok. I need the money and my calendar shows 11 to 3, lots of time to get ready!”

“Text me when you’re done with your study group and we’ll hammer out the details for Friday night. We didn’t get to celebrate you turning twenty one with your insane schedule -”

“Hey!” You exclaim, pretending to be hurt.

“Ya ya, I know,” her voice an amused sarcasm as she continues, “The master plan to graduate early. Which you did. So can we please make this the best celebration yet?” Even without being able to see your best friend you know she’s dancing excitedly on the balls of her feet while giving big green doe eyes.

Friday rolls around quickly, and you aren’t sure what you’re looking forward to more; a much needed night out with your girlfriends or the possibility of Joel being home today. You’ve tried not to think about how his body felt against yours, but every few hours you found yourself with your hand between your legs, rubbing tight little circles on your clit until you came to thoughts of him, whispering Mister Miller like a church prayer.

Pulling up to his house today feels strange. He requested an extra clean this week just minutes after you asked him to teach you how to sub and after finding out that your birthday was today. You haul your stuff into his house, letting out a frustrated sigh when you find it quiet and empty. You click open your app and he’s asking you to dust and vacuum the basement, as well as wipe out the fridge. You look down at the app confused. He’s never asked you to clean the basement, and the fridge? He doesn’t cook. The eleven thousand dollar fridge is basically just a decoration to fill a gap in the countertops.

You pop in your airpods and head downstairs. The cozy white carpet of the stairs feels like plush clouds under your Keds. As you round the corner of the stairs you see everything that makes someone's house a home. So this is where he keeps it all, you think to yourself.

The short hallway from the stairs to the large open concept basement is covered in photos of Joel at all stages of his life. The first picture that catches your eye is a teenage baby faced Joel and a beautiful young woman sitting on a hospital bed, she’s smiling at the camera as Joel looks down at the tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. He looks so happy and soft, and it ignites a small flame of jealousy. Not at the woman, but at the happy little family.

As your eyes scan all the pictures you see that baby at all ages. There’s a picture of her holding a trophy as big as her with little cleats and shin guards on. In another, she and Joel are holding a big fish, her toothless smile bright and brilliant, while something in Joel’s eyes looks sad even though his plush lips are curved up in a sexy smile.

Another picture is of the little girl sitting on her mom’s lap; the woman doesn’t seem as vibrant in this picture. The next one to catch your eye is her holding a cupcake with a candle in the shape of the number sixteen, then him in a pressed black suit and her in her high school cap and gown. The last picture is similar, except it’s a college graduation photo.

As you peel yourself away from all the pictures you haven’t managed to look at yet, you face the main living area, a large open concept space. There’s a cozy grey sectional facing the big screen TV, shelves of DVDs surround it and you can only imagine all the movie nights the two of them had down here. There's a pool table along the far back right side of the room and to the left are a bunch of guitars, both acoustic and electric, hanging on the wall. You walk towards the guitars, there’s a stool and a small table beside the amp. An open notebook with lyrics lays on the table and as tempting as it is to read it, you look away. This space is who Joel is and he’s obviously trusting or testing you by sending you down here. He did tell you that you didn’t know him, and that he could be a bad guy, but everything here screams wholesome family man.

You dust and vacuum, then fluff the couch cushions and fold the blankets nicely. There’s an empty glass on the side table, so you grab that and wash it at the small wet bar before placing it with the other glasses. You take one last longing look at the notebook, it’s tempting but decide you are right to not read it. It’s none of your business what he writes and sings about. You picture him there, dressed casually in sweat pants and t-shirt, his large fingers plucking with a practiced finesse at the strings, you wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee and a book. The two of you being independently together on a Sunday morning.

Thoughts of the two of you like that are dangerous; being his submissive isn’t being his girlfriend. You’ve been very good at compartmentalizing, mostly as a coping mechanism to your past, so you find a metaphorical little box in the back of your mind to stuff all those feelings and thoughts into. As you gather your cleaning supplies, you take one last look around. maybe this was his way of showing you that you can’t have a future with him, that he’s done with the kids-and-marriage part of his life. None of that matters to you; you don’t want kids and marriage, you just want a partnership, and the support and comfort that comes with it. You want to become a lawyer, and eventually a judge, and one day sit on the supreme court and defend everyone's civil and human rights. That’s the goal, the only goal.

