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jungkookstatts · 1 year ago

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All Over Again

[Summary]: Paternity leave has its effects on Jungkook. After his first day back at work, he can't help but show you how much he doesn't want to go back.

[Theme]: Dad!Jk, CEO!Jk, Married Couple AU, Parent's AU

[Rating]: 18+ for sexual themes. Marking, kissing, nipple play, creampie, unprotected (wrap it up y'all), dom!JK, mentions of another pregnancy, talks of pregnancy and getting pregnant, etc.

[Word Count]: 4,274

[A/N]: This is a pure result of the urge my body suddenly gets to want a child right before my period smh. Anyway, felt cute, might delete later once I am sane.

It’s been a long ass day. Jungkook’s white button-up feels stapled to his skin, his pants folding uncomfortably with every step he makes as he exits his office. A long finger comes up to his neck, digging underneath his striped tie, wiggling it a little to loosen the chokehold it has around his neck. His other hand feels bound to his briefcase, which carries so much importance in his life but yet so much burden at the same time.

It’s his first day back at work after his baby boy was born. The briefcase he holds reminds him of the duty he has to his family — of his passion and his support for you and your baby. But it also reminds him of the time it has ripped away from spending with you. He clutches it with so much strength at the thought of you, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and pressing the unlock button so hard, that he thinks he almost might just break it.

With a deep breath, he takes off his tie and tosses it in the passenger seat along with his briefcase. He’s ready to go home. That picture of you, him, and your son that you insisted on framing and Jungkook bringing to work has been a constant reminder of what he has to look forward to at the end of the day. If only his paternity leave could have been longer. You and his son are all he’s been able to think about. How you were doing, if you needed his help, if Jaemun was being feisty, how the cute crinkle on his nose resembles yours to a T.

It’s late January, and the winter air is unforgiving. He wonders if you have the heat on high enough; if Jaemun had enough blankets, or if the tip of your nose was cold like how it always is in the winter months. He can imagine you holding him close, swaddling him as you sing to him delicately. The thought makes his whole body warm, even though the air is so cold that it feels like glass is cutting against his skin.

He’s convinced he will take more time off. He’s the CEO, after all. He could take months off and it not matter. He wants to be with you always — at all times of the day to hold you and be there for you like he should be. If only the world had been that easy to where passions didn’t have a price. He got lucky, his passion having a heavy penny attached to it. But he wonders where that passion took something more valuable away from him — time. He finds himself now strapped between the choice of time and passion, and he fights the fact that he cannot choose both.

The door to your home is welcoming to his eyes as he pulls up to it. It’s not big by any means. Just homey and enough for the three of you. Even with the snow covering almost every inch of it, the reminder of how warm it is on the inside makes his drive to enter it even greater. He does so with a shiver, coming up to your shared home with a stomp of his boots to shake off the snow just before he enters.

To his surprise, he’s met with hushed music coming from the kitchen as he puts his winter coat on the hook, places his briefcase on the wooden floor, and shimmies out of his shoes. He looks at his watch first, making sure it’s not Jaemun’s nap time, to which he finds out it is. The soft music makes sense now, and he smiles when he makes his way down the hallway to the source of the noise.

The rest of the house is dark except for the kitchen-living room area that you and your baby rest in. Jaemun is peacefully sleeping in his bassinet by the couch, cuddling his dinosaur blanket, while you are by the stove, stirring something.

You look over your shoulder at the sound of familiar footsteps, and your heart immediately softens at the sight of your husband in the doorframe. He smiles back tiredly, running his hand through his hair in an exhausted attempt to pull himself together before he makes his way over to you. He looks relieved, like he’s finally received what he’s wanted all day. You’re happy to see him, knowing all too well that that’s what you’ve been waiting for all day, too.

Big, warm hands slide around your waist, a heavy chin rests on your shoulder as he kisses your cheek softly. He takes a deep breath, breathing in your presence as he releases the tension from work off his shoulders. You tend to have an instant effect on him — he missed you so much.

“You’re stirring water?” he laughs as he stares at the pot of water on the stove, unboiled, as you stir it as if it is.

“I’m trying to get it to boil quicker,” you explain with a defeated sigh. “Doesn’t seem to be working. I feel like I’ve been standing here for 20 minutes.”

He hums from behind you, taking your stirring hand and stopping your motions. You’ve never been a big cooker, but he knows you’ve been trying lately. “Just let it be, love. It’ll get there.”

You do as he says, putting the ladle down on the countertop and turning around in his embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck, staring at the tall man who holds you close against him. You’re met with a tired Jungkook who rests his forehead against yours as you play with the hairs at the back of his head.

“How was work?” you ask gently.

He groans, wrapping his hands around your waist and holding you tighter against him. It causes you to rest your cheek on his shoulder, hugging him in full.

“That bad?” you chuckle.

Your husband just sighs against your neck. “It’s too early to go back, Y/n,” he candors.

You tuck a strand of hair that fell in front of his face behind his ear. “We’re ok, Kook,” you comfort. But he only shakes his head, making the tucked strand fall out of its place again.

“I’m not,” he says. “I want to be here with you. Spend time with Jaemun before he’s suddenly 25.”

You chuckle at that. It does feel like that sometimes. It’s been three months since your son was born, but it feels like it was just yesterday that you were holding him for the first time.

You can only hold his cheek in response, running your thumb slowly against his soft skin. You feel for him, you really do. He’s such a good father. It makes your heartstrings tug and twist and pull every time you see him with your little boy. It’s only a matter of time before you have to go back to work as well. The thought makes your stomach turn, and you can completely sympathize with your husband dreading going back to work and leaving you and Jaemun.

“Your water is boiling,” he breaks you out of your daze.

“Oh,” you turn around. You smile, knowing he was right before. “I’m making pasta if that sounds ok?”

Jungkook kisses your neck in response, a gentle thing that has your tummy flipping for a second.

“You could also probably wake up our son,” you check the time on the microwave. “He’s been a little sleepy today, so I let his nap go for a little longer than usual.”

You add the pasta in and turn the water down, moving over to the greens left on the cutting board. You start chopping until your husband’s lips move lower.

“Our son,” he whispers, kissing your collarbone. The statement makes him jittery. It feels unreal still, even after nine months of waiting, and another three of actually having your little family here with him. You’re his wife, the mother of his kid, and he loves you more than anything in the world. You gave him something he can never find an equivalent to giving back to you. You gave him your heart and a family, and there’s nothing that can replace or overcome what that means to him. His soul lives for yours; it’s overwhelming what you’ve done for him. It’s overwhelming how you make him feel.

He kisses your collarbone softly once again, his heart full. You tilt your head to the side for more, and he gives it to you, kissing up your neck with slow wet kisses.

“Kook,” you exhale gently. You feel him hum against the skin just under your ear. Large palms cup your waist, his body moving closer to yours, trapping your hips against the countertop. Your knife feels loose in your hand when he bites at your skin gently, his tongue brushing over the bite mark afterward.

He stirs something within you. Something that you’ve missed terribly for the past few months. It makes your thighs tremble as he gently caresses your skin under his fingertips.

“The baby—“ you begin, but Jungkook’s motions cut you off yet again when his fingers slowly slide down your front. He’s unsure, his hand hesitating over your skin as his breath stops momentarily in thought.

“Is this okay?” He asks you genuinely. You nearly fall to your knees, dropping your knife onto the board, when his fingers put pressure over your clothed mound. It’s subtle, and much more gentle than what you’re used to with him. You know he’s being cautious, but god did you miss him. “If it’s too much, I’ll pull away.”

You shake your head.

It’s been a long time since the two of you have gotten intimate. Childbirth wasn’t easy, and your doctor just recently gave you two the “ok” for sex. The first time you tried since then wasn’t like what you’re used to with your husband. It was slow and painful, ending with a lot of apologies, embarrassment, and frustration. It’s safe to say that you have to get used to sex all over again.

“No,” you lean against him. “J-Just be gentle. I’m still a little sore.”

“Ok,” he whispers against your neck, kissing it softly. “Just relax for me, baby. I’ll make it feel good, I promise.”

You nod, loosening your nervous shoulders as your husband takes control. He stops swiftly for a second, turning the stove on the lowest setting before looking over his shoulder at his son to ensure he’s still fast asleep. Once he sees that he is, he immediately returns to you.

“So good for me,” he says, slowly circling your clit over your sweats. His other hand squeezes your waist before it moves up, sliding under your shirt and trickling over your breast. You’re wearing a soft bra today—one without an underwire—which makes it easier for him to slide his fingers under.

You whimper when he softly massages your boob, his fingers playing with your nipples gently. Your body, especially your breasts, has become 10x more sensitive since birth. You can feel everything, and everything either hurts or feels really really good. Whenever your husband seems to hold them, you’re a whimpering mess, melting like putty in his arms as he plays with you.

“Sensitive,” Jungkook smiles. His fingers rub harder against you, and you subtly buck your hips against him. His lips graze against your skin, his hair tickling your collarbone as he assaults your neck over and over again.

“You’re so cute when you’re pregnant,” he rasps against your cheek before planting a sweet kiss upon it. “Wanna see you like that all the time. So full of me — carrying our babies.”

“Jungkook, I—” you whine, grasping onto his wrist. You’re unsure what to do with yourself, wanting him to do so much to you, but not knowing where to start.

The man behind you takes his hand away from your mound, and he chuckles when you whine in protest. But his thumbs hook on your pants and underwear, slowly pulling them down.

“Relax, baby,” he asks again. “I told you, I’m gonna take care of you. Don’t worry.”

His hand slides around your waist again, smoothing over your skin until it’s sliding between your folds. The back of your hand comes up to your mouth as your other grips the countertop for support as he plays with you.

“So wet,” he moans, feeling the effect he’s had on you with his fingers. “This all for me? I’ve barely touched you yet.”

You nod, feeling completely at the mercy of the man behind you. His other hand plays with your nipple again, and you feel another wave of euphoria go straight to your pussy.

His fingers gather your slick generously, smoothing it over your clit before circling it gently. He plays infinities over it, making your knees go weak. It’s getting harder to stay quiet, especially when he pinches your nipple gently, making you gasp at the soreness and pleasure it causes.

“K-Kook,” you whine, but he only chuckles, quickening his motions on your clit as he presses further into you. You can feel his dick strained against his work pants, and the thought of him inside you again makes you feel so needy for him. “Want you,” you pant. “Please.”

“Patience,” he shushes you, kissing your neck surely. “I haven’t even made you cum yet.”

“Wanna cum with you,” you whine in protest.

“You will,” he promises.

You gasp as he switches his finger, his thumb trading places with his middle. It circles over you just the same, except this time, it’s joined by his middle finger slowly inserting itself between your folds.

“Oh,” you exhale, feeling weak when he pumps it in and out of you slowly.

He lets himself test your reactions, seeing if the insertion is too much — if it hurts or feels uncomfortable. It doesn’t seem to be, and he slowly lets his ring finger join with his middle, causing you to roll your eyes back slightly.

“So good for me, baby,” he encourages. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” you reply almost immediately.

He kisses your neck. His lips leave hot, wet marks all over your skin as he curls his fingers against your g-spot. His other hand quickly comes to your waist, stabilizing you as you whimper against the back of your hand, trying your best to keep quiet.

He circles his thumb faster, his fingers circling and brushing against your g-spot in tandem with his movements. You feel your orgasm looming over you, and with a certain pressure against your clit, you’re coming undone just as he said you would all over his fingers.

“There you are,” he coaxes you. You’re a whimpering mess, and he feels his dick twitch at the sight of you falling apart on his fingers. He helps you ride out your high, his fingers very gently brushing over your clit as you come down.

Once you're calmed down, you reach around you, playing with his belt loop as you rest your head on his shoulder and look up at him. He looks back down, hesitating again knowing what you want but unsure if it’s too much for you to handle yet.

“What,” he smiles teasingly with a kiss to your forehead.

“I want you,” you candor, looking at up him with pleading eyes.

He kisses your nose. “Are you sure? You said it hurt last time.”

You nod. “Please, Koo,” you beg him.

His chest rises, and he takes a deep breath before he nods, kissing you gently as he unbuckles his belt. He places it on the counter before unzipping himself and pulling his pants down. It springs up, pressing itself against your skin gently. But he takes himself in his hands, hesitantly letting it slide down over your folds.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you, okay?” He says, lining himself up to you with a few strokes of his cock. God, was he nervous. The last time sex hurt really bad for you, and that was just a week ago. He wonders if the prep was enough; he hopes it was, he really doesn’t want to hurt you again.

You nod, holding onto the countertop again as his tip rubs against your entrance. Your coat his cock in such slickness, even you’re surprised at how much you leak onto him. You miss your husband. You need this bad, and so does he.

“Oh, and try to stay quiet, yeah?” He says with a push of his hips. The motion has him covering your mouth with his hand, shielding your moans quickly. “The baby is still sleeping.”

His dick slips past your folds so smoothly, it has you gasping for breath at how good it feels. It’s nothing like the last time. He’s gentler, but still so so big, he fills you up just right.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck once he sheathes himself fully inside of you. The man behind you stills, completely overwhelmed with the feeling of you. He, too feels like he’s had to relearn sex all over again. How to please you right now that your body has changed, how to make sure that you are comfortable with his pace and size. You two haven’t had sex like this in so long, he feels overwhelmed when you feel almost too good for him to control. A part of him is embarrassed by how quickly he thinks he’s going to last.

“How are you still so tight, hm?” he asks with a firm grip on your hip. “Y-You okay?”

You can only nod, pushing your hips down against him. The motion forces him further into you, to which both of you grunt at the feeling.

Testingly, Jungkook pulls out slowly, before pushing back into you a little quicker than before. You coat him generously, creating a motion that makes it easy for him to repeat.

He develops a pace, fucking you against the kitchen countertop with your juices leaking all over his cock and down your thighs. The stove is on and your baby still sleeps; there are uncut vegetables in front of you and your husband still wears his work shirt. But he fucks you as if none of that matters. As if his only priority is to make sure you feel good, to let yourself go as he fuck you deep and just how you like it.

His hand comes off from your mouth and settles on your hip. His other hand wraps around your front, holding you impossibly close against his body.

You moan softly when he bends you over slightly against the countertop, the new angle making it hard for you to stay quiet. But you push your hips against him anyway, telling him without words to go deeper.

The action causes him to moan, following your request with a snap of his hips.

“You like it that much, hm?” He grunts, cock ramming into you. “Like it when I knock you up good?”

“Y-Yes!” You whisper. “I love it so much, Koo.”

“Y-yeah?” He leans over you. A tattooed hand cups over yours, palm embracing the back of your hand as he intertwines his fingers with yours. “Gonna let me do it again?”

“Mmhm,” you squeeze his fingers. “As many times as y-you want.”

“A-Ah,” he pants, mind going into a frenzy over your words. The fact that he is yours, that you are his. That only he can hear you say that. That only he can make you feel this good. That only he has the privilege of calling you his wife. It makes his heart warm and his cock twitch.

“God, I’m going to ruin you if you say things like that, Y/n,” he warns. But you are relentless, leaning your head back on his shoulder, giving yourself to him further.

“W-Want you to,” you whimper. “I love you.”

Your legs shake, completely weak from your past orgasm and your new one forming at the pit of your stomach. His cock makes you feel so full, like you’re stretched to the max capacity as he fucks you good. You know he’s close when his dick twitches inside of you after your words, which only encourages you to gain some strength and begin fucking yourself back on his cock.

“Mm, fuck,” he grips your hips tightly. “M’ gonna cum.”

He quickly reaches around you again, drawing infinities over your clit with his middle finger. His eyes roll back as your cunt naturally tightens at the feeling. Your hips jolt and the knots in your tummy slowly start to unravel themselves onto his dick as you come undone. Just as he had promised, with a final twitch, he’s cumming inside of you with hot, thick ropes filling you up with whispered exhales of your name on his lips.

He lets the two of you catch your breath, his forehead resting on your shoulder before he’s pulling out, shared cum leaking down your thighs and onto the floor. Quickly, he grabs a paper towel from the roll next to the stove and cleans you up a little.

With gentle hands, he helps you back into your sweats before he helps himself into his boxers. He still lingers behind you when he reaches a hand around you and turns the stove on a higher setting once again.

You turn around, wrapping your hands around his neck as you pull him in for a much-needed kiss. “I love you,” you whisper against him again. His hair falls onto your skin, dark locks intertangling with yours as his fingers come up to hold your face against his. Soft lips sear over yours, telling you things that simply cannot be put into words.

“I love you, too,” he brushes his nose against yours. “Was that okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

You pause, looking up at his dilated pupils. He looks at you like you're his world; like he's given you his heart with the full intent of never receiving it back from you. You nod, kissing him softly again.

“You should probably wake up your son now,” you poke his cheek.

Looking at the time on the microwave, he snaps out of his daze. “Oh fuck,” he says as his fingers leave your side. You watch him leave you with a chuckle, turning back to your pasta wondering how in the world you go so lucky to marry and mother a kid to this man. You’d truly give him anything he wanted.

***

[Bonus]

With gentle hands, so big against his baby’s frame, he picks Jaemun up in his arms, holding him against his chest. His dinosaur blanket swaddles him softly, and Jungkook does his best to make sure he’s correctly supported and held despite the extra fabric over his small frame.

Jaemun stirs, and Jungkook places a soft kiss on his tiny head before he gets the chance to freak out and cry. The baby seems to know exactly who is holding him, and he nearly falls back asleep at the familiarity of his father’s arms. But Jungkook bounces him against his chest softly, slowly waking him up for dinnertime.

He makes his way over to you, making unnecessary airplane noises, from what you assume is Jungkook pretending to be an airplane and his son the passenger.

“You know, babies can’t laugh until they’re about 4 months,” you shake your head with a laugh.

“False,” your husband comes behind you again. “I swear he’s laughed before.”

You chuckle, taking the pan off the stove and pouring the insides into a strainer. Just the noodles are left in the strainer now, and you realize that you haven’t thought past the part of boiling the noodles. You ignore that you have no idea what kind of pasta you’re making when Jungkook rests himself against the kitchen island.

Jaemun catches sight of you, and his arm reaches for you in Jungkook’s hold. You come over, giving him a kiss on the forehead before kissing your husband.

“Were you serious?” your husband asks you suddenly.

“About?” you raise your eyebrow.

“You know,” he gulps, holding Jaemun a little tighter. He rests against Jungkook's shoulder, his eyes tempting to fall back asleep again. “More kids.”

You raise both your eyebrows again, looking at him as if he was serious. His heart beats faster when he realizes what you’re thinking, quickly rephrasing himself.

“N-Not now, of course,” he gulps.

You turn around, opening the fridge for some milk for Jaemun as you listen to him. You take out a pot, take the cased breast milk from earlier, and pour it in, turning on the stove afterward.

“I just mean, like, in the future,” he explains.

There’s a long pause as you wait for the pot to heat up enough. The man behind you is weak, and you don’t know if you want to be mean and give him the blunt answer, or soften the blow. Watching how he cradles your son makes you want to go with the first choice.

“Don’t you worry Jeon,” you start, as you stir the contents in the pot. You can hear him gulp behind you. “I planned on giving you as many babies as you want. But at least wait until Jaemun is in pre-school or something. I don’t think I can handle two infants at once.”

You hear little from him at your answer, leaving you smirking knowing full well that you put the man behind you in a frenzy imagining the future you just laid out for him.

***

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

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saduko · 6 months ago

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PAY YOUR DEBT

Lando Norris x Driver!Reader 7.6K words

Summary: Lando's Austrian crash could not have come at a worse time, and now he's scrambling to find someone to replace him in the upcoming Quadrant video. He's so lucky you care, and that you're horrible at lying. Or in which, reader takes Lando's place during Quadrants; 'Spill Your Guts', and they manage to pull some interesting information out of her.

Childhood Friends to Lovers, Pining, Slowburn

Despite having never met you, the cast of Quadrant were more than familiar with your name for one of a few reasons. The first being that, you were of course, a renowned Formula 1 driver beloved by many. The second being their own proximity with another famous Formula 1 driver who so happened to be your Mclaren teammate.

For years they watched from a distance, saw your interviews and watched your races, cheering their team in orange on as the two of you dominated race weekends once again. It was obvious Lando was fond of you just off the way the two interacted on track, but beyond their parasocial concept of your relationship, they knew he liked you because of the sheer number of times your name was mentioned in the Quadrant circle. Lando’s inability to refrain from speaking about you was frankly an ongoing joke at this point. Though they playfully rolled their eyes at every mention of your name, they knew they couldn't necessarily criticize him for it either. Its hard not to talk about people you spend a lot of time around, and naturally, with you two being teammates and all, it wasn’t all that strange for him to want speak about you.

And when they consider the fact that your history stems way beyond just the devoted McLaren camaraderie you share, it’s hard to be mad at him when he brings you up. You two did grow up carting together after all, entering every stage of your lives with the other. You were childhood friends.

Except they had also spent a lot of time with Lando. Yeah, you might work with him, but so do they, and they knew he wasn't just talking about you because you were around often. They knew he wasn't just mentioning you because you grew up swerving along the same tracks or because you now wore the same bright papaya orange.

The man so obviously liked you and they all knew it. He mentioned your smile far too often to hide it, and he always seemed a bit too proud when he talked about being the reason you did. Not a single Quadrant member has ever spoken to you before, and yet somehow each one could articulate the way your eyes crinkled tight when you laughed or how your lips pursed hard when you found something funny but didn't want to show it.

He liked you, even if he denied it.

And so the Quadrant cast begged and begged to meet you. Eager to see the woman who has evidently captured the man's attention, despite his insistence to the contrary to no avail. Though, their efforts hadn't entirely fallen on deaf ears; in fact, Lando had been trying to get you in a Quadrant video since he founded the damn company, begging for nearly four years, only to be met with the same dismissive glare from your gleaming eyes every time.

“One day, Lando. Not today.”

One day, you would say. Though he’s starting to think one day is no day at all. In your defense, opportunities away from the relentless gaze of the media are far and few between and the brief moments of peace you manage to find are precious. The thought of spending that private time filming yet another video for millions to watch has never been particularly enticing. As much as you care for Lando, sometimes you cherish your downtime just a little bit more.

But... this time he was stressed, and you could see it. He was supposed to film a Quadrant video this week. Finally home in London for this week’s Grand Prix, at last, he was able to put a little more effort into his personal business. It was one of the very few times a year he was able to participate in the creative side of the brand. The whole video had been planned, written, set up and was ready to be shot. The date was set, it was finally coming together. But then Lando crashed. He crashed in Austria and now his work at Mclaren had essentially been doubled for Silverstone week and he had no time to film. And now all the week’s worth of effort put into preparing the video had been flung out the window. It was supposed to be yet another spill your guts video focused on Lando and his career but now with last week's events disrupting this week's schedule, they were going to have to rewrite all the questions and find someone to fill his spot.

And so you’d watched him for the past few days on calls, asking around to see who could be available on such short notice. Between his team of producers, the other members of Quadrant and possible candidates for the video, on top of the copious amounts of obligations he had at the Mclaren headquarters, you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty knowing you were spending all the current free time you had between track work lounging around the Hilton pool. You technically had no reason not to help. Changing the script wouldn’t be an easy task with the little time they had. You knew filling in meant they would have their empty spot filled and they wouldn’t need to tweak the script as much. You were a driver too, the questions they would have asked Lando still mostly applied to you as well. And you knew it’d do Lando a huge favor; lift such a massive weight off his already heavy shoulders so he could run around McLaren focusing on what actually mattered most this week - getting his car ready for the upcoming race.

And so you did it. You smiled so kindly at Lando on that faithful Wednesday afternoon and so calmly announced that if he was struggling to find a replacement, you’d be happy to help him out just this once. It was finally one day, you would take the spot for Quadrant.

Landos face had never expressed so much surprise yet simultaneous relief. And it was only a matter of seconds until Landos arm had reached entirely around your waist and your feet had left the ground. You caught a few questioning glares being sent your way from a couple Mclaren engineers in the garage, but the breath struggling to find its way to your lips at the force of it all left you unbothered. “Y/n, thank you so much, you don’t understand how much this helps me out! I owe you so bad.”

You would never say it to him, but his smile in that moment had almost paid his debt entirely right then and there. All the nerves and doubt about the decision you just made had nearly swept right by as you watched his face light with adoration. But instead you sent him a defeated grin as he placed you down on your heels. “I’m gonna hold you to your words. I better not regret this.”

“You won't, I swear.”

__ Regret this you will. As soon as the quadrant team had received the call that in his place, Lando's fellow teammate would instead be filling in for his absence, they immediately knew this wouldn’t be the video everyone was anticipating. They would take this opportunity to finally squeeze out the information they had been waiting to know for years. This would be their first time meeting you, and god was it a gold's mine worth of an opportunity. Not only would they be able to question you about your life as an F1 driver, they could also question you about your romantic life as an F1 driver, specifically about your relationship with Lando, a topic you successfully eluded everywhere else. But this video was the perfect opportunity. They would have a polygraph on set, and you were doing Lando a favor. You couldn’t leave and most importantly, you couldn’t lie.

The topic of your love life wasn't a new one, and a flurry of greedy journalists digging for a story have attempted to ask about your potential feelings for anyone and everyone on the grid. You always denied ever liking any fellow drivers and kept adamant that your driving and personal lives stay separate. But they had Lando as a secondary source - maybe to a fault - and from everything the man had explained, there was no way you weren't at least a little into him. And they were gonna get it out of you.

Was it a bit unethical? Maybe. Was it manipulative? Perhaps. Had Lando already told them he’d cut their pay if they fucked with you. Absolutely. But he’d be fine once he hears what you would inevitably say. He could thank them after they got you to confess the crush you just had to have on Lando.

So here you were, staring at a set full of very enthusiastic YouTubers, all beyond eager to be sharing a table with the phantom of a woman they had been hearing about for almost 4 years now.

Not only were you a talented and beloved motorsports athlete, more importantly, you were the girl their mate liked. and as a friend, they were curious, but as youtubers, they were out for blood. And if there's one thing a group of Youtubers were going to do, it was get you to admit your deepest darkest secrets for online content.

There would be no filling, only spilling, they'd be sure of that.

Oblivious as you were, despite how nervous you initially felt about participating in the video, it had been smooth sailing so far along. Everyone was nice enough and you could see why Lando enjoyed the company of these people, they were all quite funny after all, and the questions were not the absolute mood draining, time wasters you were used to receiving.

You were nervous coming into this but maybe this wouldn’t be all that bad.

The table settled from their laughter as Ria finally swallowed whatever it was she had been forced to bite into. Bull testicles? You didn’t want to know, and honestly it didn’t really matter all that much anymore because for the third time round, it was your turn again, and you were now being strapped up to the Polygraph machine.

Max Fewtrell's eyes sparked with a menacing joy as they locked with your own. He was hosting this video, meaning he was safe from the contents of the table, but more importantly, he got to interrogate the girl his best mate was into. He was the only person who knew that for a fact thanks to the multitude of conversations Lando has had with him in private, begging for advice on what to do. As bad as he felt about it, Max could never give Lando a straight answer, he didn’t know his fellow driver, didn’t know what it was she felt, and if she truly meant what she was saying in her interviews, it wasn’t looking too good for his friend.

This was finally his opportunity to help out.

“Y/n…” His voice carried menacingly around the room, dragging out each syllable to draw the suspense. You eyed him playfully, keeping your guard up as his eyes flickered from you to the card in his hand and then back up to you a few times. The last few questions had been relatively tame, all relating to your job; who your favorite team really was, who you disliked the most on the grid, (you'd had your fair few arguments with Stroll, but you bit into an 1000 year old egg because you were not going to admit it.)

A part of you hoped they were giving you easy questions because you were a guest - a good friend of Landos at that, but at the back of your mind you knew better. And that’s why when the question escaped Max’s lips, you really didn’t feel all that surprised. “Do you really mean it when you say you like to keep your professional life and your private life separate?”

Simple enough, but you were smart enough to know the implications of the question, so you hesitated. “... Yes.”

A pause, no buzz. “That’s true.” Ethan comments.