From this point on, any feelings for Joel Miller go in that box. If he ever changes his mind, he is my dominant and nothing else. You push the lid on the feelings box and run through your life plan as you head up the stairs. Law school and lawyer, then a relationship before judge and supreme court. That’s the plan, it’s always been the plan.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pop open the fridge to see a single red rose. You lose a fighting battle with your face, smiling huge from ear to ear. You grab it and close the now empty fridge, bringing the rose to your nose to breathe in the sweet and powdery scent. The black and red envelope sits on the shiny marble countertop. You place the rose down and pop open the envelope. You pull out fifteen hundred dollars and a black business card. Your brows knit together as you inspect the card, flipping it over. A QR code for the JMK app, an activation code, and a note that says “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

You practically rip your phone from your back pocket and scan the QR code. You dance nervously on the balls of your feet as the app downloads. With shaky fingers you create a username and password, then type in the activation code. A bunch of permissions pop up, and while the baby lawyer inside of you screams that you need to read them, you’re too eager, so you hastily click accept on all of them. A profile with your newly appointed username splays across the screen. Right below your name it says “Beginner Submissive” and you roll your eyes. You upload the hottest selfie you can find of yourself to be your profile picture, smirking at what you imagine Joel’s reaction will be when he sees you in that tight fitting gold dress, a picture Jamie took of you on New Year’s Eve.

On the top right of your screen are 3 little lines, you open the menu and have two options. ‘Assigned Dominant’ and ‘Limits and Waivers’. You are eager to fill out whatever Joel wants on this app, but none of this will feel real to you until you see his name as your Dom. You giggle as you click the first menu. Holy shit, you think as the new window loads, this is going to happen, he’s going to do it.

Your heart freezes in your chest, and every ounce of excitement and happiness drains from you as you read ‘Assigned Dominant: Tommy Miller’.

When you get home, you open your JMK app again, looking at the assigned dominant screen in hopes you made a mistake. But there it is, clear as day, ‘Tommy Miller’. You lock your phone in frustration and toss it onto your unmade bed. Why would he do this? You’re sure that everything in the limits and waivers menu would have been a yes if Joel was your dom. But Tommy? Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Tommy. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s not Joel and you thought you made that perfectly clear.

After you shower you've decided you’ve cooled off enough to continue in the app. Tommy is still not Joel, but you want this for yourself, right? And it’s not about pleasure or attraction, it’s about the escape, and more importantly, it’s about having someone to push you and help you grow.

You click the ‘Limits and Waivers’ menu, a whole quiz comes up where you can rate your interest in different sexual and non sexual acts on a scale of one to five, and secondary checkmark if you’ve already done those things. You scroll through the list, this would be easy with Joel, all fives, all ‘highly interested’, or so you think. As you scroll through the list you get some real fetish level stuff - diapers, feet, scat play, being hung from hooks. You know enough not to kink shame anyone, but none of that interests you. As such, you rank them as a one, not at all interested.

You scroll back up to fill in all the stuff you’re more interested in.

Spanking, five.

Whips and Crops, five.

Paddles, five.

Nipple Clamps, five, fucking five hundred at this point.

Bondage, another five hundred. Vibrators, five.

Butt Plug, three - ya, that one surprised even yourself, but it’s Tommy, not Joel.

The little box to click if you’ve done those things remains unchecked. You aren’t a virgin, but the small handful of college boys you’ve entertained had the same two or three moves, all of which left you unsatisfied.

Odette bangs on your door, and you jump as your phone goes flying from your hand as she barges in. “Let’s get ready! Repeat twenty one, baby!”