“Okay that’s too easy, let me rephrase it.” Max’s gaze bore straight into your own. “Do you really mean it when you say you don’t see any of the boys on the grid as like, candidates? You don’t find any of them attractive?”

The groan that escaped you was so inherently guttural you hadn’t even noticed you made the noise. Everyone laughed at your reaction and it seemed so light hearted on the surface, but inside your mind was beginning to race, heartbeat speeding up as if the peddle was full throttle. This was exactly what you were nervous about.

You had felt a bit uneasy once finding out a polygraph machine would be present, and crossed your fingers that the team wouldn’t get into the topic of your romantic ties with the boys on the grid. You guess your luck didn't really extend past the track. initially, no ties with the other drivers sparked any fears within you at the question. You really didn't have any romantic ideas of anyone, the others truly were just friends, boys you grew up with, some like brothers. None of the boys had ever made your eyes wander, or ever had your heart skipping beats when you made eye contact. There wasn’t a single driver you could think of that had ever made you nervous or left you hoping for anything more than just a friendship. No one except that one boy. That one stupid boy that had led you into this goddamned position in the first place. That one stupid boy who’s mates were all gathered around the table with eager eyes directed entirely towards you, waiting for an answer. This was truly your worst nightmare. Maybe you did like Lando, maybe the moment had awoken within your days in F2; seeing him grow from the scrawny kid on the track to something else entirely. So what of it? No one needed to know that. Curse you and your incessant want to help that stupid boy through his stress. Why did he need to make you care about him enough to do this? Now, you could ‘fill your guts' if you really wanted to, but with a yes or no question like this, no answer is just as much an answer in itself. You had watched this game enough to know how it worked, and so you opted to take your chances against the polygraph machine. “Yes I mean it.” One phrase. A simple phrase muttered through a guilty smile, and yet you could hear your heart through your ribs as you told the lie and it was so, so silent after that. The anticipation felt like the devil himself had engulfed the room in its glory. The faces at the table had your palms sweating further and Ginge’s ability to hold such intense eye contact left you wondering if there was more to this than it seemed. God, was this the longest 3 seconds of your life. But you were good under pressure. If you can keep your heart steady driving at 350 kilometers an hour, you could keep your heart steady enough to lie your way out of this question-

Beep.

Suddenly the room was ablaze with noise, yelling and screaming as everyone expressed their disbelief yet absolute excitement at the answer. Incoherent sentences thrown your way one on top of the other but your brain couldn’t decipher a single sentence, instead engulfed in the thought of how much this would change the way all the boys spoke to you, how Lando spoke to you, now that they knew you did like someone. You could already hear Danny’s teasing voice followed up by his sly, all knowing smirk. Fuck. Was it too late to back out? Maybe you could bribe Lando into deleting the footage.

But as you glanced forward into Max’s eyes, you saw the silent omniscient smirk that trickled on to his face - like the calm amidst the chaos - and you knew there was no going back. You were cooked. Your face fell into the palm of your hands, sheepish laughs slipping past your lips as you spoke in a slow, bashful tone, “No! It’s-.. It’s not like that!” But damage control is useless when the damage is already done. “Oh really?!” Ginges thick accent was next to echo across the room over top all the others, “Cause it seems like you’ve been secretly canoodling with some fast bastards and lying to all us about it!”

Ethan was the first to laugh, and soon everyone else's laughter followed suit, and as defeated as you felt a loud chuckle slipped past your lips at the comment. At the very least they were being funny about it and not trying to make a huge deal of it.

However, for the time being they couldn't prove it but once you admitted it, there was no going back, so you figured doubling down and playing dumb was the best option. “No- like, okay; the boys are good looking, they're attractive but that doesn't mean I necessarily like any of them. I grew up with these boys, you know, they’re like brothers to me. Your machine is definitely bugging out or something.”

“Nah, I think it’s working fine.” The reintroduction of Max’s voice had the room settling once again. It seemed all the quadrant members were on the edge of their seats, like they had been anticipating this the whole time.

“But if you’re sure it’s not working properly, I can try asking a different question, rephrase it a little better for you?" Max's face turned towards the camera. "In fact, we have a little tradition here!” His eyes gazing through the lens as he spoke. “Spill your guts tradition says that guests have to answer the final question and rules are no eating on the last round.” Now his eyes turned to you, “Truth’s only, so I hope you have your answer ready.”

You were just moments away from opening your mouth to protest, the words at the tip of your tongue; No thanks it’s fine,’ or even just a ‘I’ve already answered two questions, it’s not my turn anymore.’ as petty as it was. But the words were never able to slip past your overly gnawed on lips before your heart was sinking to the absolute pits of your stomach. “Who do you like on the grid and why is it Lando?”

Panic. “God! No- no it’s not Lando!” Deny. “Definitely, not Lando!” Deny.

The polygraph machine was silent for a moment as everyones eyes flickered over to the screen, and you endured the tension in real time as your forehead came down, lips pursing. And yet nothing came, no beeping sound to be heard.

To this all the boys are silent, and Ria’s eyes flicker up to Max as the man furrows his brows down. There was no way they managed to make the driver inadvertently admit she liked someone, just for it to not be Lando. You had to like him. All the stories Lando told him, all the words you spoke to him repeated back to Max, all the looks Lando was adamant he observed. All the nights clubbing, celebrating their wins together in videos Max himself saw. Your hands would travel just a little too far up, or your eyes would hold his just a little too long. It had to be Lando. He knows it.

“Okay, okay fair enough. Then I'll ask again, more direct. Y/n, do you like Lan-”

You knew the flaring panic in your eyes was not doing much to help your case, neither were your next words, but by the grace of god, or maybe his pity, that machine didn't beep despite your lie and you had just been handed an out, and lord be damned if you weren't going to capitalize on that inconclusive result. “Wait!”

You need to be smart about this. You needed to give them something they wanted whilst not giving them everything. A little sacrifice to spare a lifetime of embarrassment, and probably a long and testing conversation between you and Lando. “How about I take one bite of every single thing on this table, chew and swallow instead.” Your eyes held so much hope, pleading for an out but Max only laughs at your soft little doe eyed expression and you couldn't help but frown.

“Okay, that’d be quite funny.” Ria’s laugh suddenly bit the air, and you had to silently thank her for subverting the attention elsewhere for a moment.

“I wouldn’t do that for no one, especially not for Lando. Are you sure you don’t like him y/n?” You knew Niran was joking but god did his comment make your hands sweat. Calm down.

Max shrugged, ignoring the remarks of his fellow Quadrant members. “Rules are rules, can’t eat your way out of the last question, you have to answer.”

You have to think fast. “...Okay, well…" Hm. "How about this?” It’s the only thing you could think of on the fly, but maybe it’ll work. “I’ll tell you the details, but- I won’t mention any names. So you get to know the whens and what’s, without knowing the who’s." Your laugh was light hearted, though it sounded more nervous than humorous.

A silence suddenly engulfed the room, eyes darting back and forth as the people on the table thought over the offer. In fact the room was so silent, you felt you could hear the gears turning in their heads and you couldn’t help but feel your heart rate speed up just a little more at the prospect. These people were essentially marketing geniuses. They were youtubers whose jobs it was to get as many views as possible. Whatever the decision, you knew it wasn’t about to be in your favor, but about what favored Quadrant as a brand. You were no good at marketing - you drove fast cars even faster for god sake, but damn if you didn’t hope your idea was good enough for them.

Ginge’s voice was the first to sound. “Nah, nah, stop trying to change the conversation speedy gonzales, you think ‘cause you’re a bloody F1 driver you can- you can bend the rules!? It may slide over there princess but it ain’t gonna slide ‘ere.” His finger pointed down into the table with a glare that almost felt real and you were really trying to think but now you were laughing.

So was everyone else apparently, because it took you a moment to hear Steve’s smooth voice through all the noise, “Alright, but we’re already putting the girl through a lot.” Then finally Max spoke again. He was really starting to feel like the governing power here, “Okay hear me out. Names are easy to find when you have a story. We get the story and then we evaluate.” His eyes bore directly at you, laughing as he spoke. Max knew with whatever story you told, he could just go right to Lando and together they could eventually connect the dots. He wasn’t trying to out you to everyone… just to Lando.

After a moment of deliberation Aarav spoke, “All agreed?” To which everyone seemed to nod in agreement.

Max nodded his head. “Alright Y/n, you win. In that case, this guy you like-”

“-I don’t like him-” “-How long are we talking?... This guy you like.” The last comment had a playful laugh leaving your lips as you brought your nail to your mouth. He was purposefully pushing your buttons.

Your lips, previously curled into a smile, had now pursed at the question. “I don’t like him.” You reiterate. “It was like a small little crush if anything.”

“Was it recent?” Max questioned. “No, god it was years ago.”

Beep. Fuck, you completely forgot about the Polygraph. You could ring that stupid things neck. Come on, man throw me a bone or something. Max smiled at the revelation, glancing over at Ria as she spoke through her smirk. “Must be more than just a small little crush if your heart beat is rising at the thought of him.” To this, your head hung low as your laugh sounded. “I plead the fifth.”

You couldn’t even imagine how you would look to any viewers at home once this came out. They had well and truly cornered you here.

“Well this isn’t a bloody democracy now is it, this is an ambush.” You're very right Ginge this really is an ambush, you thought. There might be no escaping this one.

“When did you first notice you liked this person?” Ria was determined to keep the conversion on track. This is the most anyone had ever gotten out of you regarding your love life, and it being about another driver? Potentially Lando?! They were so close to what they wanted. You were silent for a moment, assessing the people staring on with anticipation. You’d only ever told this story to two people, your mom and your best friend. Were you really about to expose it to the world? The polygraph strapped to your chest said you were.

“I-... I first felt it a couple years back.”

Compliance. They got you.

“How far back we talking?” Max questioned.

“I don’t know…” your eyes flickered up at him. “Maybe early F2 days?” Ria’s eyes just about bugged out of her head as you answered, hands coming down onto the table with a gasp. “That’s like over 5 years ago!” Her reaction had you groaning, face turning a shade red enough to match the ferraris you race against as you sunk down into your seat. “Now I need to know! There had to have been a moment where you felt it! Because you had been racing with these boys for years! There has to be a moment of clarity, or was it like, progressive? Or-?”

“It- It was definitely progressive in some ways but I do remember the moment it kind of.. hit me.”

“Was it sudden?”

“So sudden.” You laughed. “Tell us!” It felt strange to engage in this conversation, you had sworn to yourself that no one else would ever hear about the feelings you had buried away for years now. Was it better to speak or to die? That truly was the question… But, It was out now, everyone knew you had feelings for one of your teammates; at least one of your F2 ones. What more harm could the details afflict? Besides you’d raced against a multitude of drivers in your F2 career, many of which never even made it to the current F1 grid so the chances of anyone guessing who you were even talking about had to be slim. Speak it was.

“We were-” The observant eyes of the Quadrant members beamed on at you as you bit your lip in deliberation, but the debate in your brain was finally over, and so you took a breath in.

“We were in between seasons beforehand, so I hadn’t really seen the boys in a few months. And I remember walking into one of the common rooms, where a bunch of the boys were all sitting around before the race, and again, I hadn’t seen these boys for quite a bit.” Your hands moved with every word you spoke, “And the thing about the F2 is that, we were all about 17 to 18 right, so most of the boys had already had their growth spurts, puberty and all that�� except for this one guy.” Your eyes were bright as you recalled the memory, a laugh chasing the ends of your lips as the table fell silent.

“And at this rate - in my 17 year old brain - the only thing that ever really mattered to me was racing. Like I could genuinely have cared less about boys and relationships and all that, I’d never had a boyfriend and I was so disinterested in it. To me these boys were my friends off track and my competitors on, nothing in between. So I remember seeing everyone I hadn't seen for while and not really thinking much of it. But then my eyes kind of looked on and… noticed.. him.” God that sounds so corny but you were trying to be inconspicuous, not give away too many details. It wasn’t working.

“Him?” Max smirked.

“Him.” You doubled down. “The person.” You glared as a light laugh sounded. “He had always been a bit more on the smaller side, I guess? A 'late bloomer.'” The phrase came to you. “And I don’t know what the fuck happened in those four months we were away but god did puberty hit that motherfucker like a truck.” This time the laughter was a lot louder and you leant back, suddenly a little more comfortable now that the weight had been lifted off your chest. “It was like, he had gone from this scrawny little kid everyone used to pick on to this… man in the blink of an eye and my brain could not comprehend it.”

“Moment of clarity.” Ria laughed and you laughed alongside her.

“No really! Like that’s really what it felt like. I remember hugging everyone because I hadn’t seen them in so long, but when it came to this guy, I just, like- stared and nodded at him and he gave me the weirdest look cause I'd never done that before!” Your voice was thick with embarrassment as you chuckled, and everyone joined in your laughter. Then you stuck up your pointer finger. “But it gets worse.” You swallowed. “So my brain’s already kind of short circuiting in that moment and I guess he thought my odd behavior just wasn't worth his time because then he just goes on, puts his hands down and takes off his shirt-”

“What?!” Ethan yelled.

“Because we were racing soon and they always would! They would change around the paddock all the time! It’s so normal, they still do it, and I never, ever thought anything of it, like it never phased me. But this one time, when he just lifted his shirt over his head and I was already feeling things I’d never felt before, I was already confused, and oh my god. I don’t know what happened to me.”

Once again the table was booming with laughter. “No, it was so bad. Definitely one of my worst moments. It got to the point where one of the other boys; no names - had to smack me alongside the head and tell me to stop glaring.”

Max’s eyes lit up as he heard the last part. “Wait, people noticed?” “Not people, just the one, I think. If anyone else did, they never said anything.”

“Huh.” Max nodded. “And you don’t feel this way anymore?”

The word came without hesitance, “No,” you shook your head.

Beep.

Max had just found his jackpot moment. He had the information he needed.

What a week it had been. Between the guilt of Austria, the subsequent frantic Mclaren schedule leading up to Silverstone and the stress of the Quadrant video, Lando felt he could truly take his first breath of fresh air knowing at least one of those problems was officially resolved.

The day was nearing its end meaning you were probably just about done filming with his crew and were likely headed back to the hotel for some well deserved rest before a hectic day of simulation practice and debriefing tomorrow.

He knows he has already done it 1000 times over, but he really needed to thank you for the favor you did him this week. No matter how much you spoke of all free time you had, he knew you were really just as busy with race prep, it wasn’t the simple ‘schedule squeeze’ you had made it out to be and he was more than grateful.

“What time did you say Y/n was coming back?” Charles’ voice rang loud throughout the room as his eyes flickered up from his phone. A few of the drivers had decided to spend a not so usual night in Max's hotel room sharing a few drinks. Camaraderie and all that, especially after the tension of last week.

“She should be finishing up now.”

“Is she coming back here?” Charles continued, still glancing between his phone and Lando’s eyes, fingers tapping briskly over the screen.

“I’m not sure, I haven’t spoken to her. Why?” Landos eyebrows furrowed down as he asked.

“Nothing, Alex was asking, that's all. I think she was going to stop by if so but I’ll tell her don’t worry.” To this Lando hummed. As much as he hoped you would stop by - hoped you would have a few drinks with them because you always got a little touchy and so much more bold with your advances when you did (and he’d be completely lying if he said he didn’t love it everytime) - he also knew how exhausting a day of filming was. Further, he knew his friends, and as much as he had scolded them - put them through the ringer about not messing with you, he knew them well enough to know they would do it anyways. You would probably go straight back to the room, and while he understood, he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

Distracted with his thoughts of you, he had almost missed the buzzing of his phone on the table besides the couch armrest he had been leaning against, if it hadn’t been for Carlos’ voice breaking the trail his mind was wandering. “Lando compadre, your phone.”

Snapping his eyes to the side, Lando quickly reached out and turned it over to see Max Fewtrell's name splayed across the screen. And being too lazy to pick up the phone and assuming he was just calling to assure him that filming went well, he swiped his finger across the screen and pressed the speaker button to talk.

“Yeah mate, how’d it go?”

“She has feelings for a driver.”

Woah. No hello, no how are you, not even a build up to the revelation? It felt as if the world had stopped spinning as every single person in the room froze to look back at Lando with wide eyes.

“W-What?” Landos heart felt still in his chest as he spoke.

“We got her to talk about her relationships on the grid-”

“-You dickhead! I told you not to-”

“-I know you told us not to push her, but It wasn’t me!”

“You’re telling me she just admitted that on her own?” Landos voice was laced with sarcasm, a scoff of knowing disbelief leaving his throat. Bullshit.

“No! … Ria did it.”

“Max you muppet, she was doing me a favor! She probably hates me now.” Lando sighed into his hands before peaking through his fingers to glance around. All three boys; Charles, Carlos and Verstappen all had their heads turned towards the phone with wide eyes.

“Well, that’s the thing,” Max laughed. “Maybe not! She said there was a driver she had a crush on during her formula 2 days, she wouldn’t admit who and when we asked if she still liked them she said no, but the buzzer went off. She was lying, Lando.” The silence in the room seemed deathly thick as the words left Fewtrells mouth, the three other boys blinking at the words they were hearing. They were sure to be experiencing the same emotions Lando himself had been. Shock, confusion, maybe a little intrigue. The boys had been teasing you for years about your relationship status. You had been single for so long, yet constantly surrounded by men so it was inevitable that the conversations would arise; you had to like someone. Nevertheless, you always stood firm, exclaiming that always being around the boys just made it even easier not to.

After years of the same answers, with absolutely no indication to suggest otherwise, it was hard not to believe the words you spoke. And when you started dating your then boyfriend a few years ago - now ex, thank god for Lando - and bringing him around the paddock; a random guy none of the boys knew very well, the teasing well and truly died down. You really didn’t like anyone on the grid.

But now here they were hearing that the years of teasing, the years of questions, of loud drunken debates and near screaming matches had all been in effort to hide the truth they all suspected. A truth you had been hiding for over 5 years apparently.

The silence must have stuck out to Max Fewtrell beyond the phone, as he seemed to continue talking in the absence of a response. “Here’s what we managed to get out of her. He was an F2 driver that raced with her. She was close to him because he was one of the first people she saw after off season. She had raced with him before, so it wasn’t a new driver. And get this, he was a ‘late bloomer'- was one of the smallest in the comp before he shot up.”

Suddenly it was as if the gears were beginning to turn in Lando’s head, and he couldn’t help but pick up on the obvious smile Fewtrell definitely wore behind the phone. A late bloomer? There weren't many of those by the time they had reached Formula 2, and if there was one thing Lando was, it was a late bloomer. And it seemed everyone else had put the same cogs together, because now all the boys seated around were looking at him with sly smirks and cocked brows.

God, there was no way. Not a single chance! Lando had spent the past however many years of his life stumbling after this girl, chasing your shadow in hopes for just a single moment of something more between you. That you would glance at him from a distance for as long as he did you, yearn to talk to him as much as he did you, sit up and think about him as often as he did you. He had liked you for as long as he could remember, and while he admits it may have been more akin to puppy love back in his teen years, that innocent crush quickly developed into something so much more intense as he got to be close to you. He wasn’t really afraid to admit he had feelings for you, and while he's never really said it out loud, he also made no attempts to hide it either, and it quickly became obvious to all your mutual friends that he liked you.

The two youngest single people on the paddock that grew up together, now teammates, who were forced to be around each other everyday but somehow were still never apart, even when it wasn’t required, together anyway. Except one was obviously in love and the other would never like a driver, personal life and professional life were strictly separate.

Beep. Lies.

Fuck, no, he couldn’t get his hopes up like this. It’s something, but it also doesn't really mean anything.

“Okay but, there were a lot of damn drivers on the f2 grid. There were a few late bloomers, and she was friends with plenty of the other guys that never made it to Formula 1. She- she could be talking about a lot of people.”

“You didn’t think I'd call you with all this doubt, Bob?” Max’s voice was smug and mischievous and Lando couldn’t help but wince at the dumb nickname. “Respect my name. I wouldn’t leave without something to attest. Apparently she was caught staring at the guy by another driver. Another driver knows, or at least they noticed.”

“F2 years you said?” Verstappen's voice rang loud, it almost made Lando jump from the change in bass.

“That’s what y/n said.”

Verstappen's eyes seem harsh as his brows move down to come over his lids. “Coming back from the off season?”

“...Yeah?” Fewtrell agrees.

In the blink of an eye Verstappen’s tense face had quickly fallen into a bright and humorous expression, eyes squinting tight as his head fell back in a loud laugh, “Oh my god!”

“What?” Lando questions.

“Oh my god, Lando, It’s you!”

A chorus of ‘what’s’, and ‘huh’s’ course the room as Max leans over to give Lando an exhilarated slap on the back of the neck. Lando’s eyes are wide as he leans forward in a wince. Though, wether he was wincing at Max’s sudden motion or the revelation he’d just been subjected to, he wasn’t sure. You? Liking him?!

“It was me who noticed!” His laugh boomed as he spoke. “I remember it because I thought it was funny at the time, and for a while after it I thought she might have liked you because it was so unlike her. But she kept denying ever liking anyone and then she showed up with that prick of a boyfriend after that and I just let it go. I always knew it was something!” Max’s voice went raspy as he spoke in a loud, joyful tone, he was no doubt excited at the news. He loved you and wanted to help you wherever he could. And though he would never say it out loud, watching Lando pine over you; the way he cared for you, the way he would defend you when the media had negative things to say; he did think Lando would be a good match for you.

Now, Lando on the other hand, Lando’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions as he struggled to conceptualize the bomb that had just been dropped over him. He had spent so long pining after you, thinking you saw him as nothing more than just a teammate or worse, just a friend. The idea of you possibly liking him back was a concept he had spent night dreaming of yet never did he think the day would actually come. He was so unconvinced of it ever happening he almost felt unprepared, unsure of what to do or how to act now. Yet, here it was. The room seemed to buzz with a newfound energy, the boys' playful teasing barely registering as he tried to wrap his head around the idea.

"Lando, you okay?" Carlos asked, his voice softer than usual, breaking through Lando's thoughts.

Lando blinked, looking up to see the concerned yet amused faces of his friends. "Yeah, just... processing."

“She likes you mate!” His best friend's words sounded unreal to him. You like him. You like him too. All this time trying to form something with you, not realizing what you already had.

Crashing that goddamn car may have been the best fucking thing that's ever happened to him.

If he’d known this would have been the outcome of DNFing he’d have sent his car straight into the track barrier years ago. Sacrificing pole position if he had to.

He truly thought nothing could have taken him away from this moment, not a single other thing could pull him back from his thoughts of you. Nothing except you. And the sound of his phone beeping with the tone of an incoming call really did pull him back to reality. Because it was you. You were calling!

The boys incessant chatter had immediately come to a halt as Lando shot up. “She’s calling!” His head turning left to right as he frantically looked around at the boys around him. “She’s calling, what do I do?”

Fewtrell’s voice couldn't have come through any clearer. “Answer you knob!”

And so he did. He analyzed the buttons and clicked the one that ended the call with Max and sent it straight over to you instead.

His heart stuttered as the line went silent, anticipation pulsing through every inch of his veins. The boys sat back in their seats, eagerly eavesdropping on a conversation that could potentially bring a whole new meaning to the word WAG. But Lando didn’t care, more so he didn’t notice, he truthfully had been so sucked in by the letters of your name he forgot the boys were even there.

What was he even supposed to say? You didn’t know what he knew, maybe he shouldn’t have answered. And yet he found his voice shakily as his teeth clasped his bottom lip.

“Hello?” His breath stuttered as he spoke, and the line sat silent for just a moment too long for Lando’s liking. Y/n? “Lando, you owe me so bad!”

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #lando imagines #f1 x reader #ln4 #formula 1 imagines #f1 imagines #f1 #lando norris x you #quadrant #quadrant x reader

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notlongtolove · 1 month ago

Text

the cup holds the tea

it hits you all at once and you’re out of the booth in a flash, spencer right behind you. you’ve barely made it to the sidewalk when the drinks betray you—straight onto spencer’s shoes. the world blurs, and all you can think, mortified, is that you’ve just broken one of the cardinal rules of dating.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: bau!reader has too much to drink and its up to bf!spencer to get her home. and brief mentions of puke... oh reader...

word count: 3k

note: well personally i don't know if i could ever love someone enough where i would lay on my bed in my 'outside clothes' but good on you spence! once i slipped and fell in someone's puke and cried all the way home.

a line: They’ve seen Spencer look at a thousand things with fascination—books, theories, puzzles, statistics. But this? This is something else entirely.

It is a kind of love, is it not? How the cup holds the tea, How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare, How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes Or toes. How soles of feet know Where they’re supposed to be. - pat schneider

The room hangs on your words, the perfect moment of suspense stretched like a tightrope. You let it linger, savoring the pause.

“And they ate every last drop of it!”

The punchline lands, and laughter spills out around the table, loud and easy. You beam. Spencer watches you, his gaze warm, almost reverent. He’s always known you had this gift—how you could spin a story, command a room. If he weren’t so completely in love with you, he might’ve envied it. No amount of books or degrees could teach him your knack for recounting stories with such flair, or your ability to whip up comebacks at speeds that leave even Derek speechless.

Spencer’s lucky, and he knows it. His eyes trace the curve of your smile as you sip from your glass, your third—or fourth? He’s lost count. He notices you’re not wincing at its taste anymore and well, you know what they say when the drinks start to taste like water. The fact that you’re tearing up at something Garcia’s showing you—a sloth video, from what he can tell, doesn’t ease his worries in the slightest either. He's not entirely sure what Emily has been ordering for the table but whatever it is, it’s clearly doing its job.

It’s one of those rare nights out, the kind where the team sets work aside and pretends, for a few hours, that the weight of the world isn’t on their shoulders. Rossi had insisted, his treat he said, but Spencer suspects it was just an excuse for the team to watch you two loosen up, to let your guard down. A carefully orchestrated opportunity for the team to see something they hardly ever got to see. They’ve seen you two in the field, sharp and focused, in sync like clockwork. But tonight it's the way you lean into Spencer’s side without realizing it, the way Spencer gently moves your glass out of harm’s way when you gesture too wildly. This is a glimpse of something sacred, something rare.

It’d only been about a month since you and Spencer had made it official. Everyone saw it coming long before you did, but that didn’t stop the teasing once the news broke. They could barely pick their jaws up from off the floor even tonight when Spencer had his hand resting lightly on your waist, steadying you through the crowd as you laughed yourself breathless, stumbling. At work, you both keep it professional, steering clear of anything that might make Hotch raise an eyebrow. But the dim light of the bar is ever so tempting. The bar is full of loud laughter and clinking glasses and you just can’t help but take Spencer's hand into yours, fingers laced without hesitation.

Spencer catches the way Derek’s eyes light up at the sight, the subtle nudge he gives Emily. He knows they’re going to bring this up later, probably all week.

But he doesn’t move his hand. He doesn’t let go.

The booth is packed tight as you’re all wedged together, shoulders brushing. Everyone’s smiling, unwinding in a way you rarely allow yourselves to, laughter bouncing in overlapping bursts. Spencer sits nursing his water, content to observe. His eyes are drawn back to you over and over, catching on the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh and the animated gestures you make as you speak.

“C’mon, pretty boy, live a little,” Derek teases, “Just one drink.”

Spencer gives a sheepish smile, waving it off. “I’m fine,” he says, eyes flicking over to you once more.

He can’t keep his eyes off you tonight, it seems. You’re laughing, and It’s unmistakable, the adoration in his gaze, something so un-Spencer-like that makes Derek smile.

He knows Spencer’s not one to drink. You, on the other hand, seem a little too eager, maybe encouraged by Emily’s coaxing, and you’re already on your next drink, cheeks bright and eyes sparkling. You lean into Garcia’s cheers, your glass lifted high. Your laughter is bright and unrestrained, pulling everyone else along with it.

Spencer considers saying something when you're giggling a little more than usual, laughing too hard at a joke that doesn't warrant it. But he knows how you’d take it. You’d wave him off with that familiar insistence, the same as always. It wasn't like you couldn't hold your own, Spencer knows that. You’d held your own at Rossi’s birthday last year just fine, outlasting nearly everyone—everyone except Rossi of course. And that’s probably why he’d already taken his leave tonight, not wanting to get caught in the tail end of whatever chaos this night will inevitably bring.

But that was then and now— Well, it’s different now. Now, the role of boyfriend sits heavier on his shoulders, a title he’s all too happy to hold. And tonight, it’s a card he’s all too happy to play. It gives him leverage, an edge that makes him feel like he has a little more room to step in without you pulling the I don’t need anyone to take care of me speech.

Spencer sees his opening as lean back into his side a little too comfortably. “Here,” he murmurs, pressing his glass into your hand. “Drink this.”

He hopes you’re just tipsy enough not to ask too many questions, as long as it’s something from the bar. For a moment, it seems like it works—you sit up, eyeing the glass cautiously, then take it from him with slow deliberation.

Almost there, he thinks.

You peer into the glass, squinting at the clear liquid, then give it a small sniff. Spencer’s heart sinks as your expression shifts.

“This is water,” you say, suspiciously.

“Yes, it is,” he admits.

Your brow furrows, the faintest pout tugging at your lips. “I’m drinking vodka.”

“And now you’re drinking water.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you, and I’d rather not carry you out of here tonight,” he says softly, the faintest flush colouring his cheeks.

You look up at him, unimpressed, but he stays firm. “Just drink the water, sweetheart,” he says quietly, his voice barely cutting through the noise.

He braces himself for your resistance. Instead, you huff, give him a pointed glare, and drink it. He watches as you sip, your nose scrunching at the lack of a bite. Spencer lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

The night winds on, the team louder than usual, swept up in Derek’s overly dramatic retelling of the prank war that once took over the bullpen. But you’re quieter, Spencer notices, the drinks maybe finally settling in a little too fast. Your smile slower, your laughter softer, head resting on his shoulder now and again.

And then, suddenly, you’re not looking so well. It hits you all at once. The queasy welling in your stomach, the cold sweat prickling your skin. You’re out of the booth in a flash, Spencer right behind you as you stumble toward the door, your hand clamped over your mouth.

You’ve barely made it to the sidewalk when the drinks betray you—straight onto Spencer’s shoes. The world blurs, and all you can think, mortified, is that you’ve just broken one of the cardinal rules of dating.

Of all people it had to be Spencer—germ-conscious, always-prepared Spencer—your lovely boyfriend who at this moment you’re not sure you can ever look in the eyes again Spencer.

You don’t have to look up to see the team’s reaction as they round the corner, wide-eyed as they process what just happened. Derek’s mouth falls open in disbelief, Emily stares in shock, and Garcia whispers a dramatic, “Oh, no…”

They’re frozen. Because Spencer—Spencer, who uses hand sanitizer like it’s an extension of his arm, Spencer who’s the first to scrunch his nose at anything remotely messy—has just had his shoes christened in the worst way. You know they’re waiting for Spencer’s reaction, the tense recoil, the carefully contained grimace.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Spencer pauses, takes a measured breath, and steps closer to you, his hands steady on your shoulders. “Hey,” he asks, voice low and soothing as he crouches to meet your gaze. “Sweetheart, you okay?” He brushes your hair away from your face, his touch careful and kind.

“Spence—” you mumble, your voice cracking with embarrassment. Your hands fly to cover your face. “I’m so sorry. Your shoes—oh my God, your shoes—”

Spencer shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping as he crouches to steady you. His voice is impossibly gentle, calm in a way that eases the edges of your shame. “It’s fine. They’re just shoes,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your flushed face. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

You nod, eyes shut, clearly mortified but he doesn’t let you dwell on it. He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. For a brief moment, Spencer contemplates asking the bartender for a glass of water to rinse off the mess, but he glances at you—your slightly swaying frame, the way your head droops just a little—and decides against it.

Getting you home safely takes precedence over everything else. Shoes can wait. You can’t.

Emily’s mouth falls open slightly as she watches, “Did Reid just…?” she murmurs, half to herself, as Derek gapes beside her. “Didn’t think the kid had it in him,” Derek says, shaking his head, a grin slowly spreading. Garcia sniffs, dramatically dabbing at her eyes. “I knew he loved her, but this? This is another level.” she says letting out a dreamy sigh.

They linger, watching as Spencer guides you steadily toward the car with careful patience. He helps you in, crouching to fasten your seatbelt. You’re still mumbling apologies, your voice thick with embarrassment, but Spencer doesn’t falter. Instead, he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders even as the mess on his shoes remains. There’s not even a hint of disgust on his face—if anything, he’s focused, caring, murmuring words of reassurance as he tucks his jacket around you. His hand lingers on yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a silent promise that nothing about this has shaken him.

“I’m so sorry, Spence,” you whisper again, your voice small and heavy with guilt. “I ruined your shoes. And your jacket. And—”

“It’s fine. You’re fine. Besides, I was planning to throw them out anyway.”

You shake your head weakly, your tone petulant even through your embarrassment. “Nooo, don’t throw them out because of me.”

His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well, what do you suggest I do with them, angel?”

“I’ll wash them,” you declare, your words slow and sleepy.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “You’ll wash them?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur, already halfway to drifting off against the seat.

“How about we get you home first and then worry about the shoes, okay?” he says gently.

“’Kay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as sleep begins to take hold.

Spencer stands, glancing back at the bar where the team is gathered. They’re not even pretending to hide their stares anymore, and he knows he’s going to hear about this for weeks. He raises a hand in a small, sheepish wave before climbing into the driver’s seat.

Derek shakes his head, laughing softly. “He’s gone,” he says, his voice carrying just enough awe to balance the humor. “Kid’s completely gone.”

Emily doesn’t need to ask what he means. Neither does Garcia. Because they’ve seen Spencer look at a thousand things with fascination—books, theories, puzzles, statistics. But this?

This is something else entirely.

The ride home is quiet, save for the occasional slurred apology from you. Spencer reassures you with the same soft patience each time, his hand steady on the wheel and his gaze flickering to you every so often, checking to make sure you’re okay. By the time he gets you home, your protests have faded, replaced by the heavy pull of exhaustion.

His arm remains firm around your waist, steadying you as he helps you inside, careful and methodical in the way he moves. He guides you to the bathroom, where you try to freshen up, fumbling with the faucet and splashing water on your face. Spencer steps in without hesitation and takes over when your movements falter. His touch is featherlight, but there’s no mistaking the care in every movement. The closeness makes your cheeks flush, though whether it’s from lingering embarrassment or something else entirely, you’re too tired to decipher.

“You don’t have to,” you murmur, your words sluggish but sincere.

“Of course I do,” he replies, his voice light but firm. “I want to.”

He guides you to the bedroom with careful steps, his hand steady on the small of your back. Once there, he sets a glass of water on the nightstand, the gentle clink breaking the quiet.

“Drink,” he coaxes softly, his tone patient but firm.

You take the glass without protest, sipping obediently. Spencer watches, a small smile tugging at his lips. He considers making a playful comment about how quickly you’re drinking it now—so much easier than earlier—but he decides against it.

You’ve been through enough tonight, he thinks.

When he finally tucks you into bed, you’re too tired to resist. You mumble something incoherent, your hand brushing his as he leans in. Spencer pauses, his gaze lingering on your face—peaceful now, the traces of the evening’s mishaps melting away. He presses a light kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Spencer steps out of the room, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear you if you call out. He lingers in the hallway for a moment, his shoulders sagging slightly now that the night’s adrenaline has begun to wane. He glances down at his shoes—still damp and stained. With a resigned sigh, he makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing a plastic bag. He slips the shoes inside, tying the bag tightly before heading outside. The cold air bites at his skin as he steps toward the dumpster behind his building.

He stands there for a moment, holding the bag. The sight of the shoes, oddly enough, makes him smile. It’s ridiculous, he knows. They’re just shoes. Ruined, stained, completely unsalvageable. But they’re also a reminder of tonight—a reminder of how he’d taken care of you, how you’d let him take care of you.

With a soft thud, the bag lands in the dumpster. Spencer dusts off his hands, turning back toward the building. When Spencer steps back into his apartment, the soft hum of the heater greets him, a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting inside. And there you are, standing in his shirt in the doorway of his bedroom. Spencer thinks it's a sight he'll never get tired of.

There's a pout tugging at your lips. “Where’d you go?” you ask, your voice thick with sleep and just a hint of a whine.

“Had to throw out the shoes angel,” he says as he steps into the kitchen to wash his hands.

Your gasp is exaggerated like he’s just committed an unspeakable betrayal. “I thought I told you I’d wash them!” you exclaim, your voice rising.

“And I thought I tucked you into bed,” Spencer counters, his laugh soft and full of affection. “Why are you out of bed sweetheart?”

You shuffle closer, blinking up at him with drowsy eyes. “Missed you,” you say simply, your earlier outrage regarding the shoes already forgotten. “Wanna cuddle.”

Spencer’s expression softens, but he gestures to his clothes. “I’m dirty,” he reminds you gently, “Outside clothes, remember?”

“Change then,” you reply stubbornly, tugging at his sleeve as though that’s the simplest solution in the world.

“I need to shower first,” he says, his voice patient as he begins to guide you back toward the bedroom.

“I didn’t shower either,” you argue, leaning heavily into his side as though that somehow strengthens your case.

“Because you’re drunk,” he replies with a small smile.

“Am not,” you insist, though your tone is far from convincing.

“Wanna tell that to my shoes?” Spencer teases, raising a brow.

You ignore him, brushing past his comment with a huff. “You’ll take too long,” you complain, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you too,” he replies, his voice tinged with amusement as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then cuddle,” you plead, your tone slipping into that sing-song quality you know he can’t resist. “Pleaseee”

Spencer hesitates, the logical part of him warring with the sight of you—soft, vulnerable, and looking at him like he hung the stars. He knows you’re usually the enforcer of the outside-clothes rule, a stickler for order when sober. But right now, you’re anything but sober, and he can’t find it in himself to deny you.

“Pleaseee,” you say again, drawing out the word for emphasis, “I’ll buy you new shoes,” your eyes wide and imploring.

He knows you probably will.

“Enough about the shoes,” Spencer rolls his eyes fighting back a smirk, “Just help me change the sheets tomorrow,” he relents, his voice warm with affection.

He knows you probably won’t. But he lets you drag him toward the bed anyways.

You beam, looping your arms around his waist in triumph. “Knew you wouldn’t say no,” you mumble into his chest.

Spencer laughs softly as you settle against him, burying your face in his chest with a soft, muffled sigh. He feels his heart swell in a way he can’t quite put into words. He’s never been one for mess—for dirt, grime, or anything out of place. Heck, he hadn't even wanted to shake your hand the first time he met you. It’s in his nature to keep things neat, orderly, clean. But now, with you?

His shoes could be ruined, his clothes crumpled, and the night an absolute whirlwind. And still, all he can think about is how peaceful you look now, your eyelids fluttering shut as sleep starts to claim you.

Spencer presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles along your back.

For you and only you, he thinks, he’d make an exception every time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x bau!reader

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hoseoksluna · 9 months ago

Text

STEAM | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 9.2k

summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.

playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam

warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names

note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3

The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.

He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.

You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.

And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.

The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.

But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.

It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.

Showers with him are something else.

Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.

That has become your new version of hot long showers.

And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.

You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.

That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more—you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.

You feel him everywhere.

You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.

Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch.

That’s a good girl. Messy for me.

The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.

It’s a part of the solo girl's night.

A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.

You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—

A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.

You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.

He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is.

Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.

Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully.

His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses.

Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth.

He is not, in fact, on his way home.

It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy.

You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny.

Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.”

He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?”

The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display.

He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.”

Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself.

Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen.

Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking.

A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do?

It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice.

You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on.

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.”

Naked.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.”

And with that, he hangs up.

The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you.

You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend.

His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form.

Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer.

Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience?

The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad.

Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you.

What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done?

You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you.

That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.

Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer.

By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.

You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you.

The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had.

The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to.

Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all.

The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream—

“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”

Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment?

Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call?

“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person.

Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult.

You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there.

This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—

“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.”

It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred.

Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body.

A healer with big, round eyes. A good man.

With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”

It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.

You made Yoongi drink a lot of water.

And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober.

He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross.

So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially.

Was it out of the question or would he consider it?

Your leg jitters harder.

You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin.

“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.”

He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion.

You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—

Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek.

“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?”

You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one?

You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks.

“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness.

And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you.

“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.”

You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?”

Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”

You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did.

Your arousal returns at full speed.

“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently.

You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side.

“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.”

He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?”

You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself.

Yoongi coos. “Good girl.”

A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you.

“Can I feel how wet you are?”

A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.”

You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted.

“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue.

He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently.

“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?”

You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.”

He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”

You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?”

Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?”

The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine.

He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?”

Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.”

A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?”

You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—

You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath.

“Spank my pussy again, please.”

Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while.

“Apologize first.”

“You didn’t tell me how.”

He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.”

Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours.

You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples.

“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”

You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.

“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged.

“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?”

Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times.

You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think.

When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants.

Roses, opening. Roses, sighing.

You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—

“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half.

There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath.

Such a stark, sudden change.

You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.

Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.

Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?

You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.

You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.

Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that.

“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.”

The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving.

“Keep your legs where they belong.”

“No.”

A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage.

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin.

You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under.

“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.

“You want to get fucked by someone else?”

A question for a question.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration.

Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home.

The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy.

There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.

“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?”

Truthfulness, at last.

Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start.

You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down.

You fight against it.

Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness.

And you decide to repeat history.

You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants.

The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat.

“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?”

You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether.

And then, you collect your essence again.

This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest.

“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.”

Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you.

He parts his lips for you.

And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally.

You’re in charge. And it feels divine.

His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue.

“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.”

A straight hit to his core. A glee for you.

But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince.

And then—then he manhandles you.

Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does.

He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden.

Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter.

“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?”

You gulp, frozen, eyes widening.

Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion.

“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.”

So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit.

Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free.

You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off.

“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.”

Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused.

“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.”

You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation.

“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way.

A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum.

“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.”

Yoongi has had enough.

He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’.

Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.”

You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?”

He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix.

You moan his name, gone—entirely gone.

“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?”

He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him.

“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”

Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.”

He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you.

“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.”

You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.”

He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something.

Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—

Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.”

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you.

“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.”

You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come.

It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them.

“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.”

You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes.

“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.”

With that, he hangs up.

You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again.

Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself.

You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you.

“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing.

You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?”

Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.”

You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief.

“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you.

He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—

Yoongi loses his mind.

And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles.

“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.”

He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours.

But you don’t let him take charge.

“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.”

Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you.

His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed.

You hold onto his neck with your dear life.

“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.”

You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours.

“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.

“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.”

Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him.

It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock.

It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit.

It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life.

And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.

And it’s you who checks up on him.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too.

He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring.

“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.”

You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation.

“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?”

You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness.

“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him.

“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.”

“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.”

Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you.

BACK to masterlist / READ part two

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pedrospatch · 2 years ago

Text

weakness

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: An afternoon at Bill and Frank’s place takes one hell of an unexpected turn for you and Joel when hidden feelings start coming to the surface.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. BOSTON QZ ERA JOEL. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is in his early 50’s). mentions of reader having longer hair/her hair gets brushed, reader wears a dress, no specific mention of reader’s size, but there is a brief mention of the dress fitting loose on her, Frank is sweet and makes her feel pretty, Bill is a grump, Joel is kind of soft, hidden feelings. dashes of angst, fluff, and an abundance of Frank being an absolute angel.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY. NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 5.7k

“Can you stop fidgeting for just one second, please?” Frank scolds you lightly, bringing down the palm of his hand onto your shoulder in a small, quick slap in an attempt to get you to stop squirming. He then moves his hands back up to your hair, which is out of its usual braid and towel dried after a much, much needed wash. The sickeningly sweet scent of the floral shampoo you’d used in the shower earlier that afternoon lingers deliciously in the air around you, a refreshing and welcome change from what your hair normally smells like—grime and smoke from hours of work detail in the Boston QZ. After coming out all of the stubborn tangles that he can find, Frank then picks up a boar hairbrush and he carefully begins to run it through your locks. He starts from the roots of your hair and brings the natural bristles down, all the way through to your ends. He chuckles and says, “You know, I would be done a hell of a lot quicker if you would just sit still.”

You sigh softly, but impatiently, allowing yourself one final, uncomfortable little shuffle in the white wicker chair he has you perched on before finally giving into his request. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” you mumble You bring your knees up against your chest and exhale another small sigh. You can’t see his face, but you can picture the smug, satisfied smile on Franke’s face as he continues brushing your hair. “So, tell me again why we’re even doing this?” you question him just a minute later, as if he hasn’t already explained it to you about a hundred times—he wants to do something special for you. “It kind of seems like a complete waste of time, don’t you think so?”

“We’re doing this because you deserve to get dolled up for once in your adult life,” Frank states in a matter of fact tone. The world had ended when you’d been about seven years old, and he’d imagined that since then, you’d never done a single damn thing for your appearance—besides the occasional at home haircut you would give yourself every few months with an old pair of rusted shears. He’d have been absolutely right about that. “And besides, it’s something of a special occasion today,” he adds. “It’s the first day of spring. The weather outside is stunning, our flowers are finally in full bloom, and we have a nice outdoor lunch planned to celebrate the new season.”

You can’t help the way the corners of your mount turn upwards into a small smile. One might think it was all rather silly, given it was the end of the world and all, but you have to admit, you admire the way Frank manages to find genuine happiness and joy in the little things, like warm sunshine on the first day of spring. Or showing a friend what a proper hairbrush looks like. He has such a beautiful soul, something that very, very few people in this new world possess.

“Your hair is so healthy,” Frank observes a few minutes later, setting the hairbrush aside. Taking two handfuls of your hair from the front, he twists them gently and brings them around to the back of your head. He then secures them with a clear, elastic band and runs his fingers through your soft locks, maneuvering your hair until it cascades perfectly around your shoulders. Frank walks around your chair to face you, fussing until he makes sure that every stand is neatly in place. He smiles. “You should wear your hair down more often, you know. It really suits you.”

“Long, loose hair and work detail are a recipe for disaster,” you laugh, shaking your head at him. “Most of the work sites in the zone require anyone who has longer hair to keep it tied back, anyway.” You push your legs out away from your chest and plant your feet firmly on the floor. “Listen, Frank. I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. I really do,” you swear. “It’s incredibly sweet, but there’s really no point. In just a few hours, Joel and I are going to have to head back into Boston where my hair goes back into its braid and I have to change back into my normal clothes.”

“Exactly. So how about you just zip it and enjoy this while it lasts?” he suggests with a tiny, cheeky grin.

“But Frank—”

“Honey, this is a fight you simply aren’t going to win, so hush. Now, come with me.” He takes your hand, pulling you out of the chair and up to your feet. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, and with a reluctant sigh, you do as you’re told. Frank leads you over towards the full length mirror in the far corner of his and Bill’s bedroom. “Okay. One, two, three—open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter open and your mouth parts slightly in surprise.

“What the fuck,” you murmur underneath your breath, taken aback by the reflection in the mirror. The young woman staring back at you, she looks absolutely nothing like you. The hair, the hint of blush on your cheekbones—the color he’d found was one one that flatters the tone of your skin—and the thin coat of decades old mascara that he’d applied to your eyelashes; the tube had been bone fucking dry, but Frank used a few drops of water to bring it back to life, swearing up and down it was fine to put near your eyes. And then there was the dress, the goddamn dressed he’d force you into. His favorite part of the makeover and your least favorite.

“Wait until you see what I found for you to wear,” he’d told you, giddy as if it were him who would be donning a new outfit. “You’re going to love it!”

Skeptical, you had asked, “Am I though?”

Frank had gone to the boutique and found you a dress to wear, and while it was just a tad loose on your frame, he insisted that it would look just fine on you with the help of a safety pin hidden at the back of it, pulling the fabric taut. It was simple enough, white with a subtle sweetheart neckline and thin straps that tied together at your shoulders. The delicate lace fell down in a flowing skirt to just a few inches above your knees and it itched like hell, especially at your sides. Wanting to add a finishing touch to the outfit, Frank had brought you a pair of brown, strappy sandals and he’d let you know that he had a couple of different color options for a cardigan in the event it became too chilly outside.

“You look perfect,” he gushes. “Like a daydream!”

You look different. But that isn’t what brought on the shock. More than anything, you’re completely taken aback by how fucking normal you look.

Sure, coming over to Bill and Frank’s always gave you a temporary sense of normalcy. They always allowed you to take a hot shower, gave you the opportunity to properly wash your hair and change out of your dirty shirt into a new clean one. They always provided you with a warm meal presented on porcelain dishware that wasn’t stained or chipped like the shit you had back home in your crumbling apartment in Boston. You’d had several tastes of normal thanks to those two, but this drastic change to your appearance was overwhelming. Too overwhelming.

You’d never thought that you could look like this, not in this fucking lifetime.

Frank immediately picks up on your emotions, senses how you’re feeling. Standing behind you, he places his two hands on your shoulders and leans his head forward, pressing his cheek against yours as his kind eyes meet your tearful gaze in the mirror. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he whispers, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I really hope you feel beautiful. You deserve it. You deserve so much more, but if I can at least give you this much, then my mission is accomplished.”

You open your mouth to speak, but words fall short. Afraid that you might burst into tears on the spot, you clamp your mouth shut and give him the tiniest little nod of your head accompanied by a quivering smile of gratitude.

Frank smiles back. “Good. Now, come on, let’s go out front and have lunch.” His hands fall from your shoulders and he ushers you out into the hallway and towards the staircase. Looking over his shoulder, he gives you a wink. “I’m really eager to see what your man thinks of your new look.”

“What?” you sputter, almost tripping over your own two feet. “Who—you mean, Joel?”

Shit. You’d almost forgotten about Joel.

What the hell is he going to say when he sees you like this?

What’s he going to think?

Probably that you look utterly fucking ridiculous, that’s what.

“Who else would I be talking about? Bill?” Frank snorts. “Yes, I’m talking about Joel.”

You glare at his back. This isn’t the first time Frank has teased you about Joel Miller, and despite the countless times you’ve sworn to him that there was nothing going on between the two of you, he insists on believing otherwise, adamant that there has to be something more there. “Don’t start with this shit again. He is not my man, and you damn well know that.”

“He might as well be,” Frank shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly as he leads you down the staircase.

“Frank, I’m being serious,” you say. Normally, weren’t so uptight about it all, but today, you’re not finding his antics amusing in the slightest, not while you’re wearing goop on your face and sporting a fucking dress. “I’ve told you a million times that there is nothing going on between me and Joel. He’s my partner.” You pause briefly, realizing how that must have sounded, and add in emphasis, “He’s my work partner. We work together, Frank. We smuggle shit together. That’s it.”

Frank stops at the bottom of the staircase and turns to you, letting out a curious hum. “Hmm. And if I remember correctly, you two also live together, you sleep in the same bed together, you spend every waking moment from sunrise to fucking sunset together—I have never heard of two work partners being that close, sweetheart.”

Stubborn, you shake your head. “He’s like fifty!”

“The world ended and that’s your concern? An age gap?” he questions. “Really?”

“Frank,” you plead his name, groaning. “I swear it. We’re nothing to each other. Joel is—well, he’s Joel. He’s not exactly the type of man who does that. You know, feelings and shit.”

He throws his head back slightly, letting out a loud laugh that echoes through the foyer of his home. “Oh, trust me. I know that much. Between you and me, I have to say that he reminds me a whole lot of Bill,” he muses. He notices the horrified expression that crosses your face and laughs again, holding up his hands in defense. “Wait a minute, just hear me out. They’re polar opposites in some ways, but in most ways, they’re almost the same fucking person. Joel is just like Bill. Cranky. Grumpy. He hates everyone and everything. Kind of man who’ll stab someone if they so much as look at him the wrong way. Would you say that’s pretty accurate?”

“Yeah, sounds like Joel Miller,” you have to admit. As much as you did not want to think of Joel being the same person as Bill, Frank had a pretty good point.

“But Joel also reminds me of Bill because he’s the kind of man who means well when it comes to the people that he cares about. The kind of man who will do whatever it takes to protect what is his,” he further explains. He pauses and then asks, “Let me ask you something. You trust him, right?”

You don’t even miss a beat, answering, “Of course. With my life.”

He ticks his index finger at you. “Aha! Exactly!” he exclaims. “You know that Joel would never let anyone lay so much as a finger on you. He’d never let anything bad happen to you. And why is that?”

You stare at him blankly, unsure of how to respond. “Is this a trick question?”

Huffing, Frank rolls his eyes and lets out a disappointed sigh, as if you’d missed the obvious. “It’s because you mean something to him, sweetheart. Whether you choose to let yourself believe it or not, you mean something to Joel Miller.”

For a moment, it feels like all the wind’s been knocked out of you.

Could Frank actually be right?

Do you actually mean something to Joel?

No, that was impossible. Joel Miller doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything—all he cares about is surviving long enough to find Tommy again one day, and even then, he never speaks of his younger brother too kindly. He’s been hardened by this world, closed himself off, put up a barrier around himself that nothing can permeate. Not even you.

“Under that tough, rugged exterior, there’s a soft spot. It’s there, for you and only for you.” Frank’s eyes glimmer, speaking a truth he’s been wanting to tell you for the better part of the last several months. “You might need to do some digging to find it, but it’s there.”

“I just don’t understand why you would think that,” you confess, shaking your head. “Joel has never said anything to me to indicate that I mean something to him. More often than not, I find myself wondering if even considering us to be friends is too generous.” You cross your arms over your chest, growing uncomfortable under his knowing stare. “Yes, Joel looks out for me, but that’s only because we work together so well. I know my way around. He needs me, especially if he plans on getting to Tommy.”

Frank bites his bottom lip, stifling another laugh.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You don’t even realize it, do you?”

Your eyebrows knit together, confused. “What? Realize what?”

“You are his weakness.”

He’d said it so simply, and yet there goes the rest of your air leaving your lungs, an invisible first driving itself right into your gut.

“Of course Joel isn’t going to tell you how he feels about you. He’s afraid,” Frank remarks, sounding so sure as if he had been told that by Joel Miller himself.

“You’re wrong. Joel isn’t afraid of anything,” you counter in the steadiest voice you can muster. “You’re wrong, Frank.”

“He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.” Any trace of teasing or playfulness had disappeared from Frank’s expression. He speaks gently, but with purpose, with such seriousness that it makes your heart sink further and further down into the pits of your stomach.

When you speak again, your voice is strained, thick with emotions you’re trying so desperately to shove down. “Frank, you really need to put down the fucking romance novels.” Before he can say another word to you about it, you place a hand lightly on your stomach. “I’m really hungry. Can we go eat now? Please?”

Thankfully, he gets the hint to drop the subject.

“Of course. Come on” Frank takes your hand. He opens the front door and leads you outside and onto the freshly landscaped front lawn. He had been right, the flowers were in full bloom—the small, round table he’d set was positioned in a perfect spot so that no matter where anyone sat, they would have a view of the colorful roses and azaleas he and Bill had planted around the perimeter of the yard.

As soon as he sees you two approaching, Bill throws up his hands in a dramatic fashion. “It’s about goddamn time!” He grouches loudly. “Jesus Christ, Frank. I’m fucking starving!”

“Sorry, got caught up inside.” Frank tosses his partner a sweet smile as he releases your hand. “But look, I found myself something pretty!”

Heat floods your cheeks. You should have known better than to think he wasn’t going to make a fuss about your new appearance. “Frank, please. Don’t.”

“Oh come now, you know I have to show you off!”

Joel, whose back had been turned towards you, furrows his eyebrows and he glances over his shoulder, looking to see what Frank was referring to. His dark brown eyes widen just ever so slightly, the grip around his glass of red wine tightening in complete surprise at the sight of you. Frank had failed, quite miserably, to convince him to dress up for the occasion, but at the very least, he’d talked him into wearing one of the nicer shirts he'd found at the boutique, a neatly pressed, sage green button up with long sleeves that, much to Frank’s chagrin, Joel had rolled up to his elbows. His graying, dark brown curls might have even had a comb run through them, but it;s difficult to tell if the way his thick locks were effortlessly disheveled was natural or the result of his efforts to tame them.