You scramble off your bed to grab your phone before she does, one of your hands in a death grip on your towel, “Fuck, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Oh god, you were watching porn again weren’t you?” She laughs as your cheeks flush crimson. She wanders to your closet and opens the doors, “We gotta find you something real hot for tonight, you need to get laid.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you sing nonchalantly, wandering to your vanity to run a brush through your wet hair.

A few hours later and you’re all ready to go. Jamie and Laren came over to pre-drink and do their hair and make up. The four of you blasted nineties Shania Twain while drinking rosé and doing shots of cheap tequila. You pick a floor length black dress with a slit that goes almost to your hip and drips low between your breasts and leaves your back bare. You leave your hair down, curling it loosely before applying minimal makeup, flirty false lashes and a vibrant matte red lipstick. The packaging says that it's guaranteed not to smudge for up to twelve hours.

“We’ll test that tonight on drinks and men,” Laren says as she steals it from your hand and puts it on her full, pouty lips.

Jamie surprises you with a limo. Before getting in you swipe your JMK app open and save your half-finished preferences. Tonight is not about Joel or Tommy; tonight is about you, and you deserve to be celebrated.

The table Jamie managed to secure for your birthday is perfect. You’re just off the dance floor, but raised up so that you can see the entire club. The music is loud and the room is dark, dimly lit with light pinks and purples. As you settle into the booth a young icy haired blonde girl in small black shorts and a lacy bra wanders in. “Hey babes! I’m Jade, let’s get these bottles going! Here’s the menu.”

Her eyes fall to you as she hands the bottle service menu and you both freeze. It’s her, the girl from Joel’s desk. The thump of the music fades and all you can hear is her moans and cries, the squelching of her pussy as Joel finger fucked her hard and deep. Shit, fuck, why me. She smiles at you, “Oh hey! Good to see you again.”

A chorus of, ‘again?’ and ‘how do you know each other?’ comes from your friends, all of their wide eyes staring at you.

“We don’t really,” you rush. “Just a mutual acquaintance really.”

Luckily, she gets the hint and just nods along. “What are we getting to drink ladies? I’ve heard it’s on the house so pick something expensive!”

You pick a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Jade saying she can make different cocktails with it so you’re not all just doing shots. After a few rounds you find yourself alone in the booth while your friends go to the bathroom. Jade sits on the black leather seat beside you.

“Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what you saw the other week. Joel sort of forbade me from seeking you out, but if you’re in my section at the club I work at then I’m not really breaking any rules.” She’s even more beautiful up close, no fucking wonder Joel wants to give you to Tommy. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. But you see it now, why he’d pass you along. You can’t compete with a woman like her, and from the sounds of it Joel has more than one gorgeous, tall, slender blonde at his beck and call.

“No, it’s ok. I’m actually learning to be a sub soon.” You smile at her, trying to tamp down the jealousy that’s threatening to choke you.

“No way! Joel is amazing, I only see him like once a month now but you’re going to love it.” Suddenly your entire body feels like an open wound, and the lime and salt left on your hands from tequila shots burns through you. The back of your eyes burn, frustration and jealousy don’t mix well with Rosé and tequila. You blink a few times to stop the tears.

“He actually set me up with Tommy,” you croak, “Said I’m more his type.”

Just as she opens her perfect pink lips you hear the unmistakable opening to your all time favourite Shania Twain song, and as if your friends appeared from thin air the four of you yell, “Let’s go girls!”. The icy blonde pats the top of the table in your booth with one hand and holds her other hand out for yours. You climb up onto the table, your friends getting on the chairs.

Every insecurity dissipates from your body as you sing loudly with your friends, swaying your hips to the music. You surrender yourself to the genius that was Shania Twain and Mutt Lange. As you break into the chorus for a second time, a glint of silver across the club catches your eye. Standing on the other side of the dancefloor, leaning against the bar top, is Joel Miller.