“What do you think, Joel?” Frank beams proudly, as if presenting the man with one of his painted art pieces.

Joel doesn’t respond. His eyes remain glued on you, following as you walk around the table and take your usual place beside him.

“Way to put me on the spot, Frank,” you mutter, your face growing warmer and warmer with every second that ticks by. You silently urge yourself to get a grip as you reach for the crisp, white cloth napkin next to your plate and drape it over your lap. The smoked, wild rabbit Bill had cooked up for lunch smells heavenly—Frank knows it’s your absolute favorite dish, and so he had made sure Bill put it on today’s menu, bless his heart.

Joel still hasn’t uttered a single word. Part of you hopes he wouldn’t.

“Joel?” Frank prompts as he picks up his own cloth napkin. “Doesn’t she look pretty?”

You glare daggers at him from across the table and hiss, “Frank!”

Finally, Joel sets down his glass of wine and turns slowly, angling his body towards yours. When he speaks, his voice is low, but clear as day as he looks at you, “Yeah. She looks very pretty.”

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, causing your heart to skip a beat inside of your chest and a strange warmth to bloom in your belly.

Had he actually meant that?

“You look real nice,” he adds, giving you a subtle nod of his head. He lets his sights linger on you for another moment before tearing his gaze away. He then turns back to the table, picking up his glass of wine once again, chugging what’s left of it before reaching for the bottle to pour himself another.

Bill clears his throat roughly. “Well, if everyone’s done playing dress up, I’d really like to fucking eat now.”

Meals with Bill and Frank were always pleasant.

Well, meals with Frank were always pleasant.

Although Bill had gotten used to having you and Joel over as guests and didn’t see either of you as a threat anymore, he still preferred to keep you both at arm’s length, a choice you two respected. He hardly ever said much and often chose to let his partner do all the talking unless the conversation had anything to do with trading supplies. Only then would he step in.

As you’d tucked into your meal of wild rabbit and garden vegetables, you could feel Joel throwing subtle glances your way every so often. It was half expected that he would, seeing as he’d never seen you like this before. He was so used to seeing you in tattered, dirty old clothes with dirt and grime caked onto your skin and in your hair.

Surely, he must have felt like he was sitting next to a complete stranger, not his smuggling partner.

About an hour later, once everyone has finished eating, you offer to help Frank clear and clean up the table and wash the dishes. He settles for letting you help him bring everything inside, but shoos you away before you can even think about lifting another finger. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he says, waving you away from the kitchen sink with his hands. “You and Joel are taking off in just a couple hours, so go on and get some rest,” he suggests. “Oh, by the way, we found some new books to add to the collection. Might find something you like. Go ahead and check them out.”

“But I forgot my library card at home,” you joke lamely, although it earns you a sincere laugh from your friend. You pad out of the kitchen and into the living room, straight over towards a grand oak bookshelf that is packed tightly to the brim with dozens and dozens of books of various genres. You hadn’t been all that much of a reader before, but thanks to Frank, who always sent you home with at least two or three works in your pack, reading had become one of your favorite hobbies over the last few months, a sweet little escape that took you out of your shoddy apartment in the zone and into another world. You start searching the titles for the new finds he’d mentioned. Spotting one of them, you pluck it from the shelf, a paperback titled, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Opening it up, you begin thumbing through the pages, quickly realizing that it’s play—you’ve never read a play before. Still not convinced if it’s one you would like to take home with you, you flip back to the first page and start reading with a curious little hum.

You had been so preoccupied with it that you hadn’t noticed Joel standing behind you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest until he clears his throat, and asks, “Find somethin’ good?”

Startled, you whirl around, nearly dropping the book in your hands. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” you breathe out, clutching it tightly against your chest as your heart rate slows. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Not my fuckin’ fault you were too busy with your nose buried in a book,” he states, trying his hardest to fight the small smirk threatening to cross his lips. He uncrosses his arms and pushes himself away from the doorframe.

A chuckle escapes you, almost nervously, as he slowly starts walking over towards you, his brown boots heavy on the hardwood floor. He takes the book from your hands, humming as he reads the cover. “Shakespeare, huh?”

“You know Shakespeare?” you toss him a teeny, lopsided smile as you tease, “He from your time?”

Joel lightly smacks your arm with the worn paperback. “Yeah, I know Shakespeare and he was about four hundred fuckin’ years before my time, thank you very much.” He flips it over, eyes skimming the text on the back. “Had the world not gone to shit, you would’ve grown up and spent your entire middle school career being forced by English teachers to read all his shit and write essays tryin’ to interpret it all.” He hands it back over to you. “Here.”

“Sounds like a real fucking dream,” you deadpan. You glance down, running your index finger down the spine of the book. You’re trying, almost painfully, to ignore how Joel’s eyes glaze over you from head to toe.

“Y’know, it’s kinda nice,” he remarks quietly, breaking the brief moment of silence that had fallen over the two of you. “Seein’ you like this.”

You keep your eyes fixed on the book and scoff. “What? In a dress?”

“When we’re here, you let your guard down. Ain’t always lookin’ over your shoulder. You smile a hell of a lot more.” He pauses, then adds, “You look happy here. Sure, this dress looks nice on you. Your smile looks even fuckin’ better, though.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. More than his words, it’s the genuine tone in which he had said them—you’d never even realized Joel noticed things like that. Whether you were happy or not, how often you smiled. Or didn’t smile.

You force a small chuckle. “It’s the only sense of normalcy that we get. Of course I look happy when we’re here. Because I am happy when we’re here.” Still refusing to meet his gaze, you turn around and walk over to the couch towards your pack. Opening the top, you quickly shove the book inside.

When you hear Joel’s footsteps coming up behind you, you stiffen slightly.

“Frank, he adores the hell outta you,” Joel says. He seems to hesitate, but then continues, “You ever think of askin’ him to stay here?”

“You kidding?” You snort in response. “Bill wouldn’t allow that. Never.”

Joel’s hands go to his hips, knowing you had a point. “But you know Frank can convince him of almost anythin’, don’t you? And besides, believe it or not, Bill actually likes you. He loves Frank more than anythin’ and you make Frank happy.”

You finally turn around to face and find yourself caught off guard by how close he’s standing to you. “Joel, what exactly are you getting at?” You raise an eyebrow before playfully asking, “Are you trying to get rid of me or something, Miller?”

Joel quickly shakes his head. “Of course not. All I’m sayin’ is that—” He stops and lowers his voice, just in case Bill or Frank happen to be wandering nearby. “I like seein’ this side of you. The happy side. The normal side.” He shrugs his shoulders, the lean muscles of his upper body flexing with the movement against the smooth fabric of his shirt. “Seein’ you all cleaned up, well fed and content—” He trails off once again. “Shouldn’t be a rare occurrence, y’know? You’d clearly be better off here with them and you know that with Frank’s help, we could probably talk Bill into letting you stay.”

The second you realize he’s being serious, your smile fades.

“What? But what about you?”

“Darlin’, Frank’s good, but he’s not a goddamn miracle worker. Even if he tried, that’s not somethin’ Bill would ever go for,” Joel admits, lifting a hand and raking his fingers through his hair. “And even if he did, we’d fuckin’ kill each other by the end of the first week.”

Bill and Joel being neighbors?

Talk about a different kind of apocalypse, you think to yourself.

“I know that much,” you reply with a tiny eye roll. “What I mean is, do you honestly think that I would leave my life in Boston?”

“That ain’t no fuckin’ life—”

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “I know it’s not. But it’s my life with you, Joel.”

The rough creases on his forehead suddenly soften. That was the first time you’d ever seen that happen.

The scowl on his face wasn’t permanent after all.

“Yes, this is nice. This patch of town, this house, the running water, the food, the clothes—this is a decent life. More than decent. In this world that we’re living in, this place is heaven. But without you, all of it would mean absolutely nothing to me. I wouldn’t be happy here, not without you.”

Joel tilts his head back, shaking it lightly. “Think about what you’re sayin’ here.”

“I know what I’m saying.” Before your brain and your body can even make the connection, you find yourself taking a step towards him, shrinking the gap between your bodies even further. You glance up at him, somehow finally finding the courage to have your eyes meet his. “I refuse to leave your side, Joel. That’s never going to happen. Not if I can fucking help it. Do you understand that?”

Joel exhales the breath he’d been holding, his warm breath tickling your face.

“I mean it, Joel. We’re in this shitty ass fucking world, together. No little slice of heaven could ever get me to leave you behind, no matter how good it is,” you declare, silently wondering to yourself where the hell you were even finding the balls to confess all of this to him. “Okay?”

“You’d be safer here than in the QZ, with all that shit’s that been goin’ down—”

“I’m the safest when I’m with you, Joel. I know I am.”

You lift your hand to his face. At first, there’s minor hesitation on your part, but you will yourself to place it on his cheek. Although your touch is gentle, Joel can’t help but wince. Not because he doesn’t want you to touch him, but because it had been so fucking long since anyone had ever touched him like that.

Since he’d let anyone touch him like that.

He closes his eyes and after a second or two of resisting, he finally allows himself to relax his tense muscles and he sinks into your touch.

Joel lets himself savor the feeling of your hand on his face. His bottom lip gives a subtle tremble when you softly start to graze your thumb down along his jawline. His beard, which you often playfully tease him about now that it’s beginning to gray just like his hair, feels rough and scratchy, and yet somehow still soft underneath your fingertips.

“Hey,” you murmur, and he forces his eyes to snap open. “We’re in this together. That’s how it’s been and that’s how it’s going to stay,” you assure him. “My place is with you, Joel.”

Joel manages to speak through tight lips, his voice strained. “You really fuckin’ gotta stop talkin’ to me like that, darlin’.”

You carefully move your hand away from his face, letting it drop back down to your side. “Why?”

“‘Cause. Shit like that is dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” you repeat, almost laughing. “Of all the things—”

Then, Frank’s words from earlier come to mind.

He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.

Joel’s dark eyes flicker to the strap of your dress, noticing it had started sliding off your shoulder. Before he can even think to stop himself, he reaches out and pulls it up back into place, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against your smooth skin. “You’re so soft,” he murmurs under his breath. All those fucking years of working with you, even sharing a bed together, and he had no idea of what it was like to touch you.

“Joel…”

Your heart had all but climbed up into your throat.

“Everythin’ you just said a minute ago, ‘bout not wanting to stay here without me,” he starts to say, “I know that it’s fuckin’ selfish of me, but I’m real glad you said it. ‘Cause no way in hell do I want a life without you. I know it’s wrong but—”

Placing your hands delicately on his shoulders, you lift yourself up on your toes and cut him off mid-sentence by pressing your lips softly against his. The clean scent of the soap Frank had given him to shower with fills your senses and you yearn to have more of him, you nearly ache to get a real taste of him—but your courage only went so far. Thankfully, Joel knows to take over from here. One of his arms snakes its way around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest while the other reaches up, the warm palm of his hand pressing against your cheek. His tongue swipes lightly across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore your mouth just a little bit further.

You eagerly grant him access, half expecting his mouth to ravage yours.

Much to your surprise, Joel remains gentle.

The way that he kisses you, the way he holds your body against his, the way his large hand—the same hand that slits throats and breaks bones—delicately cradles the side of your face like you’re made of porcelain.

“Joel,” you nearly whimper his name when he breaks away.

His face remains just inches from yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting to catch his breath. “We’ll need to get goin’ soon.”

“I know.” You nod, hoping you don’t sound as disappointed as you feel. You can sense that Joel, much like yourself, is at war with himself over what had just happened. Not that either of you regretted it, at least you certainly don’t, but the realization that you two have just crossed a line you’ll never come back from was daunting.

Joel lifts his head, lightly pressing his lips against your forehead. He then forces himself to release you from his arms and steps back, dropping them back down at his sides. “I need to, uh, I need to go get some things from Bill. Y’know, get my pack ready before we take off.”

You nod again. “I’ll start changing and get another pack of supplies ready as well.” You pause, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Joel, about what just happened—”

He silently shakes his head before leaning down, capturing your mouth with his.

This kiss is short and quick, and when he pulls away, he says nothing. He turns on the heel of his boot and disappears, heading out to meet Bill in the garage.

Your hand flies to your mouth, your fingers lightly touching your lips.

“Well, well, well.”

Looking over your shoulder, your throat goes dry when you see Frank standing there, hands on his hips and a knowing, smug expression on his face.

“How long have you been standing back there?”

“Long enough.” Even from a distance, you catch the amused twinkle in his eye. “What did I tell you?”

You turn away from him, biting your lower lip.

So maybe he’d been right after all.

Maybe you were Joel’s weakness.

But he was yours too.

#joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #joel miller pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

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marvelwitchergilmore · 2 months ago

Text

New Routine Comfort

Summary: Tyler Owens x Fe!Reader -> You work with the Tornado Wranglers and have done for a couple of years, but being newly single means you need to find a new routine and Tyler might just be the person to help.

Disclaimer: Mentions and appearance of a cheating asshole ex, Tyler and Reader are more co-workers than anything until that eventually changes..., swearing, love confessions, use of "Sweetheart" from the Cowboy Scientist, two-stepping, teaching to dance, mostly fluff, little angst, and the Cowboy Hat Rule (..kinda..) Not Proof Read.

When you joined the Tornado Wranglers, you joined at the request of Boone. They needed someone who could capture more footage than either him and Lily got and, since they had raised so much for families that had suffered from extreme tornado weather, they wanted to make it more permanent.

Which was where you came in. You could help with footage collection, fundraisers, social media pages, editing and a couple other things. The rest of the team helped where they could, but you managed it well.

However, this did mean that you didn’t see the team as much as you’d like save from the videos they sent you and the group chat Boone had added you into.

However, it was one night sitting in a local watering hole that you found yourself growing closer to one of the Wrangler’s in particular.

Tyler Owens.

There was a week here and there that you’d join the team storm chasing each season. Except, this year’s week of you joining them on the road couldn’t have fallen at a worse time.

“Please don’t tell me you’re gonna sit here all night drowning your sorrows in crappy beer?”

You shook your head. “I’m not.”

Boone tilted his head. “Oh, not the head tilt. Please.”

“Come on, Y/n. He was an asshole. Forget about him.”

“Little hard to forget when I was the one to walk in and catch them,” you looked back at your beer bottle. The label was practically torn to shreds from where you’d been scratching at it. “It’s like it’s burned into the back of my eyelids.” You took a long swig of your beer.

Just a little over two months ago, you’d watched as your relationship of three years burst into a ball of flames. You’d come home, smiling as you texted the Wrangler’s telling them the company you’d been pestering for a large donation that, with their track record, would put them out of pennies, had not only agreed to donate but also to host and bring all of their more-than-wealthy partners to the event.

Only, as you called through the door for your boyfriend, you heard a noise. Had he fallen?

Then you found the trail of clothes leading into the kitchen before another one made its way up the stairs towards your bedroom.

“Have you tried thinking of something else? Maybe watching a horror movie?”

You nodded. “Apparently finding your partner cheating on you in your own bed, and subsequently finding out they’d been doing that for over a year…is the scariest thing for me.”

“Well…screw him! He never deserved you! And you deserve a good night! And some decent beer.”

You gave a slight smile. “Boone. I like my drink.”

And it was true. You did.

You watched as he grimaced and picked up the other beer bottles. “Don’t know how you can drink that stuff.”

And away he went back to the dance floor with the others. And you turned back to your drink, your thumb still scratching away at the label.

An hour or so later, Tyler’s eyes found you in the crowd at the bar once more. He’d watched you all night. He’d watched you for the last two weeks if he was being completely honest with himself.

Since you joined the team, he saw you maybe for two weeks across the entire year. One week storm chasing, and the next seven days scattered throughout the rest of the year. But when he found out of Boone you’d be joining the team for most of the chasing season, something sparked inside of Tyler.

He was glad to have you aboard, of course. He might not have known that much about you, but he knew you well enough to know you joining the team for longer than a week meant something was wrong.

And once you arrived, it took him three days to finally figure out why.

“Are you sure she’s okay?”

Lily looked behind her, following Tyler’s gaze. Though, she could guess who it was. “Y/n? Oh, yeah. She’ll be fine. She’s hurtin’ right now, but she’ll be okay. Dude was an ass! Glad he’s gone.”

Tyler had met him only a handful of times but he could agree with Lily. He was an ass. An ass to you and an ass for letting you go.

But, as Tyler watched you, he saw something in you change. You’d gone from slouched on the bar stool to…alert. And nervous.

Confused, he followed the direction of your eye-line until he saw…

Him.

Stood with some blonde who couldn’t stop giggling into his chest as his arms were wrapped around her in such a way he was being possessive whilst trying to show her off.

And it was at that moment Tyler realised he wasn’t the only one watching you anymore. Because your ex had spotted you.

“No.” Dani and Boone told him as the bottom of his chair scraped the wooden floor. “No, let her handle this. She needs this.”

Tyler didn’t look convinced. So, Lily added.

“And if she’s not ready, then you can go. But they’re right. Let her handle it.”

So, reluctantly, Tyler sat back down. But he was itching to stand. He was itching to be at your side.

But you handled it.

Your ex approached you, and he seemed to make some kind of asshole comment about you. You didn’t seem pleased. Then everything about you…became fake.

One look around you made you realise there were plenty of people still left inside the bar. More than when you had entered with the team, even. If you caused a scene, you’d get kicked out. And your team would follow. But it had been a long week. They deserved a good night.

So you took it. You took his comments about smiling more, and setting him free and his thank yous for showing him he could have ‘something more with’ whoever the Blonde was waiting at the end of the bar for him.

And when he patted your arm, you could have thrown up. You never wanted him to touch you again. You’d told him as much when he tried to hug you, not ten minutes after being caught having sex with someone else.

And when he finally walked away…you wanted to run. But you had no energy left. Seeing him again zapped it all. You had been in love with him once, and believed he felt the same about you. All the memories of your relationship flashed behind your eyelids, before going back on themselves. The pictures told you of the lies he’d made in the last year you’d been with him.

Tyler watched as your entire body sighed before you started counting the cash in your pocket to leave for your bill.

Your ex didn’t get to ruin your night by being here. He didn’t get to take away your happiness, or your freedom to have fun in your bar.

“Okay, come on.”

You looked to your side and found Tyler stood there. He took your hand in his and dragged you with him.

“Tyler!”

“No, no.” Turning to face you as he finally reached the dance floor, he kept his eyes on yours. “He doesn’t get to take your night away. Fuck that asshole.”

“That’s my problem. I did fuck that asshole. And then he fucked someone else.”

“Then let him.” Tyler told you. “You deserved better than him, anyway. You still do. Do you know how to dance?”

You were in shock. You and Tyler were never exactly close. Sure, you’d talked over text, but that was mostly in the Group unless you needed to contact him directly for something about a fundraiser or an appearance at a school to help students when it came to Tornado warnings.

After a moment, you shook your head.

He gave a curt nod and stepped closer to you. “That’s okay. I can teach you. Is it okay if I put my hand here?”

You looked to see where he meant. It was around your back. You nodded.

“Okay, just keep your eyes on me. I��ll make sure you don’t trip.”

With one hand in his and your other on his arm, your eyes fell to the floor as you mirrored his steps. “I think you’re underestimating my two left feet.”

Tyler smiled with a small chuckle, and pulled you a little closer before tilting your chin up until your eyes met his. “Eyes on me, Sweetheart. I promise, I won’t let you trip. And nobody can be a worse dance partner than Boone.”

“You’ve danced with Boone?”

“Somebody had to teach him how to dance. I think my feet are still bruised.”

You smiled. “I’ll try and not make them worse.”

Tyler smiled as your eyes found his own, again. You were relaxing into the music. You were trusting him to take the lead. And before you knew it, the pair of you were two-stepping further into the dancefloor, a bright smile shared between the both of you.

Four songs, two line dances, and one group square dance later, you found yourself back in the comfort of Tyler’s arms as he held his hand out to you from where you had both sat down at the table.

With a nod and a genuine smile, you took hold of his hand and let him lead you towards the middle of the dancefloor. Tonight might have been the first time you’d both danced together, but somehow, it felt familiar. Routine. To be in his arms, to have his hand in yours, to have only him in front of your eyes and in your mind as you both softly danced to the slow song that played from the Jukebox Band on stage.

“Thank you,” you found yourself saying.

Tyler lifted his head from yours to look at you, and you did the same. “What do you mean?”

“I was about to go home. I would have spent the next twenty-four hours wanting to be alone and depressed. Instead, you did something else no-one has ever done.”

“And what is that?”

You felt yourself laugh a little. “Taught me to dance.”

Tyler’s mouth broke out into a smile before he took your hand and spun you around and back in. “You’re very welcome, but if I’m being honest, I might have had my own reasons. I need my own dance partner and, as much as I love the guy, Boone isn’t the most graceful.”

“So you’re calling me ‘graceful’? Have to say, that’s never been a word people have used to describe me.”

“Really?” Tyler sounded genuinely shocked. “All because you couldn’t dance?”

You felt a small blush heat under your cheeks. “Maybe I was in need of the right partner.”

Tyler felt himself blush. “Maybe you were. But I’d still call you graceful. I don’t know what people have described you as, but- if you don’t mind me saying.”

You shook your head. Coming from him, something in you didn’t mind a bit. In fact, you wanted to know.

“I think you’re so much more than whatever people tell you.”

When his gaze locked on yourself, you felt the rest of the room disappearing.

“You’re beautiful. In your mind, in your heart and in your soul.”

You could feel your heart beginning to race.

“Nobody should ever make you feel anything less than that. You’re an incredible human being, Y/n. We’re lucky to have you. I-”

Tyler felt the words catch in his throat. He didn’t want to scare you away. But he needed to tell you. He wanted to tell you.

“I’m lucky to have you.”

You smiled as you watched Tyler. He was one of the kindest men you’d ever met. Maybe he had a wild side, but that was what made him so good at his job. Beneath all of the adrenaline chasing, Tyler had a heart and soul unlike any other. He loved his team, his family, his job and his life.

Slowly, leaning up, you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m lucky to have you, too.”

Tyler smiled and slowly, the rest of the room started to fade back in, slowly.

“You should come out with us more. Who knows? You might just catch the bug for chasing Tornados?”

You smiled. “Boone has been trying to get me to come chasing for years. What makes you think I’ll change my mind now?”

Tyler smiled. “We’ll go out tomorrow. The data is showing a small EF-1. Just me and you. After all, you can’t stay in the van forever.”

Tyler could tell by your smile you were deliberating it.

“You know,” you started. “Boone isn’t going to be happy we’re chasing without him.”

Tyler smiled. You had agreed. “I’ll make it up to him.”

Your smile settled onto your face. “Okay then. But just this one.”

Tyler nodded as you both slowly turned around in a circle. “We’ll see.”

Two months later, you’d been more chases than you could count. That morning Tyler had taken you out in his truck, there was a chance you could have called him an asshole (in a slightly more affectionate term) as he drove towards the tornado.

You’d edited hours of footage but being the one in the passenger seat was something else.

But the minute you looked up and out of the window and back to him…something changed. Something changed between you and storm chasing. Something changed between you and your job. Something changed between you and Tyler.

Boone, once he’d been cleared of his hangover, wasn’t happy about being left out from a chase. But Tyler found a way to make it up to him. And since you left Boone to sit in the front for most of the chases, had you made it up to him, too.

Sometimes you’d stay in the truck with Dexter and Dani but it was becoming much more routine for you to sit in the back of Tyler’s truck as he drove into another tornado.

And on the rare opportunity. Boone would give you his seat beside Tyler in the truck. You’d get better pictures for socials that way. At least, that was his excuse. It definitely wasn’t to give the Live Feed viewers what they wanted, which was more of you and Tyler together.

But in those two months, things had just been…teetering. You knew you felt something for Tyler, but you were too scared to let your feelings known in case he didn’t feel the same. At the end of the day, you loved your job and the team. You didn’t want to give them up because of a school girl crush you had on the Cowboy Tornado Wrangler.

But the others saw the way Tyler looked at you, too. They’d seen it since he first met you. He never made a move considering you were in a relationship, but that didn’t stop his feelings from growing when he saw you or saw your name pop up on his phone.

And since you started actually chasing with him…he was a goner.

He looked at you like you hung the moon, and you looked at him in the exact same way. But apparently only the team and the comments section of the videos could see it.

“I can’t believe the season’s almost over.”

Tyler shook his head. “We’ve still got a month or so left.”

“I know, but…I’m really enjoying it.”

He smiled proudly. “Told you you’d catch the bug.”

You and Tyler, like every weekend, had found yourselves back in each other's arms on the dancefloor, two-stepping along to another song. And being back in his arms was like your two left feet had disappeared.

It might have also helped you’d both practised in your hotel rooms over the last couple of months. For the last month, you’d both been sharing a room since every motel that Boone and Lily found only seemed to have so many rooms left. And with the others bunking together, it left you and Tyler together.

“I got a call, by the way. A school just outside of Wichita is wondering if you and the team will come down and talk to the kids. Most of them have seen your videos, but a lot of them are scared and the city’s local ‘what to do in a Tornado’ has scared them all half to death.”

Somehow, Tyler had this magic about him. Whenever he and the team went into school to explain about Tornados, all the kids walked away a hell of a lot less scared than they were when they walked in. In fact, most of them walked away talking to their parents about meteorology and the science behind a Tornado.

“Of course we will.”

You smiled. “Good. Because I already said yes.”

He figured you might have done. “When do they want us there?”

“As soon as you're available.”

“We could go after this next chase? There might be an EF-3 in the next couple of days. I want to make sure people are safe.”

You nodded with a smile. “We can go after, then.”

Soon the song came to an end. “I’m gonna get a drink, want one?”

Tyler nodded as he let go of your hand and he went towards the team’s booth. “Please.”

Ordering your drinks, you waited for them to be ready. Only, as you did so, you felt the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. There was a familiar smell in the air and it made your entire skin crawl.

Then you saw him.

“Aren’t you meant to be in a mourning period or some shit?”

You were taken aback by his abruptness. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve been broken up for less than six months then I come in here and see you trying to flirt your way into some guy’s pants.”

“What? Like you and her over there? Tell me, is she the one from during me, or after me?”

“You bitch. She’s my girlfriend.”

“And that’s different?”

You ex stood straighter and hissed. “Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She’s my girlfriend. He’s just- What? You’re fuckbuddy?!”

Before you could answer, you felt a much more comforting presence behind you followed by his voice and a hat being placed on your head.

“Boyfriend, actually.”

You turned your head and looked at Tyler who just winked and you relaxed into his arm that laid across your shoulders.

“And I don’t appreciate you calling her a bitch.”

“How long have you been fucking him?!”

Then Tyler stepped in front of you. The hand on his back let him know he’d done the right thing.

“You’re done talking to her now. You’re gonna talk to me. Better yet, you’re gonna listen. The biggest mistake you ever made was thinking you could find anyone better than her. Now, I’m sure your girlfriend loves you very much and I think she came out here to enjoy her evening like everyone else and doesn’t want to be kicked out with her boyfriend who’s just been given a black eye.”

“Are you threatening me? You can’t threaten-”

Then Tyler’s voice lowered, making the conversation strictly between himself and your ex.

“The minute that hat touched her head, it let everyone know who she’s with and considering I know the owners here, them and everyone in this bar will protect her over some scumbag like you. And unless you’d like to spend a night in a cell with the County Sheriff, I suggest you and your girlfriend find some other place to have a drink and you never even think about my girl again. Do I make myself clear?”

One look around the bar to see if anyone else had seen or heard what had gone on let your ex know they had. And from the looks of the patron's faces, they were more than ready to defend both you and Tyler against the asshole standing in front of him.

“Whatever, Dude.” Walking away, he called out for his girlfriend, grabbed her hand and walked towards the door, constantly looking over his shoulder. Especially after one of the owners followed him out of the door and watched him load himself into his car.

Once the owner walked back inside and gave a curt nod to Tyler, everyone went back to normal and Tyler turned back around to face you.

“I’m sorry if-”

“Thank you.”

Tyler was expecting you to tell him off, or yell at him. Say something that made sure he knew never to do that again unless you asked.

“What-”

“Nobody has ever done that for me before and, if I’m being honest, I was 90% sure he would have done more than just yell at me whilst I was here. So, thank you.”

“I meant what I said. You should never let anyone make you feel less than what you are. You’re beautiful, Y/n. Inside and out.”

You smiled and turned towards one of the beer bottles that had been placed in between you and Tyler in order to hide the blush of your cheeks. “Nice touch, by the way. With the hat.”

There was a slight twinkle in Tyler’s eyes along with his semi-confused and intrigued look.

“You know about the hat?”

“You explained it to him, didn’t you?”

Then he realised. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. Right.” And nervously took a long swig of his own drink.

But then you removed it from your head. “You’re gonna want this back.”

And for a moment, Tyler held it in his hand, deliberating on what he wanted to do, vs what he should do.

He shook his head and handed it back to you. “Keep it. In case he thinks about coming back.”

“I don’t think he will.”

“Well, if he does. He’ll get the message.”

It took you a moment, but keeping your eyes on his, you placed the hat back on your head. Tyler swallowed another gulp of his drink and turned to face you before he fixed the hat on your head.

“Better?” You asked.

Tyler nodded as he looked away. He had to hide his blush somehow. “It suits you.”

Then the next song came on.

“Come on, let's dance.”

Taking Tyler’s hand, you dragged him back to the dancefloor.

By the end of the night, you all walked back towards the motel considering it was only a block or two away. Down the road, Lily and Boone were giving each other piggy-back rides, Dani was listening to Dexter talk about everything he knew about Tornados and where Tyler would usually be on his own at this point in the night, he found you right next to him, still wearing his hat.

“Careful.”

Tyler took your hand in his as he pulled you away from a deep puddle in the path.

“Thanks.”

When you’d both finally made it to dry concrete, your hand never left Tyler’s.

“What are you thinking about? You look like you’re in deep conversation with yourself under that hat.”

You broke into a small smile. “I am.”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing important,” you shook your head.

“Try me.”

Looking at Tyler, you took in a breath and looked back at the sidewalk. “Okay. I’m thinking about what to do.”

“About what?”

You stopped in your tracks and looked at where your hand was interlinked with Tyler’s. Then you looked him in his eyes.

“I know you were just helping me before, with my ex and…everything. But…”

Shit. You cursed yourself over and over again. But you didn’t want to waste any more time in your life.

Just spit it out. You told yourself.

“Is..is there a world…maybe…where…” You took in a tough breath. “Where would you want something more?”

“Something more?”

You cursed yourself for a whole other reason now. You’d dug your grave this far. Might as well hope for it to collapse on top of you.

“Something more between…us?”

The next ten seconds were the longest ten seconds of your life. You were pretty sure you’d died three lifetimes over by the time you felt like you were back in your body again.

“You know what, forget I said-”

“Yes.”

You felt yourself physically stall. “What?”

“Yes. I want something more. There is a world where I want something more. And it’s this one.”

You didn’t know what to say. The others were long down the street so it was just you and Tyler.

“I…I don’t know what to say from here. I wasn’t expecting to actually say anything.”

Tyler smiled and stepped a little closer to you. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

“Where do we go from here?”

Tyler thought about it for a moment before looking around. “Come with me.”

Tyler dragged you back down the street, over the puddle and towards a small field just off the side of the road.

“Tyler, what are you doing?”

“Getting rid of the light pollution.”

You felt yourself laugh. “What for?”

He pulled you a little further out into the field before the lights faded away over the hedge and all you were left with was the blanket of stars above you and Tyler. And, being back in the comfort of his arms, he danced you around a small patch of wildflowers.

“Neither of us knew what to do, so I’m taking you on a date. Usually, we would have gone for dinner or I would have brought something with us but since we’ve done that part without knowing where we’d end up…I’m skipping to the end a little.”

“So you’re saying, for our first date, you would have packed a picnic and we would have gone stargazing? That’s…incredibly romantic.”

“Think it’s corny?” Tyler asked and then he laughed. “You think it’s corny.”

Your eyes narrowed a little. “Maybe. Just a little. But, I love it.”

There was no one else. It was just you and Tyler, dancing, under the stars.

“I do have one question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Would you have kissed me at the end of the date? Would we have danced under the stars then and would you have kissed me?”

“Now who’s the corny one.”

You blushed a little and laughed. “I’m serious. I’d need to know if you were a good kisser. Couldn’t wear my cowboy’s hat and not enjoy kissing him, too. And before you say anything, I know that might not be the rule. But it does come as a part of mine.”

Tyler felt most if not all of his face turn red at the thought. When you had asked him in the bar…you already knew. He was glad there were no bright street lights surrounding either of you right now.

“Well, then, since you’re already wearing my hat…I can’t start breaking the rules now…”

With another smile, Tyler’s hand cradled your head as he pressed his lips to yours, letting his free hand hold you flush against him by the waist.

By the time he pressed a final small kiss to your lips, with his forehead against yours, you felt your lungs scratching your chest to breathe.

“Yep, definitely didn’t break any rules.”

Tyler let a chuckle leave his chest. “Come on, we should get back. Before the others start wondering where we got to.”

Boone and Lily had had too many beers to be left unsupervised. Last time Tyler had left either of them alone, they’d somehow chalked out an entire Tornado on the side of a motel wall. Even if it was exquisite, the motel owner wasn’t the happiest of people to see it.

“Okay. But we’re doing this again.”

“What? The date, the kiss or the dancing?”

“All of the above.”

Tyler smiled and reached down, lifting his hat from the ground before placing it back on your head. “Good, because I wasn’t finished.”

With a smile that hurt your cheeks, Tyler took your hand in his and you both hurried your way back down the road, over the puddle and towards the motel where you both found Boone and Lily playing a very terrible version of hide-and-seek.

But something that neither missed was the way yours and Tyler’s hands were intertwined between you both, or that in the morning and the mornings after, you and Tyler rarely left each other's side.

And neither of you had to be pushed to share a room.

It became a routine. Along with the dancing, kissing and storm chasing.

And when the third teacher hit on him at the elementary school he was talking at, despite you finding it a little funny watching him try and shut down each woman with kindness that left them just wanting him more, he proved his point in front of the faculty and his team (even if they already knew) by giving you the millionth kiss of a lifetime from him, with his hat upon your head.

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moonsaver · 11 months ago

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Finished penacony. Sunday. Oh dear oh dear.

Yan!Sunday who seems obsessively off with you for the early start of something like a relationship. Calm, but underlying warning tones. One wrong word and you might tip him off too much. You've learned one way to decode his emotions are his wings. They tense up whenever you mention something.. unpleasant. Its a warning. You cut yourself off in the middle of your sentence. The silence passes, and his wings relax. He turns to you with a calm smile on his face. You barely squeezed through, this time.

Yan!Sunday who's just a bit delusional. He deludes himself into thinking about righteousness, and you're some sort of reward for him, for him to keep, and shelter, and nurture, like a christmas gift pet, but something more tender. Tender like a bruise, anyway.

Yan!Sunday, who seems.. to be slipping indisputably. In the corners of your eyes, in private, where he meticulously plans everything, every second where you breathe. He helps you dress and laces up your clothing just as he normally does, but huffs, and insists on doing it again. The first few times, he redid it only twice. His frustration would bleed through his fingers the more things proceeded in time, tightening the lace so much, your limbs almost went blue. He apologizes through gritted teeth, and you forgive him. It doesn't help the fact he practically suffocates you with the way he kisses you, though. His lips land on yours a bit too harshly, and you wonder if he actually hates you. Those thoughts dissipate when he relaxes more into it, though.

Yan!Sunday, who stares at you unblinking, waiting for you in the dreamscape, in the reverie, anywhere. Robin's.. departure has put him under more strain, so just for his sake.. ignore the way he tightly grips your arm, fearing it'll snap.

Yan!Sunday – you can't leave his watchful gaze. The last time you did it, he practically forced you to walk through the real dreamscape, deathly shivering as the atmosphere almost froze you, being forced to walk through unyieldingly harsh and twisted paths, doors never staying in the same place, being forced to use rough traversing methods, the dizziness of the memoria almost feverish. He waits for you at the end, a much gentler version of him. You fall into his arms, sobbing and weeping, and for once he handles you with care. Gently wiping your tears, stroking your hair, his hand guiding the back of your head to his shoulder, burying your nose into the crook of his neck. You notice just how much more warmer he feels in the dreamscape, not just due to the cold atmosphere. His wings gently flutter on your face. Let's leave now, he says. I trust you've learnt, my dear.

Yan!Sunday, who decides that maybe keeping you in the alternate dreamscape, Golden Hour, would be much more preferable. He seethes watching you be eyed by everyone – officials, businessmen, representatives, whoever it may be. He gently lulls you into the dream fluid, kissing your hands, up to your arms, neck, til your cheek, until you finally fall asleep. He places you down and gets to work in a second. When you panic, not being able to wake up, he's right beside you in a heartbeat, telling you there's just been a slight error.

Yan!Sunday, who would even go as far as to construct an entirely new dream for you and you alone. No one would be allowed to visit except him. He tells you it's for the better. Everyone lies in Penacony. Stay put and let him take care of this. Let him take care of you. Of everything. You dont miss the way his hands harden their grip around your waist. His gaze settles gently on yours. It's a harsh contrast to his eerily peering one, in reality. If you even remember what it's like being there, of course.

#moonink #hsr #honkai star rail sunday #hsr sunday #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr sunday x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #sunday x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #yandere hsr

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cevenths · 1 month ago

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somewhere south with fruits sweeter

logan howlett x fem!reader — 6.6k

(s). with your mother smitten during your visit, he was bound to taste her cooking soon. sharing food is an intimate act, and you weren’t expecting to offer something to him, too.

. . . extras: 18+ minors dni; written with origins!logan in mind; one (1) mention of drinking; reader is slightly shorter than logan; no use of y/n or she/her pronouns, only described as a daughter; pet name ‘sweetheart’; descriptive touching and kissing; very brief thigh riding; implied sexual content: oral (r receiving); a lot of fruit & food symbolism—do with that what you will; this is my first longer-length work so comments are much appreciated! x

────────────── gif from @ultrviolecnt

Maybe the fruits tasted all the more ripe, a real pleasure to eat, due to his hands now arranging their shapes in the weathered, woven baskets; you hadn’t seen him when you visited last year and such a change in the apples, peaches, pears would’ve surely made itself known.

He was one your mother brought into casual conversation sitting on the front porch or working simple chores, and she insisted others were doing just the same; who could place blame on them when such a man was sure to bring about hushed dialects and connotations, a secret of sorts kept in the confines of the town’s acres.

Because of your visiting for the season, it was you instead of your mother who drove the half an hour to the familiar wooden shop that rose with the respective fall of the leaves.

It was becoming something of a bore in the years past, but a little less so now with him around, his presence and rather effortless strength admittedly easy on the eyes. Your mother spoke of him with high regard; only a few minutes after stepping out of your car and onto the gravel of the market’s driveway was enough for her praise to turn tangible in the summer heat that first morning, it now being replaced with a push of a breeze.

You noticed that even with the broad stretch of his shoulders, the trecks his boots left behind from mud crawling in the back, he somehow still managed a sort of ease about his figure as he worked. Anything he started in the chill of the morning he got done right as the sun rested its bleary eyes, leaving with a nod and a cigar in between his lips—all without speaking much. When he would carry in fills of crates with jams or fruits and vegetables, he wouldn’t stop to make talk with the customers, instead searching for another task that whispered his name once as wood warmed from the sun, now as a twirl of leaves browned and reddened scuttling against the exterior. You figured he didn’t do so from irritation at the others he worked with—you had known them since you were little and they were nothing if not welcoming—but as a means of simply getting work done; talk not adjacent to his doing must’ve been fruitless.

You didn’t dwell on the fact, instead revelling—as much as you hated to admit—in meeting hazel with an unintelligible finish to the color in the teasing cold the times you had walked with a slow gait through the aisles, brushing past weathered gingham a dusted color from years past.

Tonight you were to be greeted with an infamous cherry pie, having been told to get as many cherries as you pleased, along with anything that seemed ‘good on the soul’. (She might as well have been hinting at him, written his name big and bold, with hearts curving over the letters.)

When you stepped through the doorway and atop the makeshift floor of scuffed wood underneath homemade rugs frayed at the edges, you only barely caught denim shifting out the back, presumably to bring in more boxes with whatever was to be displayed alongside a handwritten note detailing a new price for eager hands and acquired tastes. You stepped around tables with thin cloths acting like decor, embellishments to distinguish one from another, and stopped short when the usual spot for your mother’s preferred cherries was implied with folds in gently disheveled plaid.

At the furrow of your brows and your leaning over adjacent boxes and barrels to see if perhaps they were hidden someplace nearby, a lady to your side gestured to the spot with a jut of her chin.

“Logan just went to grab a new batch, hun. He’ll be back in a second.”

You nodded at her words, involuntarily crossing your arms over your chest to the best of your ability with a basket in your hand. Broken conversations slipped in one ear and out of the other as you waited, talk of food to be prepared or how distant children were growing taller by the day. Shuffling of feet with a deep groan brought your attention back to the space prior, Logan now standing with a crate in his hands, a stitched cloth draped over the top. His tongue prodded at his cheek—the skin there, the bridge of his nose, the knuckles of his hands, beginning to flush pink from a gentle biting of the air outside—as he set it down, taking the covering off and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans after hitting it once against his thigh, the dust trickling down the denim to the floor, the creases in his boots.

You muttered a ‘thank you’, not expecting much more out of him in return. He simply nodded, but a clearing of his throat dragged your eyes to his.

“Your mom the one making the pie?”

He continued talking at the quick flicker of slight confusion that washed over your features, that made your palm pause as it reached out to pick the nicest ones, reds shiny and seductive around inedible pits. “Someone came around last week, told me her daughter was coming to stay for a little while and she wanted to bake something nice.” A pause, a narrowing of his eyes, your own drifting upwards to brown strands undone from their styling, now brushing above his brows in light curves.

Knowing your mother spoke of your person to him brought a smile to your lips. “She loves to gossip,” you admitted with a nod to confirm his ask. “Especially over her cherry pie.”

He let out a hum, eyes following the hand that held a bunch of said fruits from their stems. He stayed that way for what felt like a while, though it was really only a few seconds; his gaze was soft, but bore into your basic movement, as if assessing which of the fruits he had brought you so kindly you were to pick.

A call of his name directed them someplace behind you with a lean of his upper half and a hand to his hip.

“Nice meeting you,” he said, catching your eyes as he brushed past your figure, smell of smoke and freshly picked fruits stuck to his skin, mimicking a wanting to bite innate to your psyche, to savor the source at your lips and teeth, though they were all laid out in front of you; perhaps that was the point.

──────────────

The next week, with a complaint of the chill that crawled into the crevices of her jacket and a harsh adjusting of the heater, your mother sat in the passenger seat eagerly awaiting an order she had placed with the owner days prior. Turning onto the gravel lot that rocked the interior, you found a vacant spot with a curse at how uneven the small plot had gotten. She let out a gasp and nudged an elbow to your arm as she unbuckled her seatbelt, hand already opening the door.

“Look who’s working today.” She knew he worked everyday they were open, but you rolled your eyes with a smile at her teasing nature—she could have her fun, you figured as you followed her out, slamming the door behind you.

Logan, much to your amusement, played into her harmless comments. He worked at the front, adjusting the panneling of the signs welcoming passerby, a carpenter’s belt wrapped around his waist and a nail inbetween his lips. At the shuffling of your mother’s feet coming closer to where he stood, he looked over with a charming smile.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mumbled, nail a mimic of his cigars as he spoke, dipping his head as a hello to the both of you when you stepped to her side.

Your mother dismissed his words with a swat of her gloved hand in the air, flattery evident as a smile. “You’re talkin’. Just here to pick up a few things for dinner tonight.”

He furrowed his brows, shoving the nail into a pocket of his belt, adjusting its hold on his waist. “I might’ve packed them all earlier”—he began to make the way inside, gesturing his chin for you to follow—“but I’ll have you check.”

Not long after, he was carrying crates to the trunk of your car at the insistence she needn’t lift a finger—even with the slight cold becoming familiar with the skin of his own hands. You offered after her, but he repeated his words with a threading of his hand through his hair. There were quiet huffs and groans leaving his lips as he did so, his breath mocking smoke. Your mother instead headed inside, while you stood at the trunk, leaning against the chilled exterior; there wasn’t any harm in looking for a little longer, hearing more evidence of his voice a little closer.

He spoke first, an octave lower and with a lilt of amusement.

“Dinner must be good tonight.” He met your eyes for a split second before placing a hand ahold of the trunk above his head. “Seems like you’re having…” he pinched a cloth from the crate closest to the edge, lifting it with a dramatized slowness, leaning over with a raised brow—something of a defeated breath left his lips. “Why don’t you mind tellin’ me.”

You leaned over for yourself, hands pushing similar cloths for a peek at what it was your mother had bought. The two of you were so close, or so it felt, as if keeping the contents of your trunk hidden from all but the hazel of his and your own. There wasn’t a need for your peripheral; a simple knowing he was near was enough, a certain spark in your nerves for the scene felt intimate, this unveiling of what you were to eat—you knew, of course, what was to be served that night, and he most likely knew that, too.

──────────────

Surely they would be sick of seeing you when the sun had dipped with a lazy arch, pulling underneath the horizon. And yet, there was an ache in your mother’s stomach that she insisted could only be softened with one of their homemade pastries, something she shared with you when you were little, and as she focused on dinner—which you’d assume would only make such an itch worse, even given the contrast of savory to sugar—you flipped on the headlights into the last hours of the evening.

You gave something of a guilty nod to the woman at the counter as you made your way to the shelving in the back corner that held the familiar packaging, alongside others. All that was on display was shrouded in thin, gentle slits of white, the moon offering its own of what the sun had given prior. The fruits looked misty eyed, the jars as if filled by a dreamy hand.

Just as quickly as you had pulled into the lot, you were twisting the keys once more; yet this time, a weak sputtering from your engine sounded rather than its usual dull rumble.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumbled, one hand gripping the wheel and the other getting ahold of the key once more, this time with a slower insertion and turn, it’s cold against your palm a mimicry of the early night air. The same cough, akin to a sickness in a body, invading the steel and screws of your car.

With a groan, you threw the door open, circling to the hood and, with a steady grip, lifting it above your head.

It was now far too dark to tell where one part ended and another began, it simply a blend of shadow you certainly did not feel like combing through with the chill as an accomplice.

You smelled the burning end of a cigar before the scraping of gravel along soles.

“You alright?” Logan asked, voice leaking smoke like a lure for both your eyes and ears. His skin was accented with a soft gold from the flickering bulbs of the market as he stopped a few feet away, holding the cigar lazily at his hip. The lighting was bewitching, a natural distraction, and you cursed the way your eyes dragged at the outline of his shoulders, the narrowing at his waist, silver of a buckle glinting for a moment as if catching you in the act.

At your not answering, he took another drag, peering into the hood for himself, though you were sure he could guess your response at the knitting of your brows, the irritated grip of your hands to the front bumper.

“C’mon.”

You simply stared as he gestured with his chin, cigar to his lips, front half already turning the other direction. “I’ll take you home”—smoke curled at his cheeks, the hair that was cut shorter to the skin, when he glanced over his shoulder at you having not moved a muscle—“unless you’d rather stay out here.”

Much like when you both had been eyeing the insides of your trunk, it was as though your body knew of his presence just as much as your mind; sitting in his passenger side stiff against the seating, some unconscious reminder that tugged at your joints to keep them still, as if there was an awareness that preceded him in the form of tensed muscles and intrigue, a nipping at your eyes to even just look at him when he was this close, wanting that satisfaction, whatever it was, that came as a consequence to curiosity, infatuation, more like.

“Never seen you this late at the market.”

You cleared your throat, explaining the pastry you bought for your mother. “I think this is just my car’s way of telling me not to.”

A laugh disguised itself as an exhale through his nose. “‘m not that bad.”

Your eyes caught his own when you furrowed your brows in amusement at his words, a barely registrable hint of a smile on his face.

“I didn’t said that,” you argued, though your tone was anything but. He angled the hand resting atop the steering wheel and the palm at his thigh upwards, feigning defense.

The drive wasn’t too long; neither was conversation. He asked about your mother, how long you were staying for, but more as a means to ease the space in between simple directions from you.

He slowed to a stop in front of your doorstep, shoving the stick into park as you began to get out, opening the door and stepping onto the ground, pastry in hand. You placed a hand against the cool exterior, offering a smile and about to utter a thanks—not entirely dismissing the way he was looking over at you, leaned over to grab a cigar from a case stowed in the glove box, a necklace of some sort having loosened from beneath autumn layers and swaying in tandem with the column of his throat—when your mother’s voice called instead.

“Logan, is that you?” she sang, voice sounding pleasantly surprised and a harsh cut through the relative quiet of the night.

His brow raised in amusement; you rolled your eyes in a silent apology.

He answered nonetheless.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me.”

Immediately at his simple confirmation your mother was ushering him in for dinner. And who was he to decline such an offer.

It was far too casual: the way he let you in first, a ghost of a palm over the small of your back; taking off his boots at the front door; nodding at your mother and asking her how she was as he eyed two plates she had already filled with whatever she had made for dinner that night on the countertop. You placed the pastry in her hands, to which she gave a quick kiss to your cheek and insisted the both of you sit and eat before the food got cold.

Without a word he took the two plates in his hands and walked over to the dining table, setting them opposite each other as you stood at your mother’s side, her face implying an explanation as to why you were in his truck, as well as a teasing response to his manners. You merely muttered an ‘I’ll tell you later’ as you filled two cups of water and grabbed two forks and knives.

He nodded as a thanks as you put the glass in front of him. The overhead light was warm, dipping down the slope of his nose and the hair that curled upwards at the nape of his neck—it almost didn’t look like him seated in your home, taking the silverware from your hand, the tips of his fingers brushing again the skin of your hand. It was someone who needn’t falter at the door, who memorized which floorboards creaked their complaints, who muttered ‘good morning’s and ‘good night’s to a lover in time with the celestial company.

Watching him eat food from your mother’s hand felt like he was indulging in a part of you, this meal that you’ve eaten time and time before now being offered to him.

“It’s really good.” His voice was practically a whisper, the quietest you’d ever heard it, as if only you could be told such a thing—you hadn’t any part in the plate already nearly scraped clean in front of him, your mother feet away, unwrapping the pastry for dessert.

You nodded, a smile on your lips even with the fact. “Family recipe,” you simply said.

He hummed, eyeing you over the rim of his glass. It met the wood with a gentle clink after a generous sip, tongue darting briefly across his lips.

His eyes drifted to her at the counter, crossing his arms on the tabletop.

“You’re a wonderful cook.”

She turned her head with a smile. “Thank you, Logan.” You hadn’t missed the way she gestured towards yourself with a fork donned with crumbs and raspberry jam. “Though I might have competition soon, what with the pie that’s supposed to be made this week.”

You furrowed your brow in mock irritation, your voice spoken through a smile nonetheless. “Who’s to say it won’t be the worst thing you’ll ever taste in your life?”

She raised her own brow, questioning your words. “If I’ve taught you anything, it’s how to make a damn good pie, hun,” she retorted with conviction in her tone as she averted her attention to her pastry once more.

You rolled your eyes in a lighthearted manner, catching Logan’s as your knife’s teeth dragged along what little you had left on your plate; the barely-there smile on his lips told you he was amused by your shortlived banter.

“That a family recipe, too?” he asked.

“It will be, once I figure out how to make it.” You paused to finish your plate, the knife and fork resting nicely atop the porcelain. “Though I’m thinking of a blueberry pie rather than cherry.”

With a nod, he gathered his own plate, reaching over to take yours as he got up from his seat, his way of insisting you need not get up and clean after him nor yourself.

Hazel slightly hooded held the color of yours as he did so. “I’m sure it’ll be just as good.”

At this point, it almost seemed proximity was an arrangement made from whatever guided your limbs to his, and that same culprit threaded itself in his, for your mother handed you the dish towel when she hastily remembered she needed to call her sister. Whether it was true didn’t matter: here was an excuse to stay close, revel in contact that was teased by the lack of it. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to below his elbows, hair corded at his forearms wet from the tap water, the lather that coated his palms and knuckles. Lavender was a foreign scent to be attached to his skin, not one to prettily mingle with cigar smoke, but your nose got used to it regardless.

It was a quiet process, his washing and your drying. Your eyes would wander to his hands, stay for just a little while, the shine from the warm water accenting the skin something almost seductive with the performance of such a domestic task—if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Over beer you had found in a back cabinet growing lukewarm under the dining lighting, you learned he had gotten the job at the farmer’s market just as the sun opted for a few more hours, offering as a trade deep oranges that shrouded the landscape and any roaming warmth that stuck to wood and grass and skin. He was in the area and needed work, there had been a sign posted near where he was staying of the address and basic requirements, and, in his words, ‘he could use the free food’. Though it made you wonder where exactly it was that he was staying, you didn’t pry. He instead recounted the morning your mother came in and they—though mostly her, he admitted with a smile at your small laugh—had engaged in friendly talk as he carried her groceries to her car.

“She hinted at saving a slice of that cherry pie f’me, for the help.” His lips tugged ever so slightly as he leaned back comfortably, stretching the denim at his thighs taut with a shift in his legs, arms crossed and all the while keeping his eyes on yours. “But I prefer blueberry.”

And how cliché it had been when you first saw him, a rugged yet quiet stature of a man with sweat at his brow and the dents of the muscles lining his arms, blue denim to the dirt of his boots, a worn baseball cap keeping the sun from his eyes, and how cliché it was now that he was in your home and you didn’t mind.

There was a mention from your mother, standing just at the end of the hallway to face the kitchen and the two of you, of a shelf and drawer that needed fixing in the old guest room as you walked him to the door, a calloused hand already wrapped around brass.

“I’ll take a look at it in a few days,” he reasssured her with a soft smile, to which she told him you could offer a few slices of pie in thanks, all with a grin on her face that she also adorned when quoting others’ words of amusing connotation.

He chuckled, a low sound that came from his chest. The old creak of the door was paired with a ‘have a nice night’ as she retreated around the corner into the hallway. You stepped out before him onto the front porch as he swung it closed, though just enough so it didn’t click into place with the frame; the porch light adjacent to it casted a similar color against his skin to the one when he ate.

You didn’t really know why you stood there in the chill that lay stagnant around your home, but he didn’t ask.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding to the door. “That better be a promise.”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Depends on how good of a job you do.”

A chuckle, same as before, this time his breath appearing in between the two of you. “Are you doubting me already?”

“There’s only one way to prove me wrong,” you said, raising a shoulder.

He hummed in , barely audible, tilting his head.

Your body wasn’t as stiff, your mind as clouded with nerve as it had been in his passenger seat, though you blame it on his figure having been surrounded by comfort, familiarity, food he had eaten with your cutlery at your dining table and with a good word.

Perhaps that was why it had leaned the small distance towards his own, lips meeting the skin of his cheek and the stubble adorning it. The small smile that he reciprocated was something almost satisfactory, albeit a little bashful, as you put a hand against the door, not missing the brief dart of his eyes from yours to your lips and back again.

“Good night, Logan.”

“G’night.”

──────────────

It served as a harsh reminder, the honk that met your ears rather than the usual gentle birdsong. You cursed, shoving the window open with one hand and yelling a ‘give me a minute!’ as you hurriedly dressed in the dwindling dim of your bedroom; the memory that he was picking you up to get your car from the market came far too late for your liking as you made your way to the front door, grabbing the keys and about to say a rushed ‘goodbye’ when the absence of your mother made itself known, as well—she had left to visit her sister, and you noticed the familiar yellowed sheet lined with grooves from cherry staining fingertips placed at the counter.

He gave you an apologetic smile as he stood leaned against the passenger side, eyes following your rushing down the stairs, uncrossing his feet and opening the door for you.