His eyes are locked on yours; he’s wearing brown dress pants and a white short sleeved button up shirt, the top few buttons are left undone and it pulls at his biceps perfectly. He looks so sexy and casual, hair pushed back as he swirls the amber coloured whiskey around in its glass. He smiles devilishly, shaking his head jovially at you as you put on a show for him. As the song ends he crooks his pointer and middle fingers at you, silently calling you over. The simple motion of his fingers makes your pussy flutter, wetness slicking your thighs since you decided to forgo underwear tonight. Risky choice with the high slit of the skirt but suddenly it’s feeling like it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your girlfriends as they help you off the table. They call for more shots and you refrain from all out sprinting to Joel.

“Quite the show you put on up there,” he says, grabbing your bicep like he did at the poker game and pulling you gently along with him.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” You twist your arm out of his grasp and stumble. You’re definitely well on your way to being drunk, but you don’t want him to know that.

He grabs for your waist to steady you. “Careful, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, I’m celebrating, so I’m allowed to be drunk. Not allowed to be your sub, but allowed to be drunk.” His eyes darken and you know you’ve crossed some sort of undrawn line, but you’re at that reckless sass point in your tipsiness and you really don’t care. A saccharine sweet smile crosses your face as you plant your hands on your hips.

“You sure you wanna play this game, sweetheart?” He practically growls.

“I’m not your sweetheart, I’m Tommy’s,” it comes out poutier than you expect. You spin on the balls of your feet and head back to the dance floor. As always, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. When you approach the dance floor you see a handsome man about your age looking at you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirms Joel is watching, you grab the hand of the stranger and say, “Let’s dance.”

As all young, drunk boys do, he obliges. You spin and press your back in this body, grinding your ass into him and keeping your eyes locked on Joel. How did he find you here? Why would he be out at this particular club, unless of course he’s keeping an eye on the icy blonde woman. She confirmed they only see each other once a month though, so why? Is he following you somehow?

The boy's hands move to your hips, traveling up your abdomen. You wink at Joel, pulling your hair to the side and tilting your head so the boy behind you has access to the same spot on your neck that he had in his office. Just as his lips start to lower Joel snaps. Got him, you think. He takes a few long strides onto the dance floor, pulling you away like you’re some sort of toy, like he’s a caveman coming to take what’s his. You let him pull you, yelling an apology to the boy on the dance floor.

Even though you’re happy to go with him, you can’t let him know that. “Joel, stop it. You can’t kick me out of here too.”

He takes you down a quiet, dark hallway, barely illuminated by the red glow of the EXIT sign. “I own half this place, baby. So I can.”

You twist your arm free from his grip, “You’re the bane of my existence, Joel Miller.”

“Why haven’t you filled out your app yet?”

You scoff, anger and annoyance starting to replace the happy feeling you had when he pulled you from the dance floor. “Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Doms can see where their subs are at all times if they accept the location tracker on the app.”

Shit, all those menus that you just clicked ‘Accept All’ to at the beginning. Of course your dom would be able to find you, depending on the relationship they can control everything you do. “You’re not my dom!” You state.

Joel rolls his eyes. “I know. Tommy told me you hadn’t filled it all out yet and where you were. So, why haven’t you filled out the app?”

You lean back on the railing along the wall and slide your feet from your heels, placing them on the cool tile of the floor to soothe the ache in your arches. Your hands come back to grip the railing. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl, in this case it literally is my business. The JM stands for Joel Miller.”

This time you roll your eyes and then mumble, “Because I don’t want Tommy. I don’t think I’m going to fill it out anymore.”

Joel leans back against the railing across the small hall from you, pinching the bridge of his noise in annoyance, “Please. For me, can you just fill it out?”

“For you? You made it clear you don't want me. I’m filling it out for Tommy.”

He crosses his arms, biceps bulging even more against the tight fabric of his short sleeved button up, if he’s not careful he’s going to go full incredible hulk on that shirt. Not that you’d mind.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ and that’s also where you’re wrong. You’re fillin’ that out for you. If you’re fillin’ it out for anyone else, then you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”

You let out an unimpressed sounding huff, “I’m not.”

His lips press into a tight line as he considers his words carefully; Joel is old enough to know not to argue with a twenty-one year old who’s had tequila. “Ok, you’re not. So then why do you want to be a sub?”