“Too early?” There was humor in his words and the way he eyed the buttons left undone at your sternum.

“You told me you don’t work today,” you reasoned after he circled the hood, closing the driver’s-side door and adjusting the heating, catching your eyes as he did so.

“Early bird get’s the worm, or whatever,” he shrugged. “The worm’s your car.”

You rolled your eyes, though a tired yet amused smile was already at your lips. “I already own it.”

“Regardless.” He rolled out of your driveway, the morning sun through the windshield catching the silver of a ring at his pinky finger. “Don’t want anyone stealing it, do we?”

“No, sir,” you said, eating into this side of him like teeth against a sweet.

A smile akin to the one he adorned at your doorstep hours previously came across his face, and you returned one of your own, despite his eyes on the small bit of gravel road.

He worked as you watched from the wooden fencing behind him. “A simple fix,” he had deemed it, eyeing into the hood of your car. “Shouldn’t take longer than half an hour.”

Beneath gray cotton the plane of his back shifted and stretched. Though it wasn’t as cold as days prior, you noted the pink coming to at the shells of his ears.

“‘s it alright if I come by this afternoon to take a look at that shelf your mother was talking about?” He turned his head just enough to see you nod.

You told him you were going to walk around the market, just to see if there were any new jams or pastries shelved; he watched you leave.

Given the sun had only made its tired arrival a few hours prior, some items were still being arranged nicely atop the patterned cloths, labelled with notes marking the price. The jams were put with ribbons at the lids with their respecting fruit.

There were a few wildberry, a number of blackberry. As you read the labels on some of the fresher desserts, someone carried a crate of needed vegatables behind you; not before they asked if you were the one that came with Logan. You confirmed, wondering for a second if maybe he had work and simply lied, but they spoke before you could with a singular, almost dumbfounded laugh.

“You must’ve put him in some sort of spell,” they said, dropping the crate at a table in front of them and shoving it to the edge. They turned to face you, clapping their hands to dust off chips stuck to thin gloves. “I don’t think we’ve even heard more than a ‘good morning’ from him.”

You couldn’t figure out how to respond to such a blunt way of reiterating something you already knew, but perhaps it was because others had noticed it was you he chose to speak to, and you who implicitly invited him in your home, and you who were to do so again.

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That afternoon, you indulged in the sun that was filtered through the lace curtaining as you gathered cutlery and tins and bowls and plates. The quiet of the house was something you liked every once in a while, as it allowed you to imagine you were cooking for yourself rather than for two; something about only your word and teeth influencing the taste when you were to set up the dining table for yourself, lighting a candle to present a dinner for one was nice to admire.

But you weren’t, for the hammering persisted rooms over once more, a reminder that something sweet was to be offered to him this time.

You might have felt more at ease if he was your lover; you’d have enough tries at that point, perfected a recipe already perfected by your mother. Instead he would be second to cut the lattice for his own pleasure with a fork you would hand over to him—a part of you did not want to disappoint.

Blueberry had since settled into the skin of your fingertips, the backs of your hands, and it made you sigh. Logan, alongside yourself, was to be given this performance of sorts, an edible delicacy that you hadn’t even tasted yet. He might as well gauge sweat in the crust, nerved blood in the filling.

It was not that serious, you told yourself. Yet the fact that it was him made it so.

Something your mother had said to get a rise out of your tired state the night he had taken you home made you roll your eyes at the mere cantation in your head: ‘I saw the way he looked at you when he led you through the door, sat at the dining table; I’m sure he didn’t mind your car breaking down’.

The tin was placed into the oven, out of sight, out of mind. It was a little while later when he had stepped around the corner, familiar carpenter’s belt around his waist.

“Shouldn’t cause her any more trouble.” His voice was quiet as he ran a hand through his hair.

You turned to face him, gathering utensils and jars dirtied with ingredients and tossing them into the sink. “Thanks—let me get you a drink, hold on.”

Opening the upper cabinet, you hoped he didn’t catch the sigh that left your lips seeing the only glasses left lining the back of the wood.

But he did, and ever the gentleman, he was at your side with a clear of his throat.

“I’ll get it.” It came out in a near whisper, only for you to hear; not the already setting sun, not as a cue for the moon to bleed the kitchen a gentle white.

You let him. You felt the warmth of his figure as it stood close, akin to all the times prior, a hand just above the small of your back, not making contact but close enough, and the other reaching overhead. The glass chased the last streams of sunlight from the kitchen window, and rather than handing it to you, he set it on the countertop, the soft clink deafening in your ears.

He repositioned himself so he leaned against the counter, hands splayed behind him atop the surface, gesturing to the oven with a tilt of his head. “How’s the pie?”

You caught his eyes, hooded hazel, brushed your hands along your apron as a means to ease the wanting to guide his own back to where it was. “It looks good. Don’t know if you want to wait a little longer to eat it here—if anything you could always take it with you.”

He gave you a smile that was so sincere, so unashamedly forgiving, though for what, you thought, if not to insist you could stay for however long. “I can wait, if it’s alright with you.”

If you did as you wanted—keep your eyes on his—your knees were bound to give underneath you with the way he looked at you, a gentle accepting to waiting alongside you in your kitchen, such a sacred place. “Of course.”

He stayed in place, eyes following as you walked around him to put any last dishes into the sink and leaving them be, not feeling like touching anything else with a smooth finish.

“You can leave those in there,” you told him when you noticed him shift. “Rest for a while.”—directed at him and the dirty dishes. You reached behind yourself to grab the knot at your back, desperate to take the thing off with reasoning much like the pie in the oven—you hadn’t realized just how tightly you had wound the string.

And there he was, ever so reliable, behind you once more as he uttered an ‘I got it’ under his breath, putting his hands over yours and already beginning to unravel the knot himself.

Your previous thought still rang true, like a delicate synth prettily reverberating in your mind: this would be so much easier, bearable, if he were a lover, simply something more than a frequent acquaintance.

And perhaps he heard you, for his hands went to the strap around your neck, fingertips gently grazing against the junctures of your neck and shoulders.

“You should rest, too,” he mumbled as he lifted the fabric above your head, held it out for you. You took it in your hands, staring down at the fabric, what was left of the sun for the evening slithering through window and lace, joining flour and rich violet.

You muttered a ‘thanks’, a sigh. “I know.”

The kitchen fell quiet, not silent, for it contained the two of you; your passing breaths and pulsing heart comparable to the clatter of porcelain beneath familiar conversation.

Water from the tap directed your attention to the sink, where he suddenly stood pouring himself the glass, taking a sip; water hitting the sides of the house came like an afterthought.

It might as well have been his doing, such perfect timing, with the way he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “D’you know it was s’posed to rain?”

You shook your head. You took it as an attempt to cover the tension that how hung heavy in the air, a rhythmic tune to combat the beat of your pulse and the itch that resided in your hands.

──────────────

Blueberry bubbling warmed in pastry spilled into the wood of the kitchen and his nose; he let out a hum at the smell from where the two of you sat on the floor against the cabinets across from each other, his body next to the oven. He pushed his sleeves up, similar to when he stood at the sink with hands of lavender, from the heat that crept as company to the finished taste.

“You ok with me being the first to taste it?” he asked with a nod in your direction, something adjacent to surprise, or disbelief in his voice.

You furrowed a brow—“I never saw what you did to that shelf.”—in reference to the hint your mother had made.

“Feel free to take a look for yourself,” he crossed his arms as if to imply he wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t done a perfect job.

You hummed. “I better not have to call you back here in a week, then.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

A flush betrayed your skin; you hated its response. “So you made it worse, is what I’m hearing.”

He tongued at his cheek, fighting a smile yet narrowing his eyes and shrugging a shoulder. “Define ‘worse’.”

“It’s definitely what you’ll be feeling after you leave without that pie you want so bad,” you said, standing up to check on the oven, adjusting the dish towel that hung from the handle. You let out a small hum at the golden color that blossomed along the crust.

You took it out with delicate hands, the metal of the tin clattering with the stovetop.

“We’ll let it cool.” A declaration implying more wait—though he didn’t seem to mind, if his following your actions and standing behind you with hooded eyes was any indication.

“Looks good.”

You gave him a small, satisfasfied smile, though not necessarily from his words but at the dessert in front of that did, much to your relief, look good. You stayed admiring the work made from your hands to be eaten by them, alongside another whose familiar cigar smoke slowly paired with blueberry; it made a nicer blend than lavender.

It was similar to when he had spoken to you first, the smell of other fruits stuck to his clothing enticing you to reach out and distinguish which ones were where—you were close to acting upon intrigue. You figured he was too, for he did not move—except for one part you could see out of your peripheral.

His voice was soft as he asked: “Is this okay?” He was referring to the hand smoothing over the countertop to rest next to yours, the skin just barely meeting.

You nodded—“Yeah.”—hated the breathy delivery of your response; he hadn’t even done anything, but you wanted to put the same hands that made a necessity sweet upon him, a blunt want and nothing more than to satiate an ache not riddled in your stomach.

His voice was much closer, a little deeper, almost timid in its hushed delivery.

“Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

His kisses were slow, trailing up, up to just below your ear. The hair cut at his cheek left a delicate burn along the skin, yet you leaned your head back to his chest without a second thought.

“Here?” His question was asked along the skin of your cheek, your head tilting as if lured, enchanted by his words. One hand set itself on your hip.

You mumbled an ‘mhm’, resting a hand atop his own; he draped the one on the counter over yours, lacing the fingers. His fingertips were calloused, a welcomed touch akin to natural skin encasing an apple, rough yet promising.

He placed a kiss to your cheek, the corner of your lips; you could feel a small smile stretch across his.

You spoke before he could ask, eyes shut and a gentle nod: “Don’t be such a tease.”

He let out an exhale, amused at your words. “My bad, sweetheart.”

At his lips on yours, you turned around, putting the hand alongside his at your hip to his cheek; he threaded the other in a similar fashion atop the counter. He kissed with a gentle fervor, a low hum coming from his throat when you combed a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. Denim slotted between your legs, an offering to the lust leaking into your blood.

His nose pushed at yours as he tilted his head, quickening to placing pecks to your lips so you could catch the breath he had taken from your lungs. The moon peeking as if with curiosity from behind roaming clouds and lace shrouded his figure in alluring white, accenting the beginnings of a flush to his skin.

He bowed his head to your neck once more, biting the skin and leaving a kiss in its place.

With fog from his touch contaminating your brain, the blueberry baked into pastry snuck into your nose.

Logan put his hands underneath your thighs and lifted your body without hesitation, pressing a kiss to your sternum and mumbling into the skin a claim that he hoped you wouldn’t mind him indulging in something sweeter.

And you didn’t, laying back as he bit and kissed at skin like a man starved, holding you down against your sheets with gentle drags of his palms. The insides of your thighs burned, sweat dotting the fabric underneath you; he insisted a second with praise for the first.

#my works #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfic #logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #wolverine x y/n #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfic #wolverine x reader smut #wolverine smut

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ybklix · 5 months ago

Text

you can be the boss

★ pairing: softdom!chrisbang x inexperiencedfem!reader part one / PART TWO

☆summary: The hot summer continues with more lies and uncontrollable experiences that you never know exactly how they will end.

✧ genre - warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, daddy kink, spanking, clitplay, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, pet names, multiple orgasms, tiny bit angst

word count: 8k

masterlist - taglist ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

It was either going to be a very long and beautiful summer or a fateful and hopeless one.

After that night your body was sore, it was only soft and sweet when you asked but upon asking him to do it fast there was no turning back. It was late at night and you both had to go back to your rooms as someone was waiting for you there when you woke up. Chris hugged and kissed you sweetly stroking your hair for a while until you could control yourself from something that seemed uncontrollable, your body destroyed but absolutely filled in pleasure and satisfaction, it had only happened once that you wanted to become addicted, his strong arms on your naked body made you think you always belonged there. Tormented you wondered why you had to meet him like this and not do it on your own, without him being involved in a compromising situation.

Chris looked at you fondly, all of you were struggling to recover and gently told you that you could discuss everything in the afternoon in his office, where most of the time Ruby won’t interrupt or bother him… and him mentioning her and you hearing her name, you almost came back to all your senses, wanting to tell and reproach yourself what you had done, what were you thinking having sex with your aunt’s boyfriend but… once again, being wrapped in his arms those questions and blames were meaningless, you liked Chris and he was treating you very well, you didn’t understand what was wrong with that.

And then, something that excited you slightly again but you hid it in a soft smile, Chris whispering sweetly to you:

“I want to try so many things with you. I’ll make you feel so good.”

You weren’t that naive, but when it came to Chris you suddenly became just that. You were so excited about all the things he could do to you and everything you could do with him -and his big cock-, you never thought you’d find yourself in a situation where you were actually incredibly horny. However you were also a little disappointed that your horniness won you over completely, enough to cheat like that on a woman who has been nothing but nice to you since she met you and opened you up to her family, as much as to trust you and show you her new boyfriend which this time she was hopeful and excited about, and to have unprotected sex with him. You wanted to self-manipulate, convincing yourself that the pill would work its magic and you would be more aware next time, not to stop fucking Chris, just doing it with protection next time, you just couldn’t stop now you had him.

The next morning you avoided everyone’s gaze, you felt too dirty and embarrassed to even look at Liv, for as much as she said she would love to fuck Chris, she would never do it and it was just a little joke, instead you, took the little jokes to another level, he had a girlfriend and was someone you knew very closely.

Still there was a force that drew you to him, and there you were, going to his office in a very strategic and hidden room in his house at the end of that hallway. Ruby started a pilates class and Minho was going to distract Liv, the details of which Chris wanted to avoid in knowing how he would do it. Chris confessed to him a little ashamed of what had happened and of the words that suddenly came out of his mouth that night, he might have been a little drunk but he remembered every detail of what had happened a few hours ago, which he was grateful for, he had never felt like that before. Minho encouraged him a little, telling him that if it was you who he really wanted, that breakups exist for a reason with no problem, that Ruby was his girlfriend of just months and they didn’t in itself have a wedding plan, at least not for Chris, while he also told him that he felt slightly guilty, he always had different sexual partners at the same time, but when he was in a relationship it was common sense that he was devoted to that person, but now, it just seemed to change.

Now he was in his office, sitting on the couch, with his ankle on his thigh, one hand on his mouth and one on his thigh, waiting for you, in a pensive mode. His mind was spinning, thinking what would be the ideal thing to do, he was immensely fond of Ruby, but all he could think of was the also immense desire he had to meet you, something about you appealed to him so much, he wanted you for himself.

His mind didn’t seem to be quiet until you appeared there, standing in front of his door, locking the door so as not to be interrupted. You smiled at him and he returned the gesture immediately; you watched him, he looked incredibly dominant in that position, with his index and middle finger wagging in indication for you to approach him, in contrast to his soft, sweet expression, with his eyes sparkling at the sight of you dressed comfortably in a white ruffled skirt and a thin strappy blouse of the same color with a cute little cherries print detail on it.

Chris lowered his leg and looked at you with fascination as you stood nearby, raising his eyes.

“Hey,” you greeted shyly with a smile, about to not do such a shy act.

You leaned on his shoulders and settled on top of him, facing each other. Chris smiled and quickly grabbed you by the waist. He took a closer look at you, you were wearing a thin silver necklace, earrings and no bra, Chris could see how slightly your soft nipples were marked on the fabric of your blouse and his mind quickly thought that you were most likely just wearing your panties under your skirt, turning him on in seconds, but before touching you, he wanted to talk a little serious.

“Hey my babygirl” he returned your greeting, to which you softly bit your lip as you finally heard his voice.

The image of him and your weak body being taken and fucked lived in your mind forever, exciting every inch of you, you wanted to do it every time and this time you didn’t want to have to share it with another woman.

Chris sighed a little frustrated, confusing you a little.

“What’s wrong, Chris?” you asked him genuinely concerned.

The answer was obvious, you were on his lap, at his disposal and more than agreeable to him taking you and doing with you whatever he wanted, but you were a guest in his house, and niece of his girlfriend; about to fuck behind her back while the poor woman wasn’t home. Chris tightened his grip on your waist and began to caress your thighs, thinking it wasn’t fair, to anyone, but you had absolutely not a drop of blood in your young body that tied you to Ruby and god, Chris could see how different the two of you were. You has this power over him, there was something about you that drove him crazy in seconds and yesterday he only discovered a part of it, but he was still trying to figure it out because… how he confessed he liked you just days after meeting you and normally it wasn’t something he would do, he was a righteous guy who knew himself very well, he knew he would never go for women that young and he had never cheated in his relationships, but there you were, looking at him so sweetly that you made him melt with your delicate body on his.

But looking directly into his eyes changes everything about him, you make him go from one emotion to another in seconds and he loves that. Your look so mischievous yet innocent, he wanted to destroy every part of your body and then hold you tightly until he felt every beat of your heart close to him. He wanted that little part of you to never end, it was enough with the slightest thing to fall before you, Chris just needed a sign, and you gave it to him so divinely.

“Y/n” he spoke seriously, capturing your attention completely, “I meant what I said last night, I can still remember everything” you looked at him confused and then your cheeks started to heat up, as you immediately thought about the little sentence he suddenly blurted out and you didn't want to make a big deal out of it, because deep down you could believe that it was just about sex and a part of you was fine with that, as much as you wanted everything with Chris, “…I do like you and I’d like to get to know you better” he finished sweetly.

You couldn’t help but smile broadly with satisfaction and shifted slightly more on his lap like a happy little girl getting good news. His caresses became more consistent Chris loved touching every part of you and he smiled back at you, watching you tenderly.

You watched him, every part of him was a dream, you liked him too from the first moment you saw him, you never thought it would all be so fast and end up consuming you viciously.

“I like you too” you replied, but a silence that was short seconds but somehow seemed longer came over you, “… but, what shall we do now?” your question was so genuine and came out naturally, almost making you look innocent.

“Don’t worry” he whispered softly as he saw your slight frown and your lips in a soft pout, Chris wanted to kiss them and the fact that he could now do it whenever he wanted to, but unfortunately only on the sly, made his insides burn, “We just met at a weird time in our lives. I’ll wait these next few weeks for when your family-, her family leaves and I’ll break up with her.”

Chris said it so matter-of-factly that you were shocked by the fact that he was going to leave her but a part of you was so glad that… he was going to leave her for you. Still, after so many fantasies that finally came true the slight guilt came to you, Chris noticed, you were with your own war of emotions, whether to feel happy, guilty, confused; you over thought the fact that if he was unfaithful to Ruby and if he starts dating you, maybe he could do the same, you didn’t know what to feel, but Chris only returned to hold you tighter, you looked so cute thinking, to him.

“It’ll be all right, really. We’ll get to know each other more and I’ll be here for you” he commented, smiling as his hands traveled dangerously to massage your ass.

You decided to shove the thoughts away and focused on him, as you nodded softly, sticking your body more towards him unconsciously, ready to be kissed, but Chris came closer to your ear, with his body full of arousal and with a husky voice he whispered, following his hot game that put you in such a uniquely horny mode:

“Daddy’s here for you, baby doll. I’ll make you happy, my pretty baby. I’ve got everything under control, so don’t worry. Do you trust me?”

You stood still, listening intently to every word that came out of his attractive mouth with his also attractive voice and shuddered in seconds, making your poor inexperienced pussy and emotions throb to the surface. Chris slowly pulled away from you with a cocky grin and raising his eyebrows waiting for a response from you, licking his lips as he watched you wanting to hide your excited expression and feeling your body giving in to him and his caresses, you were already slightly trembling and he was barely squishing your ass with his big hands.

“Yes daddy” you tried to speak normally as you were dying to kiss him.

Chris nodded softly, losing himself with his hands on your body, caressing everything and making his arousal rise, stiffening his cock at the thought of having you again, with the taste in his mouth that every encounter with you would be better than the last. It would surpass every expectation in him.

He squeezed your ass again, his hands traveling from your thighs to under your skirt, pulling your body into him and squeezing hard making you sigh in surprise.

“You’re a naughty little doll, why are you only wearing panties under your skirt, huh? Is it for daddy or do you go around teasing daddy’s friend too?” Chris spoke again seductively teasing you, raising his eyes and chin to look at you since you were slightly taller being on his lap.

You blinked in confusion, understanding that he meant Minho, to which you quickly denied.

“No daddy, just for you.”

Chris smiled again, licking his lips and biting his lower lip, his large hands took your buttocks almost in their entirety and played with your skin, massaging and spreading them apart, pushing the fabric of your panties further between your folds and making you bite your lip to keep from letting out a moan.

“Is my baby all excited to have her daddy, isn’t she?” he spoke amused, playing with his tongue on the inside of his mouth and you nodded somewhat exasperated.

You were slowly losing patience, your heart was pounding and your pussy was so wet and slippery from your constant lubrication, you needed him again so badly and him talking slightly dirty referring to him as daddy only helped in making you more restless, fantasizing about being more than filled again with his massive cock.

“Stand up a little… like this, on your knees, good girl” he ordered taking you by the waist so that you lifted your body still over him.

Chris quickly pulled down your panties leaving them halfway down your thighs and making you gasp, he boldly eyed your body and lifted your skirt a moment to lose his sight on your open pussy, with your knees on either side of his thighs, biting his lip at the sight of your mons venus and your slightly visible labia. Chris’s cock throbbed trapped in his pants and he grunted subtly. You watched him, with your hands on his shoulders and looking down at him from above, weak and quivering full of sexual energy ready to be slowly released by your new lover.

He brought his fingertips to your pussy, gently brushing your length, shuddering every inch of your body and contracting your body, Chris found himself absorbed in the sight of your pussy, but as he felt your body spasming over his, he quickly raised his gaze to your face. And he left your pussy, wet and exposed to direct his hands to your torso, stroking it up and down until he slowly pulled up your blouse and you let him remove it, tossing it carefree to the side.

The whole process was so hot and slow, your body couldn’t contain it, you were going to explode with excitement if that was even possible, you felt incredibly impatient but at the same time you were enjoying every little moment and new sensation in you.

Chris’ face was almost level with your bare breasts which he watched with fascination but didn’t touch, making your nipples hard at everything you were waiting for, waiting to be touched by him on every part of you.

“Babygirl, take off your skirt for me, come on, let me touch you better” he commented, staring into your eyes.

You sighed and stood up, standing in front of him, about to slide your skirt off until he interrupted again.

“Do it slow, show me everything that is mine that I can’t wait to have…”

His voice ignited everything about you and you did your best to obey him, swaying your hips seductively as you slid off your skirt until you let it fall to the floor; you noticed how Chris indicated for you to come closer and you did, he by himself slid your panties completely off, finally leaving you naked.

“Fuck” he whispered with a noticeable pain in his cock at not being released and attended on, “Come here again, princess, just as you were.”

You smiled happily, once you were naked there was no turning back, you knew he could do with you whatever he wanted and pleased. You positioned yourself again and the first thing he says to you, sweetly is:

“Kiss me now, baby doll.”

You didn’t know why you felt particularly nervous about that request when you were already naked on top of him with his hands on your waist. You again held him tightly by his shoulders and leaned into him, closing your eyes and in search of an act as intimate and necessary for both of you as kissing was. You intertwined your lips making the act so slow and fiery, hearing in the silence of the room your heavy breaths and your mouths colliding, you gently moved your body with excitement as you enjoyed Chris’ hands on you, from your thighs to moving up your waist and massage your breasts, today you were being touched with attention and care without taking a second off him, tasting his tongue and lips while you gently tilted your head to adapt to his delightful pace.

Your body was losing strength and you wrapped your arms around his neck, stroking his hair, giving in to the most sensual make out session that made your skin tingle, but you regained all your energy when you felt his right hand caress your pussy wrapping around your ass. You parted and Chris saw you with a smile as your face was starting to be a mess, flushed, with your lips swollen and trying not to be so obvious that you were loving the feel of his fingers touching your cunt.

Chris with his long fingers found your sensitive spot, taking it with his middle and index finger while his thumb played with your labia and kept teasing your entrance. You shuddered again, sighing softly as he enjoyed teasing you. Chris panted, his erection again was bothering him as it was so tight in his pants, but he didn’t want to move until he was making you enjoy yourself fully, playing with your clit and teasing your entrance with his thumb, inserting it shallowly and moistening it to move it to your sensitive, throbbing labia. You were enjoying them more and more, relaxing your body and letting yourself be pleasured by him, Chris bit his lip and continued to work on your pussy slowly, in a wonderful rhythm that made all your hairs stand on end, he was doing it so well, but he was so incredibly aroused that in slightly awkward movements he returned to kissing your skin, trapping your breast in his mouth, enjoying the sensation of having his mouth busy and his fingers making you feel good, almost you trembling before him.

He gently sucked on your nipple causing you to shiver, you were being a mess of excitement just now as his lips continued to stick to your skin, leaving little marks to finally raise his gaze again and watch you struggle to stay calm, but you couldn’t. Chris drew a big smile on his face again, he caressed your naked torso with his free hand before suddenly starting to spank you and squeezing your buttock, stimulating you further.

You moaned from the impact of his hand with your ass, his smacks were more pleasurable than painful and left your skin tinged red so you groaned in surprise every time you received them; Chris was starting to change the pace and get a little wilder with his movements on your pussy which was bringing you closer to your orgasm, making you restless and pushing you to your limit. He just watched your panting body with amusement, his hand kept slapping your ass and squeezing the injured area, flinching each time, he finally stopped spanking you, to bring the fingers of that hand to your entrance, he raised his eyebrows, almost warning you that he was about to insert them into you, making you gasp loudly, even his fingers were filling you so perfectly. Chris pushed his fingers into your tight entrance, biting his lip as he explored your insides causing his cock to throb with more intensity, so close to his climax in his pants.

His hand kept attending to your sensitive clit at the same time the other was frantically acting on your core bringing your climax closer. You whimpered softly at being touched so strategically, weakening you, straining your muscles so close to your culmination.

“Oh c’mon, are you gonna cum?” his voice thickened and seemed more demanding than a question.

You nodded with difficulty, your body was filling with an incredible knot that you had never felt so intensely before Chris and that only he was capable of achieving in you. He moved his fingers in you harder, reaching to a sweet spot in your inside making you unable to hold back anymore and you released in an orgasm, cumming out into his hand; you had no idea how he accomplished it but your body reacted that way, embarrassing you a little as you faded into the incredible sensation of your climax.

“Oh, sweetie, you made a mess” he said again, looking at you with pity and tenderness.

You didn’t think you were capable of doing something like that so your cheeks grew warm.

“I’m sorry” you suddenly got shy, after being the one to first seek him out in the first place, sneaking up to where he was and proposing something indecent to him, just a few hours ago in the late hours of the night.

Chris let out a chuckle, licking his lips as he pulled his fingers out of you.

“It’s okay. Good girl” he said contentedly elongating his words, “Now sit down and let daddy clean up the mess you left, my pretty baby.”

You looked up at him with tired eyes and felt his hands on your waist and his body move; Chris left you sitting on the couch as he got on his knees in front of you, spreading your legs apart with his hands and you were extremely sure of what he was going to do. His mouth moved to your pussy, pulling your body towards him to better settle in, you sighed, once again excited at what awaited you as with him it was a continuous series of thrills and new experiences that you never wanted to end.

He stared into your eyes as his mouth and tongue caught your clit, you bit your lip to keep from bursting out a little squeal, you were so excited but at the same time you were thinking about more people around his house. Chris sucked on your clit and did it harder intentionally as he felt his aching cock spurting out his cum, indicating that he had reached his first climax just by touching you and tasting a little bit of you. Chris loved touching you in spots that stimulated you enough to shudder, he could play with you all day long. You gasped at your clit being foreplayed sizzlingly and Chris continued with his face shoved in your pussy, licking the entire length of your labia and stimulating you to perfection until he made you arch your back, once again you both found yourselves incredibly horny, you were so wet, enjoying every second until he spoke again:

“I want you to ride my cock, princess, I think your pretty pussy is ready, hmm” he suddenly warned, pulling away from you and leaving you exasperated, he had just left you very lubricated and aroused.