He watches as your whole body seems to deflate, there’s a shift, almost like desperation in your body. Sadness lines your eyes as they meet his and your voice comes out small and uncertain. “Because I’m exhausted, Joel. I - I spend all day making decisions, and studying, and learning about civil rights law. I’m always having to come up with a plan A, and B, all the way to plan Z sometimes. And then,” your head falls back to the wall as you continue speaking to the ceiling with your eyes closed, “Then I do it all over again the next day. I can’t shut it off, my brain. It just keeps going and going. It's so loud, so constant, so fucking overwhelming and there’s no escape.”

You fall silent and he steps forward, slipping his large hand behind your neck and bringing your gaze to his. You continue, fighting against the boulder that’s forming in your throat, “I don’t think I’m good enough. Or strong enough…Smart enough. I want to see for once that I am, want to see what I can overcome. For once,” you sigh heavily. “For once I just want someone to tell me how well I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes fall to your lips, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Fill out the app.”

You take a deep breath. You feel lighter after finally getting to confessing all of that to him. That was your plan for his office the other day, but something about him flusters you and you were completely knocked off the rails by that special unknown thing Joel has over you. You whisper, “I don’t want to do this with Tommy. Please, Joel.”

Joel’s forehead comes to rest on yours, you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes at this proximity. He smells like mint, and that same ash and leather from his office the other day. You should ask him right now why he let you in his basement today, but he speaks before you can. “Can you please, just for once, show me that you can listen?”

“Kiss me,” you hum, trailing your hands up his strong arms.

He stiffens under your touch. “What?” he asks dumbfoundedly.

“Kiss me and I’ll go home right now and fill out the app,” you whisper, inching your lips closer to his.

“You’ll go home, fill out the app, and you will not touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a deep command.

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you say, “What?”

He crowds his body closer to yours, pulling his face back slightly so he can take you all in. You’ve never seen this expression before, that flash of darkness from the first time you called him Mister Miller in your car has permanently etched itself into your mind, but it’s almost like he’s transitioned into full dominant Mister Miller now. “If you want to convince me to be your dom, it’s not going to be through just a kiss. So prove to me that you can listen, prove to me that you can be a good girl. ”

The wetness between your legs starts to coat your thighs at the sound of him asking you to be a good girl. You clench your thighs together as his forehead meets yours again.

He continues, his voice just as commanding, “If I give you this kiss, you’ll go home alone, you will not touch that dripping little cunt, and you will fill out the app.”

Your pussy is throbbing with need. You should have known better than to sass him so hard tonight. Someone as competent and experienced as Joel would know exactly how to punish his sub when they were acting up. You nod your head and hum in agreement to his demands.

“Ask me nicely.” He murmurs.

“P-please…kiss me, Joel.” Butterflies assault the inside of your stomach.

You didn’t think it was possible, but he manages to crowd you even more, your entire body pressed firmly against his. Every skin cell is screaming for his attention, every nerve firing off signals making you hyper aware of anywhere he’s touching you.

“Ask me again using that name I told you not to call me,” He knows he’s playing with fire, but at this exact moment he doesn’t care, he fucking loves the way his preferred dom name sounds coming off your lips.

“Kiss me, Mister Miller. Please?” It’s airy and desperate, your knees feel weak below you and it feels as if you can’t get a full breath in. The anticipation is killing you.

“Why?” he growls. Growing up you were always afraid of dark spaces, but if there were any monsters in this hallway they’d be running scared at the timbre of his voice right now.

Your back arches instinctively into him. You’re safe here, Joel Miller is your safety. “Because I need you, Mister Miller. Please. Just one kiss…then I’ll do anything. I promise. P-please. I need to feel you on me, Mister Miller.”

Joel bends slightly, his hands come to the back of your thighs and he lifts you, slamming you against the wall. You squeal, arms flinging around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. He pins you to the wall with his hips and lets go of your thighs. Both of you are practically panting, his cock is hard as steel, pressing against his zipper and your bare pussy. Your skirt is covering you from exposing yourself to him but something about the glint in his eye when your bodies connect makes you think he might know you don’t have any panties on.