Chris stood up, still well erect despite having cum, he wasn’t going to be satisfied until he used your pussy, putting his big bulge in his crotch on sight for your sore eyes, you looked at him eagerly and your mouth salivated as he did the so dirty hot act with his big veiny hands, which you lost your sight in them, unable to believe they were those attractive big hands touching you; Chris unbuttoned his pants and took them off along with his underwear to reveal his incredible cock already covered in his own cum and wiggling as if it was such a natural thing for him, and he fell back on the couch, sighing tiredly, but more than alive, ready for you to take him with effort.

You sighed half-heartedly and nervously that it would be your first time riding a cock and all you could think was that you wanted to make it the best for Chris and that he wouldn’t regret being the one you chose.

“Mmm… Daddy do you have a condom?”

He smiled at you, “Smart baby. They’re in the second drawer of my desk.”

You were so nervous, the condom was almost an excuse to generate time. Chris watched you tenderly as you reached for the condom and shyly walked a few steps naked into his office. Finally you returned to position yourself on his lap, he looked so relaxed and dominant with his stiff erect cock, watching in detail and tenderness every action you made as Chris had a dirty fantasy of destroying your pussy and the innocence you suddenly radiated.

“Mmm, fuck baby, wrap it on me now, please” he gasped slightly desperate.

You on the other hand wanted to keep acting as natural as possible without him being able to tell you had never done it before. Still, Chris could read you so easily and watched as you opened the wrapper with uncertainty. He licked his lips, gently biting his tongue as he was being attacked for controlling his urges, his urge to take you desperately and fuck you. Chris sucked air between his teeth and tilted his head, giving you his patience as he watched in detail what you were doing, to finally you place it so nicely, unwrapping it down his length and making him sigh which got your attention and you looked into his eyes, almost expecting to be approved but he saw your hands on his cock and then stared at you.

Chris almost in a reflex placed his hand on your cheek, holding you gently and looking at you tenderly, his eyes dark with desire but bright with the incredible feeling you made him sense, he involved feelings and there was nothing he could do, his heart was pounding in his chest and all he could think about was you.

“Alright, babygirl, take me” he sighed aroused and genuinely excited to have you close to him and for you to finally work on his cock.

You sketched a smile, sexual excitement took over your body and your pussy reacted by throbbing every muscle in it, almost screaming to be filled by him.

You took his hard penis almost halfway down his length, wrapped in the thin latex, and lifted your body, lining up your entrance at his tip and letting your body fall, you both made your respective sounds on the spot, you whimpered holding back, trying to adjust to his size stretching every part of you, and Chris for his part grunted again in relief, sucking air between his teeth, so pleased to feel his cock shoved into your soft, wet core, so deep and squeezing his member, almost smothering it in an infuriatingly pleasurable sensation.

“Ahh ah, you’re so big, daddy, fuck” you babbled in pain, dropping your body lower and lower until you caught his cock completely and enveloped it all over your newly used and pleasured —and slightly shattered— tight conduct, just for him.

Chris hummed in satisfaction and you stood still for a second, catching your breath, getting used to the new sensation of his big cock inside you, and watched him, he looked so fucking handsome, waiting with a sweet but penetrating look for you to move on your own in him; you inspected him and became more aroused at the thought of seeing him naked too as he had a dream body, to which you almost in a whisper asked him:

“Daddy, take it off too” you said, tugging at his shirt.

Chris giggled, “Whatever my baby asks, who wants to see her daddy all to herself.”

You subtly bit your lip and watched as carefully that he didn’t bump into you, Chris raised his strong arms, pulled off his shirt, and tossed it carelessly to the side. You saw his body brazenly, his prominent and marked pecs and abdomen, he was all a dream your sex throbbed again already with his cock inside. Chris smiled small and shyly, as he watched your delicate hands pass in comparison to his upper limbs, caressing with fascination his biceps area where on his slightly pale skin his veins were visible and bulging, you squeezed them a little and, in a gasp you pressed his chest to yours, wrapping your arm around the back of his neck, joining your ear to his cheek while with your other hand, you rested on one of his pecs, with some struggling but incredibly full of pleasure and inner fire, you began to move on his cock, causing both of you to moan.

Chris quickly wrapped his forearm around your ass, leaving his hand on your hip. The other one hugged you from your back, pulling you closer to his body, crushing your breasts into his chest and intensifying each deep thrust you had as he lifted your body and ass, sliding his great length in and some of it out until he found a rhythm between some pain, struggles, and ragged breaths. Your insides were squeezing his cock like they had never been before and Chris kept fantasizing about the fact that maybe the concept of innocence he had of you exceeded his expectations. Chirs was being fucking sweetly tortured, he was panting, seeing stars, lost with his chin on your shoulder inhaling your scent, and listening to every sweet moan of your adored body, he was being pleasured and stimulated to the limit.

“Ahh fuck, my babygirl, you feel sso fucking good, I fucking adore your tight pussy, ooh-my—, you’re doing great."

You were a mess, moaning in his ear as your frail body was being supported by Chris’ strength, moving your body up and down, in motions rubbing your whole pussy inside his cock and almost splitting you in two at the intense new sensation. You loved his moans close to your ear and the notorious pumping veins of his sex throbbing inside you. Chris slowly released you from his strong grips that left marks on your skin from the pressure delivered and massaged your ass and then placed his hands on your hips, he now being the one to enjoy his private show of you bouncing on his cock. You understood his action and intention instantly, so using all your strength and common senses, you began to move on him, with frantic and imperfectly persistent movements, you slid his length into your walls leaving you sweetly sore but after a while your poor pussy adapted to perfection, hearing your skins bump as you reached deep from time to time with his latex covered glans tickling your cervix, along with awkward and tender sporadic kisses. After minutes of whimpering, you were so close to your orgasm as well as he was, whose cock had been pumped and foreplayed just enough, Chris was about to explode in his second orgasm also filling the whole damn condom, but he noticed you stopped a moment, tired, when he wouldn’t even let you recover for a second, just like last night; Chris was always going to make sure to make you cum, beg and rejoice in pleasure, of that you could be sure.

“Aw, is my pretty baby tired? Let daddy take care of you, I’ll make you cum.”

His words rocked you, he spoke to you in exactly the same tone of voice as last night, whispering to you that he still wasn’t done with you after your body was exhausted and he continued to unload his energy into you, using you for pleasure, filling you with it too in the process.

Chris braced himself, his strong right arm went back around your back and his left hand held your buttock, you stayed still, he held you still, waiting for his next move and pulling your body off a little to see his concentrated face and then he began to lift his hips, collapsing his pelvis intensely and rapidly into your skin, making the act so hectic, desperate and sonorous. Chris gasped in pleasure, filling his body with his near orgasm and your breathless whimpers each time he rammed hard and deep into your pussy leaving you shocked, his thrusts were desperate but coordinated in a pace that weakened you and left you out of breath. His big length was sliding inside you without mercy, he had an exquisite control of his body and was strong enough to hold you while he kept penetrating you, moving your insides, pushing your cervix more and more, you felt your guts being brutally moved and that made you incredibly horny somehow.

You whimpered louder as you felt yourself being brutally pounded, filling the room with a bestial and erotic scene, your weak body surrendered to him, begging for the pleasure that suddenly filled every inch, with your moans, his babbling and your skins collapsing in the background. If anyone came near Chris’ office door they could be an audible witness to the grotesque sounds of the two of you.

“Shh shh, babygirl, keep a little quiet, okay? Just today baby, remember we’re not alone” Chris mumbled panting, turning you on more at the thought of fucking him secretly.

You bit your lip hard, almost making it bleed, your face and hair were a mess as was the rest of your satisfied and aching body. Your exposed breasts rubbed against his pecs hardening your nipples as your body moved intensely. Chris licked his lips, running the tip of tongue naughtily across his upper lip savoring your sweet orgasm as he felt your walls squeeze him hard, you endured quite a few hard thrusts from Chris, sweetly destroying your pussy, you endured enough to collapse into him, hugging him tightly and clenching his torso with your bent thighs and falling into an intense climax.

Chris smiled satisfied and proud and rammed your tired body a couple more times until he made himself cum inside you, this time in the condom.

You were both shaken and tired, without the slightest hint of guilt in your system, only lust and desire for each other, sharing ragged breaths, with your exhausted body on top of him, and your face resting on his muscular shoulder.

Chris stroked your back again, moving up to caress your hair, feeling your breath on his chest.

After a few moments he dared to speak:

“I’m sorry we have to do it here, you really deserve the best, babygirl.”

His words touched your heart and you played with his slightly curly hair at the back of his neck. Just thinking about him.

[…]

The rest of your weeks were just as hot as the exasperating weather. And you both came up with a plan, where you convinced your dad to leave Chris’ house a few weeks early, with the excuse that you had been selected for a few courses before the new semester started and you had to have accessibility to your university as soon as possible, to which your dad and Dahlia agreed to leave instantly without hesitation, arguing that your education was of the utmost importance, plus the only reason they were there was because you were having fun with Liv, once you left, Liv would soon ask her mother to leave too, since it would be pointless to stay there without you, besides Minho, but it was going to look too obvious that she wanted to stay. Then Minho would leave without a problem. You guys leaving would left Chris and Ruby alone, in an environment where Chris could finally break up with her.

And so they did, it was a very big break up for Ruby, but you didn’t want to know the details so you didn’t comment on it, let alone didn’t want to hear it from Chris, yet you heard it in the foreground from Liv, texting you and saying a bit apologetically: I really feel bad for her, she looked a bit delusional. Ruby was devastated, wondering if she had done something wrong or if suddenly inviting her family had been too soon and if it secretly irritated him, she really didn’t want to leave Chris, but she had noticed him distant at his house for a while now and always brought up as an excuse that he didn’t feel private enough to fuck her when previously he could do it with her so rashly wherever, they used to be so hot and close and a few days into spending the summer at his house everything about him suddenly changed.

You felt bad but you forgot about it once your dad bought the story of going back to college and, while they thought you were studying those weeks before your real semester started, you spent all your time with Chris going on all kinds of dates and exploring each other’s bodies, discovering more and more new and exciting positions and emotions you never thought you’d be able to experience this soon.

Things were going pretty well, he treated you like a princess, he showered you with gifts and each time he took you to different places to end the day in a fiery and exquisite sex, to start it the same way when you went to stay at his apartment, where it was your new meeting place as you felt that his summer home after all was… even though it was alone, you felt that there were ghosts, some better than others, of you and Chris having fun around his house sneaking around every corner you saw alone, but that there was also present a painful breakup along with the broken heart of a woman who should not have ended up like this. There were nights when, after culminating in an intense orgasm, you tried to recover in Chris’ arms, with your face on his chest feeling his heavy breathing and you could only think and think… that maybe the one who should be there was not you, but if you were not with Chris what sense would your life have, since he gave it a new meaning.

But it all got a little complicated when you were quietly shopping with Chris as he swore he was going to cook for you something delicious. You never thought he was that much of a homely guy, but he was, he was sweeter and softer than you thought and he had a soft spot for you, everything you said he would deliver, so you wanted to stop going to restaurants for a moment and enjoy his company in a sweet and silly moment together cooking. Plus you had gone back to college and the first week of classes was already getting on your nerves, but your very kind man who knows exactly what to do with you was going to take that weight and stress off your shoulders by having a nice time and then letting the situation take care of itself.

Grocery shopping was not much in fitting with Chris' image, however he, sweetly leaned over to put his chin on your shoulder, watching you debate over which can to take, to which he pointed to the one you were holding in your left hand, causing you so much tenderness at his closeness and smell, however you were heavily interrupted as you heard such a familiar voice that he instantly recognized.

“Chris?” she spoke.

He cursed internally and had no choice but to face her, turning around and finding his ex-girlfriend. Ruby took a confused look at your silhouette with your back turned, you looked so familiar to her but she wasn’t thinking straight as she realized Chris was already with someone else.

“Hey, Ruby. What are you doing here?” he greeted, falsely happy with a smile, more uncomfortable about the situation.

You were curious as soon as his name was called, but you remembered something else from shopping that you stood there, returning the can you held in your right hand and putting the other one in the shopping cart. But hearing Chris say her name you almost broke out in a cold sweat… you guessed the moment would come but you didn't imagine it would be so fast, you sighed thinking about how you had to face it and the world would move on just the same after your meeting and she finds out you're with Chris, move on so unimportantly it would just be an awkward afternoon and you'll still be with Chris afterwards.

“I like coming here since you recommended it to me. I see you're already in company” she said again, in a fake animated tone.

Ruby noticed him nervous, not knowing how to evade the situation, feeling bad that maybe he didn't even want to see her. But it was true, it was Chris' favorite place to buy his groceries and he had shown it to his ex-girlfriend too because it was so commonplace to him. Big mistake for her, although deep down she hoped that one day she could meet Chris alone and from there keep talking, but in her imagination there was a scenario where he was by himself.

Ruby was dying of curiosity to know who the girl was that Chris was so smitten with with his body attached to hers from behind. It all happened in quick seconds even though it seemed like tormenting hours of suspense. She never thought he would break up with her because there was someone else, it had barely been weeks and he seemed to be over her already.

“Yeah, well…” commented Chris.

You acted fast, turning around with grace that even made you look attractive and revealing your face, she got the immense and indescribable surprise that it was you. Her blood pressure dropped from her body, of all people she never expected to see you.

“Ah, hi Ruby, I ran into Chris too” you said trying to sound so natural, sketching a smile.

Ruby's world stopped for a second and you didn't have to be stupid enough to believe the obvious lie, you were together, there was no doubt about it. She had just watched as Chris positioned himself behind your body confidently, his hand gently on your waist and hunching down to let his chin rest on your shoulder.

She blinked in puzzlement, formulating all sorts of thoughts and ideas in seconds that made her uneasy, how was it that something suddenly came up between you, if you met when she introduced you, or so she wanted to believe, she thought about the possibility that you had met before, and the possibility of infidelity, but Ruby wanted to believe you, thinking that maybe you started right after their separation, it still seemed foolishly ridiculous and so soon.

“Why would you come here? The university is all the way across the city and you don't live nearby” was all she could say.

She read both of your expressions, tense and not knowing what to do.

“It's a trendy place…” you replied, to which Chris sighed.

“Are you two together? Since when?” she spoke a little beaten, anger filling her body.

Now she was judging you with her eyes, she was no longer a sad, blank stare, she wanted to kill you both.

“It was after we broke up” Chris answered him.

Your heart stopped for a moment as you finally heard his confession. You weren't exactly together, but you were exclusive to each other and did all sorts of activities.

Ruby smiled incredulously and unwilling to listen, she said:

“Sure, the thirty-something guy changes the woman close to his age for someone younger. Good luck with that.”

She walked away, glaring at you, she was unwilling to hear more about an affair with a college girl that seemed ridiculous to her, she thought you wouldn't last and that Chris was just using you to satisfy himself sexually and rejoice in your youth and slight innocence. She even felt bad for you, she was still devastated.

At first it was that for Chris but he was genuinely interested in you, putting aside everything that was once he established for himself: do not date young women because they were still immature and naive, including some who still relied heavily on their parents, which he was fine with, but moderately so.

You felt bad and judged, it was obvious that Chris was older and more mature than you, but he understood you so well, he treated you and made you feel good, besides people after thirty were not an retired old man, why judge you that way.

Chris didn't mind Ruby at all and turned to see you, noticing your crestfallen expression, he knew that by publicly walking around together at some point in your lives someone was going to notice.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” he whispered to you.

To which you nodded and evaded him by excusing yourself with finishing grocery shopping. On the way there he saw you just as pensive; Chris decided to talk gently to you, but he didn't know what your reaction would be so he didn't want to do it in the car in case the conversation escalated and could turn into your first argument. He wanted his attention completely on you and driving would affect that.

You helped him bring down the groceries once you got to his apartment and on the way in the elevator you sighed. You never cared what others might say but today in particular it affected you a little, enough that you didn't speak to Chris the whole time.

You left the groceries on the marble countertop and picked up your cell phone wanting to distract yourself a little. Chris sighed, walked over to you putting his hands on your waist and made you look at him with a:

“Hey, look at me” your eyes met his, everything about him was your weakness, suddenly you were shaking, “We both knew this was going to happen, we just didn't know when and it was going to be unexpected. Don't care what people think, I'm here with you… do you want to stay here with me?”

You looked him in the eye the whole time. You literally didn't care the first time you had sex with him, you were a virgin and he had a girlfriend… you didn't know why hardly the guilt was falling on you as he was finally single and only for you. It all made sense when you felt him close to you.

“Yes, I'm with you” you replied, “I'm sorry.”

Chris smiled sideways, “You don't have to apologize.”

You were slightly overwhelmed between the fact that someone like Chris was taking you seriously, you really thought at first that with him it would be purely sexual, but he knew how to balance it so well, he would say the right words to you and then make you feel so fucking good, always in command of the situation.

You noticed him getting close to your face and received his kiss, just when you needed it so badly to be able to calm down a little, you really went back to your state of mind where you didn't care what they said, he was for you and you wanted him and he made you feel like it was reciprocated. He was the best. You left your cell phone on the counter and kept kissing him.

You thought for short seconds that it was going to be a fleeting kiss but he intensified it, bringing his body more closely to yours and kissing you more carefully and passionately. As he slowly pulled away from you, he licked his lips, he watched you with desire and bright eyes appreciating every part of your face now more animated and enlightened, compared to a few moments when you were slightly sad. He was more than happy to make you feel good and that you were still the same sweet woman that caught his attention a few weeks ago at his summer house, so willing to him and with clear thoughts of being able to have him.

“They don't know how fucking good you make me feel” he blurted out suddenly in a tone you know so well.

Chris was excited, thinking he would remove every negative feeling from your adoring body with his discharge of sexual energy he had for you. And he knew you were going to love every part of the process as you always end up doing, so he was quick to slide his hands under your blouse and kiss your neck, you wanted to tell him so many things, you wanted to whisper to him how much you liked what he was doing but you were engrossed in the new sensations.

Your heart pounded, you saw his slightly mischievous smile before his kisses traveled down your neck, warming your body and driving you crazy at the feel of his lips and nose on your skin, any slightest thing from Chris turned you on in seconds it was breathtaking. You closed your eyes enjoying yourself as his hands squeezed your body, thinking he was starting something you both know very well and you were excited to find out what Chris' next command to you would be. However, just as your docile bodies warmed up, a call to you distracted you, your cell phone was ringing and ringing at the kitchen island, you whispered to Chris to ignore it and continue with his lips on you but the call didn't seem to go away and was persistent, so Chris somewhat annoyed and disappointed persuaded you to pick up, followed by a sigh and removing his hands from your skin. You also sighed in annoyance and tried to sound calm when you were in an incredibly horny mood.

Chris rested his hand on the edge of the counter, waiting for you to finish your call but your expression upset him a little; it was your mother who was asking you where you were and that she didn't understand why your father was hysterical, mentioning a man named Chris, you rolled your eyes, the last thing you wanted was for a scene to form, but it was inevitable. After the call with your mother, you received countless messages from Liv that you were afraid to even look at, messages from your father prohibiting you from seeing Chris, it was a lot to process, so he let out a soft, concerned:

“Is everything okay? Is something wrong?”

You had fallen silent, staring raptly at your cell phone. You sighed as you listened to Chris and put your cell phone on silent mode, completely ignoring the big problem that was forming and that you believed with your being that they would soon get over it, since there was nothing wrong, you saw nothing wrong, you loved him and he loved you and you planned to stay like that for a while, enjoying and learning every single thing with him.

You shook your head, smiling and taking a few steps so you could hug him and wrap your arms around his neck. Chris could sense something was wrong but feeling your closeness instantly calmed him down, just as he had that effect on you and was the reason you sought to hug him.

“Everything is fine” you replied calmly, your body close to his.

“I think I can already figure out what kind of call it was…”

You laughed softly not wanting Chris to feel guilty; you both knew that at some point this day would come as your encounters progressed and you found yourselves fascinated by each other, you really didn't expect your close people to accept overnight so simply some sort of relationship with an older man you met being someone else's partner, but… it happened.

“It's okay, and here with you” you repeated to him what he had told you a few moments ago, making him smile.

----------------------------

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @bubblebisk @lolareadsimagines @jisunglyricist

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petermorwood · 5 months ago

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Recent article on NPR about the history of artificial light somewhat frustrated me -- they portrayed all of pre-kerosene history as dark and heinously expensive at all times. Thing is, the writers based their findings solely on tallow candles, & ignored oil lamps, beeswax candles, clever use of refraction & outdoor light including moon/starlight... Also seemed to ignore the ubiquity of hearths / cook fires. Was wondering if you'd be willing to talk about non-tallow light? This isn't to ignore that truly, artificial lighting WAS much more difficult & expensive for much of human history, but acting like tallow candles were the ONLY light source seems very silly! (Plus your other lovely post about bottles of water used to make those candles more efficient via refraction & focus)

I'm betting the article you mean is this one - which refers back to this one.

For matching reference, my own posts about period lighting are here, One and Two, including observations about painting walls white, how to light candles and lamps without matches, and several other matters.

*****

It didn't take too much listening before I got tetchy, because the first half of this podcast seems more about mocking how WEIRD and PRIMITIVE old-time people were, than passing on any useful information.

Despite the presence of Jane Brox (author of "Brilliant: The Evolution of Artificial Light") whale oil only gets touched on in passing, and olive oil isn't mentioned at all.

Instead she starts talking about using oily seabirds (stormy petrels) as "candles", despite this scholarly study concluding that it was something talked about far more than done, besides being so very, very localised that its relevance to the history of lighting is very, very small.

But hey, WEIRD and PRIMITIVE, right?

*****

By contrast, making candles was so commonplace that it was another of those jobs which created surnames. Fletcher once put feathers on arrows, Cooper made barrels, Fisher, Miller, Baker and Farmer are obvious, and Chandler used to make candles.

Lampier, of course, made lamps, which helped keep those naked candle-flames away from anywhere they shouldn't touch. The man on the left is making the lantern bodies, the one on the right is shaving sheets of horn as windows.

It's cheaper than glass, less easily broken yet is translucent enough, when shaved properly thin, to give quite adequate light.

*****

The podcast has a digression about measuring the light output of a reproduction Ancient Babylonian lamp. Here's an original and a repro.

Yet that too says nothing about what fuel the lamp is or should be burning - olive oil, traded all over the Mediterranean by ancient olive-growing cultures.

These are Roman oil-lamps, from simple and cheap to elaborate and costly.

As for beeswax, so far as the podcast is concerned might as well not exist, despite being a by-product of honey, which was THE principal pre-sugar sweetener for centuries when not being made into all that mead whose existence, production and quaffing nobody questions.

Oh yeah, and then there was the amazed discovery (2:40 / 1:25, depending on which you're listening to) that melted beef fat "...smells really nasty, like, ANIMAL nasty,"

Why is this guy surprised? It's part of an animal!

*****

It's the same sort of infotainment ignorance as displayed by this TikTok twit, right up to complaining about the effort involved in preparation of anything because not having powered appliances was so labour-intensive, oh woe. Yes, it was, welcome to any historical period before about 1920. That's where "the daily grind" originates.

However the implication (listen, it's there) that cattle were raised just to provide fat for candles is ludicrous. The fat was a by-product, not a main one, and was often a butcher's side-line, while members of the Chandlers' Guild only worked with superior beeswax.

I don't think you could make candles like these with tallow:

...and you definitely couldn't make one meant to be hand-held.

Picture evidence shows, by their clothing, the class of society who bought these, and tallow-greasy fingers would have been a no-no.

A Chandler didn't make individual candles. By the time that fresh batch is hung up, the first batch away down at the end is cool enough to be dipped again.

A chandler's shop in a medieval city would look very similar, and often had a horizontal wheel on which to hang each batch of candles, rotating them up and around to cool, then back to the dipping pot. Non-modern people may not have had modern tech or time-and-motion studies, but they weren't stupid.

*****

By contrast, the podcast's disparaging attitude of WEIRD and PRIMITIVE is emphasised by what seems a deliberate avoidance of anything which counters it (examples of that in my own posts) and finally at 11.24 / 9:50 came this:

"Even when you get all the way to the 1700s (...) most people are still subsistence farmers, living in some kind of hut, trying to grow enough food not to starve to death (...) and light? Light still comes from finding stuff that's lying around and just lighting it on fire."

Some kind of hut...

Stuff that's lying around...

After making such a declaration, I'm surprised - since they'd been implying it for half the podcast - someone didn't just go ahead and announce that "there's some lovely filth down here..."

That's when I stopped listening.

Enough is enough, and I'd had it.

*****

ETA:

cc: @asmuchasidliketo :->

Here's a photo of what purports to be a Petrel (not petrol, that's something else) Candle, held in the Pitt-Rivers Museum, Oxford. It's mentioned in that scholarly article I linked above.

Just as "one swallow doesn't make a summer", so one - and only one - known example of this, which may have been a fake-up to spoof the Southerners, doesn't prove it was a common or even rare practice.

There's another reason to take this with a big pinch of salt, so maybe Jane Brox was on a low-sodium diet when she wrote her book.

Creatures with a layer of fat or blubber for insulation all have it like any other form of insulation, on the outside, where it does some good. A wick passed through the inside couldn't draw on it for fuel since there's a layer of muscle and another of internal organs for the oil to get through first.

The cropped-off bottle just visible to the left is a far more likely way seabirds became lamp fuel: by rendering out their oil. This oil is from the Northern Fulmar, Fulmaris glaciaris (or glacialis, I've seen both. Same bird regardless).

Incidentally, the Wikipedia article on European Storm Petrel mentions a supernatural connection, that the petrels were the souls of drowned sailors, and killing them is unlucky.

Not just killing them but making them into candles sounds like A Bad Idea, and is yet another reason why, IMO, the candle thing may be a folktale, or a deliberate leg-pull, or...

Let's just say "improbable" and leave it there. :-P

#period lighting #research #writer notes #too light too dark #worldbuilding

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pix-writes · 3 months ago

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Cuddle HC for Ford pls 🥰

This is such a cute request! <3 Hope you enjoy!

Cudldes with Ford (sfw):

He really likes to put his arms around you, Ford has a broad frame and fairly strong, so he will squeeze you! Likes the pressure but also makes him feel more secure, to have you close as possible to him, puts his emotions into the action; if you and/or Ford are upset, expect the hardest hugs! He takes a lot of comfort from it, being a little touch starved in his life previously.

The man is in love with his work as much as his family so cuddles can really happen anywhere, including the lab. Sometimes he will pull you in when he sees that you're tired, gets you to rest his head on him comfortably as he finishes is records for the day. Other times you basically have to crawl into his lap like a cat to get his attention/get him to take a break. But he really doesn't mind that, because he gets to sweep you up in his arms, is probably strong enough to carry you over to somewhere more comfy too.

You're likely to lean on each other a lot whilst absorbed in something (research or recreational hobbies) like this:

He really likes your scent too, will rest his head in the crook of your neck when you're cuddled up together, especially when tired. Maybe you're both on the couch watching TV or on the stan o war watching the sunset at the end of a day of adventure. He'll rest his head under yours and will likely fall asleep - he's had a lot of sleep deprivation in his life, so when he feels the most relaxed in your presence, it really should be no surprise that he wants to sleep. Ford reminds himself of these moments later when he has days where past mistakes and bill weigh heavy on his mind; he is safe now.

Cuddles in bed: Ford likes to be the big spoon at night, feels right to him because he feels he's protecting you, places a hand around you to keep you in place. That said though, he loves when you run your fingers through his hair, likes to lay his head on your chest and hear your heartbeat when you do, so it's not unusual for you both to fall asleep that way, either.

Doesn't like to go to bed without you, even though on other occasions he can stay up late after you've gone to bed, he hates it if he has to go to bed alone, he just likes cuddling you that much. Feels lonely if you staying out late for something or you're not in the same place as him - not that he'd stop you going, you're living your own life, but he might be more clingy when you return, he often gets nightmares when he sleeps alone. If you're not gone for days then he'll likely stay up for you.