His hands peel your arms from around his neck and he pins them with one hand above your head like he did in his office. You whimper and grind your hips against him. His free hand wraps around your throat, holding it gently.

“No,” he growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have to stop your hips. “Say it again.”

He watches your mouth hungrily as you lick your lips and you fight back a moan. He can feel your pulse firing rapidly under his calloused fingertips. A needy whisper passes your lips, filling the miniscule space left between your bodies. “I need you, Mister Miller. Please kiss me.”

With that he slams his lips against yours. It’s a desperate and heady mess of tongue and teeth, your moans being swallowed by his greedy mouth. You tilt your head to allow him in more. His tongue devours every inch that it can reach. He nips at your bottom lip before diving back in. He takes whatever he wants from you and you let him. For the first time in years your brain is quiet. No anxiety about the quickly approaching LSAT, no thinking of whatever practice question you’re stuck on. That nagging fear of being rejected from all the law schools you’ve applied to goes silent. The worrying voice that tells you you’re not good enough disappears. Everything you are is replaced by whatever Joel gives.

You grind down onto him as you flick your tongue against his; he’s so rough yet so very soft. His tongue tastes like mint and whiskey. You can feel your orgasm building, it’s going to happen embarrassingly fast at this rate. You feel light headed from lack of oxygen and the slight push of his fingers into the side of your throat. More, more, more, you yell in your head.

Joel breaks the kiss and puts you down on your feet, holding you steady as you find your legs again. His lips are puffy and even though it’s not the time to be thinking of this, you realize there isn’t a single drop of red lipstick on his face, so it really will last twelve hours without smudging.

His thumb comes to your face, swiping along your bottom lip gently, “Put your number in my phone, sweet girl.”

He holds his brand new iPhone Max out to you and you tap your number in with shaky fingers. He sends a quick text when you hand his phone back and then he kneels in front of you, helping you back into your heels. As he stands his hand trails from your ankle, all the way up the slit of your skirt to settle on your clothed hip. “Go get your stuff and go home now, baby. There’ll be a car waiting for you out front.”

He pats your bum gently as you walk on shaky legs back to your VIP booth. You feel like a newborn giraffe as you make your way to your table.

“Where have you been?” Jamie proclaims, holding up a tequila shot for you.

You wave her off, “I think I’ve had too much. I’m gonna go but I want you girls to stay. Enjoy your night for me.”

It takes a few minutes but you convince your friends to stay and that you’ll be fine and already have a ride arranged. As you exit the club there’s a gorgeous blacked out town car parked in front. An older gentleman in a suit looks at you and nods, “Good Evening, Miss. Are you the young lady Joel Miller has asked me to escort home?”

You nod back, trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence and not the most outrageous thing that’s ever happened to you. As soon as you get home you change into your most unflattering set of pajamas, hoping that if you feel unsexy then it’ll stop that insistent throb between your thighs. Joel was so fucking close again, and this time there was no underwear in his way.

You slide open the app, Tommy Miller is still set as your dom, but you go through the preferences carefully and answer as honestly as possible as to what you want. You try to focus on the questions even though you can still feel Joel's throbbing cock pushing against you, and his warm hands around your wrists and throat. You can still taste him on your lips. You shake the ghost of him off of you and remind yourself again what you want from this, aside from mind-blowing orgasms.

You fill out every section and then hit save. Just as you are about to lock your phone and try to fall asleep your phone vibrates, the JMK app as a notification.

‘Your Assigned Dominant has changed to Joel Miller’

Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you stare at the notification, your head feels fuzzy, possibly from the booze, or that kiss, but you can’t believe your eyes. You close out of the app and go back in, staring at where Joel’s name has replaced Tommy’s. Just as it all starts to feel real you get a text message from a number you don’t have saved. You click on the message app.

“No coming until I say so, I know you weren’t wearing any panties tonight. Messy little pussy ruined my pants. Go to sleep now, my sweet girl.”

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