Ford whilst asleep can end up tangling his legs around yours, if you don't like cold feet that have been sticking out of the covers to be placed on you, then this might be a problem! 😄 Secretly likes when you grumble about being cold when this happens because then he can pull you back into his hold to warm you both up (you can bet he has a cheesy line about this) ❤️

In the mornings though, Ford is quite alert, once he's awake he's awake! So there's only so much time you can hold him before he's out of bed to start the morning routine. Though, if you're less of a morning person, part of that routine is to bring you coffee/tea/beverage of choice to you in bed, should his persuasion to join him in the kitchen fails, so there's definitely the possibility of some morning cuddles! Not to mention that Ford is already dressed (likely in one of his many sweaters) so he's a lot warmer, which makes getting out of the covers not so bad. I think in the mornings, expect Ford's playful side to come out, will tease you about being sleepy to get a rise out of you (he's flirting). To him you look so adorable/beautiful when you've just woken up, even if you think its when you look your worst/most unflattering. He'll be nicer about it half of the time, waking you up softly and brush your hair away from your face if he can, like you do for him.

#stanford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #ford pines x reader #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls imagine #celebration request #can you tell I wrote most of this buried under my duvet? ^_^'#protective ford is best ford

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mionemymind · 7 months ago

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Chapter 3: Choosing for You

My Rival Series

Series Summary: The time where Y/n Y/l/n and Wanda Maximoff were academic rivals that fell for each other.

Chapter Summary: The competition is here. Who will be the winner?

A/n: This was a long chapter, honestly might rewrite it, but here it is with all its mistakes and glories. And I'm sorry if you've asked to be tagged and wasn't included in this post, I'm posting this from work because I promised to give y'all something. (Gif credits to @elizabetholsens)

Warnings: Rivals to Lovers, Obvious Feelings, Stubborn Reader, Cursing, Alcohol, Mentions of Puking, Memory Loss, Panic Attack

Word Count: 7.2k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Fall Semester - Freshman Year

“Why does winning matter so much to you?” Winning hardly had rewards in life. Sure, there was sometimes money involved on the line but other than financial gain, winning was mainly there to feed the ego. For Natasha, she never viewed Y/n as someone that cared about being number one in life. Based on the few phone calls she overheard, the university felt like a getaway from troubles at home. So why did Y/n even want to win?

The brown eyed girl sat in confusion. Her pencil was still as she wracked her brain for an answer. By all means, winning is fun. Back in high school, Y/n would naturally win things that being number one felt like home at that point. But having moved on from that mentality, winning wasn’t quite the same in Evergreen University. Well, it’s not like she had a chance to feel it when Wanda Maximoff was around.

“If I’m being honest…I don’t think I’ve ever worked for a win in my life before.” The two locked eyes as Y/n softly confessed what was long on her mind. She placed her pencil down and gave Natasha her undivided attention. “Studying has never been my thing before up until now. Don’t get me wrong, I quite hate it, but it feels different now. Like if I just beat her once, then that high will be like nothing ever before.”

“Does she really challenge you that much?” The question sunk into Y/n’s brain and into her deeper subconscious. She sat quietly, overthinking her answer.

“I think…she’s the only one that ever challenged me at all.”

Competition Day - Spring Semester - Junior Year

‘Why does winning feel so wrong?’ Y/n looked in the mirror, splashing small bits of water on her face to help wake herself up. Rolling her neck, she could feel how stiff her bones were from last night. Unfortunately, the bus was no help at all, only providing mild comfort on their four hour journey.

Stepping out the bathroom, Y/n wore the tightly pressed and cleaned uniform as Wanda started her speech for the group. “I want to thank you all for joining us today at this competition. For some of you, this is your first time ever attending the conference while for others, you are returning. Regardless, you’ve all earned your spots on this team, so congratulate yourself for that.”

A couple of applauses were heard as Wanda smiled at the team. She briefly glanced to Y/n who was sitting all the way at the back of the bus. “I know that this bus is carrying some of the brightest minds that Evergreen University has to offer. Without a doubt in my mind, I know we can win this competition.”

Y/n looked away to the view of the hotel where the conference took place. The turmoil in her gut was hard to ignore as she focused on other things besides Wanda’s eyes. ‘Winning is a must. If I want to come back to her here, then I need to win.’

“However, winning is not always the priority. Overall, I’ve been more than happy to see everyone grow into their strengths and even improve your weaknesses. Your efforts have been highly noted by both of your captains.” Y/n looked back at Wanda, her stare as confident as ever.

“We want to thank you all for all the nights, practices, and energy you’ve committed to be in this competition.” Wanda looked over as the bus entered the garage of the hotel. “Okay, everyone come in for a quick send off.”

Everyone gathered into a huddle, placing their hands in the middle. “On three - one - two - three - Evergreen! Fight! Fight! Fight!” Their hands lifted into the air as Wanda looked at Y/n with a determined smile.

‘I’m going to win.’ The brunette thought as she stared into those brown eyes, but little did she know the costs of this win.

The hotel was massive. It was honestly a surprise at how many schools can fit into one place. Some had to fly in, having been more than five hours away. The group followed Wanda to the selected tables meant for Evergreen University.

“Break into your groups, Y/n and I will be investigating the brackets to see who we will be versing first. We have about an hour before round one is officially called. If you need to change or use the bathroom, this is definitely the time to do so. If you have any questions or concerns, please let Y/n and/or I know immediately.”

Doing as told, the members immediately broke into their four person group and discussed strategies for round one. When no one came up to ask any questions, the pair walked off out of the conference room, and into the large hall that had many posters hung up with all the different brackets.

There was a small but comfortable silence as Wanda walked slightly ahead from Y/n, focusing on finding out who they were versing first. While Y/n was also thinking of the competition, she wondered if they were ever going to talk about last night.

Walking up to the first bracket they could find, Wanda took a picture of it and sent it to the math club group chat for everyone to see. “Princewell University, Maroon State College, and Gale College, not a bad start. Looks like we’re going to easily make it into the second round.”

Since Y/n was unable to sleep last night, she made use of her time by looking over the bracket. Going over the many possibilities, there was still a high chance of her group making it to the top five. Round one was thankfully full of easy opponents having judged their previous matches with other schools.

“I agree. Looks like our main trouble is with Harford University. But they’re all the way at the otherside. I’m hoping Legacy College takes care of them so we don’t have to,” Wanda comments. She turned to face Y/n, taking a good look at her clean uniform and brushed hair.

“I need you to be on your A-game today.” Unsure of where Wanda’s seriousness was coming from, Y/n nodded in understanding. “If you can give me that, I’ll overlook this morning.”

Puzzled by her statement, Y/n asked, “What are you talking about?” Wanda crossed her arms, trying her best to be level headed at the moment.

“You wreaked alcohol. Last night was a supposed to be a get together, not an opportunity to get drunk.” The judgment coming from Wanda’s tone felt like a slap in the face as Y/n took one step back.

“Are you kidding me? I took one drink. I wasn’t the one that was drunk last night. Are you seriously remembering the same night as me?” The small moment with Wanda was all that Y/n replayed in that moment.

‘Apologize and I’ll forgive you for everything - apologize and I’ll let go of this whole feud.’ Whether Y/n was going to loudly admit it or not, the small ounce that she saw of Wanda’s true personality changed her view of the brunette. Even if the conversation was small, even if Wanda didn’t hear her response, even if it was a drunk confession, Y/n was going to cling to it.

Wanda was always the girl that was number one but in that small moment, Wanda was just a girl who wanted to win for the sake of not disappointing her father. Because God, how could someone ever be disappointed in Wanda Maximoff? And how could they not see just how amazing she was?

But as Wanda rolled her eyes, and hardened her stare, Y/n knew none of that moment mattered to Wanda, not when her green eyes still showed some form of hatred. “I remember last night clearly. Everyone in the group arrived and managed to say check in with me. You were the only one in the group that I didn’t even get to see. Once it was late, I went back to my dorm and slept. But it’s obvious why you avoided me - you were too busy drinking rather than focusing on the competition.”

“That’s not-”

“I don’t want to hear your explanation. Your team deserves a good leader and if you can’t provide that, I’ll make sure that math club will be looking for a replacement captain next semester.” The pounding in Wanda’s head was hard to ignore as she walked away from Y/n, not even bothering to hear her side.

‘Focus. Everything will be alright if you just focus.’ The ringing in Y/n’s ears was louder than the judge in front of her. The question left his lips almost slipped past the girl but thankfully her teammate, Luke, was paying attention, easily answering the question.

“Another point for Evergreen University, which solidifies their victory for this match!” Cheers erupted from the crowd as each group got up, giving the other members handshakes for the great match.

‘I can’t fucking focus.’ Y/n wore a fake smile as she congratulated the other captain on the team, quickly walking off the stage. Ever since her interaction with Wanda, her nervousness and anxiety came back in full throttle. Her mind went from completely tired to panic. And while her drive to win increased, it came with overthinking as well.

“That was a great match everyone! I’m so proud of you all for being so great for these four rounds that I haven’t had to worry one bit.” Well Y/n did worry, just not for her team’s sake. “I’m going to go ahead and let the staff know about our victory. In the meantime, go ahead and relax at our table. After the fifth round, let me know if y’all want snacks. I can go ahead and purchase them for everyone.”

“Thank you Y/n. We appreciate it!” Luke stated, he was a returning member of the competition, one that Y/n knew well. Letting the group walk away, Y/n finally brought her guard down as she walked out of the conference room and to the direction of the staff booth.

‘I can’t believe I fucking froze.’ Y/n knew the question was for her, yet she had to rely on her team member for something she could’ve easily answered. Wiping her frustrations off her face, Y/n tried to compose herself before she approached the staff.

“School, team, and placement?” The lady wore rectangle shaped glasses. She offered Y/n a kind smile, ready to write the results.

“Evergreen University, team two, and we won our match.” Y/n peeped her name tag, Laura, as she wrote down the results.

“Looks like you’ll be versing Apollo College next in conference room seven.” Laura handed Y/n a slip of paper with the information before calling next.

Shoving the paper in her pocket, Y/n walked past several conference rooms, their doors open for anyone to watch their matches. None of them interested her, but her voice certainly did. Stopping at the entrance of the doors, Y/n watched Wanda flawlessly answer the question.

The bright light focusing on her group amplified her natural beauty. Y/n could pick up on every single detail, something she already knew like the back of her hand. Her jaw clenched as she noticed Wanda's smile, the same type of smile she had when she got hundreds on tests.

The anger inside Y/n manifested once more. She could legitimately feel herself start to boil the more she stared at Wanda. It was dangerously coming close to the anger she felt when she lashed out at Natasha that one night.

Clenching her fists, Y/n walked away from the match, unable to stand Wanda any further with thoughts of winning in her mind.

‘You’re making mistakes.’ Wanda stood in the crowd with her arms crossed. The displeased look on her face was hard to miss as she witnessed Y/n make her third mistake of the match, causing another precious point to be missed. Her brain rushed through many thoughts of disappointment towards the girl she used to hold to a high regard.

‘This isn’t like her.’ But the frown on Wanda’s face deepened, did she really know Y/n at all? Yes, she can admit that Y/n was smart. Smarter than a lot of people at their university. But other than that obvious characteristic, Y/n was admittedly someone she only knew at surface level. They’ve hardly spoken outside classes or math club. Essentially, she was just a stranger that was smart.

Shaking away the sadness that was snaking through her, Wanda watched as Y/n sat back in her seat.

The shame that Y/n carried on her shoulders felt massive along with the anxiety that continued to paralyze her more and more. The brown eyed girl was certain of her answer, so when the judge loudly announced that she gotten it wrong, embarrassment flooded her senses knowing that Wanda was in the crowd, silently judging her every move.

It all came down to the final question of the match. Whoever answers correctly will have to verse Wanda’s team. Luke, once again, got up, ready to answer the question. All eyes were on him besides Wanda and Y/n.

As the two finally locked eyes, Y/n couldn’t help but drown further in Wanda’s rage. ‘Forget everything I ever said - I do fucking hate you, Wanda Maximoff. And I hope you never forget that.’

-------------

“We need to talk.” Celebrations for Evergreen University were deaf to Wanda’s ears as she held Y/n’s wrist. Quickly, she led them out the crowd and through the near empty hallway outside the conference room. Dropping her wrist, Wanda stood there fuming with anger.

“What was that?” Y/n didn’t want to speak, unsure of what would be the ‘correct’ choice of words for the brunette. And by the looks of it, nothing was going to satisfy her. Choosing to be silent anger Wanda ever further.

“This isn’t the time to be childish - you’re making mistakes and if it wasn’t for your team, you wouldn’t have had this spot in the finals.” Y/n clenched her jaw as she bit her tongue. Sure she made mistakes, but it hurt Y/n to realize that Wanda didn’t even care for the ways she did contribute to the team.

Mistakes were permanent for the girl that was always perfect. That was something Y/n realized now more than ever.

“Can you not let go of three mistakes, Captain?” Y/n continued to stare off at the other side of the hallway, refusing to make eye contact with Wanda. Her words sneered off her mouth, feeling disgusted at the way Wanda ridiculed her every move.

“Un-fucking-believable. Dean Holloway was right.” At the mention of the Dean, Y/n’s blood ran cold. Her eyes locked with Wanda’s, as the brunette stood there. “You take everything as some type of joke. And to think I stood up for you.”

Y/n’s mind scrambled on what possibly happened between Dean Holloway and Wanda. ‘Does she know about my scholarship?’

But why on Earth would Wanda assume such things if she knew about her scholarship? Pressing for more information, Y/n asked, “What did he say?”

Wanda rolled her eyes. ‘Of course that’s what she would focus on rather than her own mistakes.’ Looking at the time, there were twenty minutes left before the final. The brunette should have been using this time to help practice with her team, yet here she was arguing with Y/n.

“Last week,” Wanda sighed. This all felt pointless to admit but she felt that Y/n needed to know. Maybe this could be what straightened up her act. “Dean Holloway asked me to reconsider your place in this competition.”

“What?” Y/n took a step back at the confession, feeling more hopeless at how rigged everything was. ‘How could he do this to me?”

“I told him that I could trust you - that you were the only person besides me adequate enough to lead the math club. Somehow, he managed to let me know that you were slipping in classes. No longer being at the top.” Wanda looked at Y/n. She focused on all the minor details of the face that haunted her mind. But upon seeing how hurt those brown eyes looked, Wanda couldn’t help but falter slightly.

“I wanted to believe that it was all wrong, but now…” Y/n silently pleaded as her mind went into overdrive. Couldn’t Wanda see how innocent she was? How she had been studying day and night for weeks just to make it another year at Evergreen? Couldn’t she see that this was all for her?

“I think we should go back to our groups. We need to prepare for the final. But Y/l/n…after this competition, we might have to reconsider your place as captain for math club.”

How cruel the world must be for the universe to deal Y/n such a bad draw? And how awful it must feel to know that Wanda was the one that delivered the final blow?

‘I have to win for me.’ Water dripped down Y/n’s face as she stared at herself in the mirror. There was five minutes left before she was expected to take the stage. Currently, Y/n was in the bathroom, hoping to subside the panic attack that was itching to come out.

‘Even if the school doesn’t want me, even if Wanda doesn’t want me, I want this more than anyone.’ Gripping the counter for stability, Y/n slowed her breathing down, hoping it would be enough. She wasn’t going to let the world decide her fate even if it had cheated her of a fair opportunity.

“Welcome everyone for the final match for the annual math club state competition. I’m thrilled to announce that this year’s top two teams both come from Evergreen University!” Applause rumbled throughout the large conference room as the rest of the school's watch in anticipation.

Wanda sat in her seat, overthinking her conversation with Y/n earlier. ‘Did I go overboard?’ Sneaking a glance at Y/n, it was hard to get a read of what the brown eyed girl was thinking. ‘Whatever, she needed to know.’

Pushing her thoughts to the back, the brunette focused back on the competition. It was finally her turn to go up as well as Y/n’s.

“Please find the inverse of the following equation.” Like a switch, everything in Wanda’s mind grew silent as she focused on the question on the screen. In seconds flat, she hit the buzzer to submit her answer.

“And the correct answer choice was…C, point goes to team # 1.” This was Wanda’s element - this was her reason for being. Glancing at Y/n, Wanda knew her purpose. She was number one and god forbid anyone that stood in her way.

The competition went by like a blur. In the first quarter of questions, Wanda’s team led with a gap of seven points. However, after a couple small mistakes by her team members, Y/n’s team was able to catch up and shorten the gap.

Right now, there are only five questions left. The score remained tied as Y/n tried her best to remain perfect. If things were to continue the way they were, the last question would determine the winner.

Before she knew it, it was finally her turn. Standing up to take the podium, Y/n glanced at Wanda accidentally locking eyes. ‘I will be the one to defeat you, Maximoff. I will make sure of it.’

Fall Semester - Freshman Year

“I’ve never seen you study so much before. It’s kinda freaky.” The two roommates sat around the small circular table in the middle of the room, enjoying a couple of drinks and snacks. Natasha begged for Y/n to stop for at least a small break, having missed talking to her roommate.

“Trust me, I hate it just as much as you do.” Y/n stretched her legs at her sat position. Rolling her neck around, a couple of pops and clicks could be heard.

“Why do it? Your grades are fine the way they are.” Y/n looked back at the pile of books on her desk. She never really recalled studying this much before during her high school days. Heck, she’s been able to get by this whole time just by how naturally smart she was. So when she looked back at Natasha, there was this ‘ya know’ look in Y/n’s eyes. “Does it have to do with Wanda?”

Y/n smiled at the mention of the brunette. It was odd at how many classes they were in together even though their majors were entirely different. There was something about Wanda that caught Y/n’s eye. She didn’t quite know what it was and didn’t quite want to delve too much into it.

“And if it does?” Y/n sipped on her drink, a smirk on her face as she avoided Natasha’s question. The red head shook her head, grabbing a chip.

“Well - you speak of her like she’s a God.” Eating a couple more, Natasha watched as the glimmer in Y/n’s eye brightened every time the brunette was brought up. Like the simple mention of Wanda could make Y/n smile instantly.

“Wrong, Wanda’s not a God. Gods make mistakes,” getting closer to Natasha’s face, the red head could smell the faint of alcohol on Y/n’s lips, “and Wanda Maximoff does not make mistakes.”

Y/n leaned back, still drinking the rest of her drink as Natasha looked at her roommate with a puzzled look. “Whatever you say. Just try not to make this a habit now.”

Y/n shook her head, feeling optimistic that she’d beat Wanda soon enough. Probably in the same semester. “I won’t. Promise.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in our state’s history the competition’s fate lied in the last question.” The crowd applauded for the accomplishment as the judges beamed in smiles towards Evergreen University. “.As your judges, we believe this calls for a special problem. We’ve rewritten the last question to make it a more challenging problem.”

“With one point in the lead, if Wanda answers the question correctly, her team will solidify the win. If Y/n answers the question correctly, this competition will proceed to overtime.”

Y/n and Wanda stood at their podiums, anticipation both killing them. “Here is your question.”

As the screen showed off the problem, Y/n could feel herself standing tall as she looked over the problem. It was a multistep calculus problem that involved finding the inverse of a 3x3 matrix. Essentially, a problem that would require two pages of work just to find a solution. And by the looks of it, Wanda was already finished with the first quarter of the work.

Calming her breathing down, Y/n cleared the noise from her head. She looked back at the problem, digesting all of what it told. ‘This is just another problem, Y/n.’ Thinking lightly back to the days where math was just a fun activity to do, Y/n finally smiled, remembering the feeling where math naturally came to her.

Letting the feeling sink in, Y/n started to solve it. The crowd waited with whispers and talks of who was going to win. Many people in the crowd believed Wanda would secure another victory as she did in the past. Very few people cheered for Y/n, simply wanting to believe in the underdog.

A few minutes later, Y/n approached the final bits of her answer, immediately eyeing the answer choice on the screen. Her heart skipped a beat realizing that she could do this - that she could win.

Before she could reach out for the answer, Wanda had buzzed in first with her choice. Suddenly, everything inside Y/n shut down as she saw Wanda smile once again. It was that infamous smile that she grew so used to.

‘This can’t be it. This can’t be the end.’ Feeling herself lock up again, Y/n didn’t dare to look at the screen, hoping to save some of her dignity that was barely left.

Believing the world to be crashing in front of her, she failed to realize that Wanda had made a mistake. The screen glowed in bright red as her answer choice was incorrect. “Y/n, looks like the question is left to you. You haven’t locked in your answer, so what will it be?”

Y/n looked up, unable to digest that Wanda actually messed up. The Wanda Maximoff made a mistake. Fighting back the smile on her face, Y/n reached out for the correct answer choice, her finger tips grazing answer choice B.

The smug look on her face was hard to miss. Everyone on her team knew they would come home with the victory. Wanda’s team sighed in defeat knowing that Y/n would answer correctly.

So why did everything change when Y/n glanced at Wanda? Why did her heart hurt at the sight of Wanda spilling angry and frustrated tears? Why did her breathing stop? And why did all thoughts consume her?

Wanda never cried or at least in front of Y/n or anybody. She was always the strong and confident girl that knew every answer for every question. She walked like she was untouchable. So how did she mess up?

‘Please stop crying,’ she thought. Her heart constricted knowing she was the reason Wanda was crying. Yet every ounce of her brain yelled for her to press the damn answer, to finally prove to Wanda that she could be defeated, to finally get the win that she had been craving for since freshman year.

So why couldn’t she just fucking press it? Looking back at the crowd and at the answer written down on her paper, her free hand crumpled the sheet as her heart overtook what her mind pleaded.

Feeling like time stopped, Y/n held her breath when those green eyes locked with her. ‘I want to win…I want to stay…but at the cost of this…this isn’t a win.’

Beyond logic and reason, Y/n pressed her answer. Confetti blew in the air as the judge announced, “And the winner is team # 1 with Wanda Maximoff as their team captain. Congratulations to Evergreen University!”

Regardless of what Wanda had ever done, said, or thought, Y/n knew that today was all because the school wanted to so badly pin Wanda against her. But Y/n finally knew better. This will not be the day she wins. This will be the day she was finally okay to be second to Wanda.

Many cheers and laughter filled the bus as the group celebrated the Evergreen University win. Wanda had been smiling so hard since the award ceremony that her cheeks started to hurt.

As she looked over the trophy, her eyes couldn’t stop looking at the sleeping figure near the back of the bus. ‘I almost lost it,’ Wanda thought. It was unlike her to make a mistake and if she was being honest, she didn’t know what to blame.

As much as she wanted to overlook her work, she wanted to leave that mistake in the past and enjoy the win. But as she kept looking back to Y/n, who hadn’t said a word to her since the final match, Wanda couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong.

Regardless, the drive back to Evergreen was filled with joy as Y/n finally slept after a long exhausting day.

Finals Week - Spring Semester - Junior Year

Wanda loved winning…but lately, it had a sour taste in her mouth. Finals week came in full swing, giving zero time for Wanda to dissect this weird feeling in her chest. She had helped some of her friends and classmates with studying, making her even more busy than usual.

By the time she was done with tests, the sour feeling still sat in her chest. With only two days left, Wanda couldn’t help but lose some sleep over this feeling. Why was winning suddenly so bad? When did it become something she felt guilty for?

Subconsciously, her mind gravitated towards Y/n. In her dreams, the moment before Y/n answered the final question replayed constantly. It was as if her mind took a vivid recording of the whole interaction. And as she replayed the moment she locked eyes with Y/n, Wanda couldn’t help but feel like the trophy wasn’t meant for her.

Of course she downplayed the scenario, believing that this was another mistake that Y/n had made for that day. And the words of Dean Holloway, this was something Y/n never took seriously. So why did she vividly remember how Y/n’s eyes looked the moment she had chosen her answer? Why did Y/n look so accepting of defeat? Why was there no anger or thrive behind them?

And the more she thought, the more she realized how little she saw of Y/n during the whole week. Friday, the last day of the semester, came around. During the test, her mind suddenly diverted to her. So when Wanda looked up and found Y/n in the crowd, she couldn’t help but want to talk to her, to see what exactly happened in that moment.

Was it something she made up in her head? Was she feeling weird for actually making a mistake in front of people? Was this blown out of proportion?

Regardless, Wanda didn’t dare describe this feeling as part of missing Y/n. Cause if she had, maybe she would have realized sooner that winning felt wrong this time. Because maybe, just maybe, it had pushed away the person that actually understood her better than anyone else.

Last Night - Spring Semester - Junior Year

Y/n Y/l/n,

We regret to inform you that your scholarship has been revoked for the following 2019 fall semester. This decision was not made lightly as the board is aware of the accomplishments you’ve brought to Evergreen University. Nevertheless, the requirement to place #1 in the most recent STEM competition was something we could not ignore.

We do hope you decide to enroll for your senior year. For further information on financial aid or loan applications, please visit the Bursar’s office.

Dean of the College of Arts & Sciences

Cedric Holloway

Evergreen University

The letter sat on the Y/n’s near empty desk as she continued to pack in preparation for tomorrow. It was the last night on campus for every student. While many chose to celebrate it with a party, Y/n chose to spend it alone.

The silence of her room provided some comfort as she cleared her bookshelf. “Why must I have so many books?”

While Y/n never imagined this would be where her college career with Evergreen ended, she certainly never regretted her choice. Then again, she hadn’t been home in forever, so that may change soon once she goes back.

Looking back at Natasha’s fully furnished side, Y/n could feel some guilt rising to her chest as she hadn’t broken the news yet to her best friend. Not wanting to burden the red head with a sad night, Y/n remained silent, hoping tomorrow would be best to break the news.

As for Y/n’s group, none of them were particularly angry about her mistake. Everyone tried their best to cheer their captain up, providing some comforting smiles and words. None of it truly mattered though. This was Y/n’s choice to make and she fully knew the consequences of it.

So for the first time in a while, Y/n was actually alone and not studying. That was until she came. Wanda stood in the hallway, thinking of how she would talk to Y/n, to hopefully apologize. She carried the trophy that was mailed in from the conference, one that actually had her name engraved on it.

But the trophy felt heavy and awkward in her hands, but it was the closest thing Wanda could think of as a conversation starter. Pushing her anxieties away, Wanda walked to Y/n’s dorm, surprised that the door was actually opened.

The first thing she noticed was the pile of boxes that almost blocked the doorway. Looking past it, Wanda couldn’t help but notice how bare Y/n’s side looked.

“What are you doing?” Y/n jumped from the corner of her room, hand on her chest.

“Jesus Christ, Maximoff, can you give a girl a warning?”

Wanda placed the trophy in the hallway, and walked around Y/n’s room, not caring for an invitation inside. Thinking back to the dorm setup, Evergreen University typically had students stay in the same dorm assigned to them from freshman year all the way to junior year. During senior year, students would be upgraded to bigger dorms.

“I thought you couldn’t transfer dorms till senior year was closer?” Wanda turned around to face Y/n, the empty side didn’t make sense as juniors typically left their items alone throughout the summer.

Y/n’s eyes glanced at the letter on her desk. “I’m moving to a new scenery.” She picked up the box with her knick knacks and placed it on top of the letter, hoping Wanda didn’t notice. The brown eyed girl leaned against her desk. She tilted her head noticing the shiny object in the hallway.

“Is that the trophy?” Wanda looked back, almost forgetting what she came here to do. She walked back to the hallway and grabbed the trophy. Their fingers brushed as Wanda handed it to Y/n. “Wow! It’s…it’s really beautiful.”

Y/n rubbed her thumb across Wanda’s name. Wanda Maximoff 2019 Champion. “Congratulations by the way. Sorry I wasn’t able to say it back on stage.” Y/n handed the trophy back to Wanda. If the girl was paying attention, she would’ve noted the odd look Wanda gave her.

Something was different and Wanda hated it. Winning always gave her a high but something about this interaction increased the bittersweet feeling in her chest. “What dorm hall are you relocating to?” Wanda placed the trophy on Y/n’s desk. “I could help you out if you need it.”

Already ready to help out, Wanda lifted the box of knick knacks, her fingers brushing over the letter. “Wanda-,” Y/n startled herself, not expecting to nearly yell at Wanda, “I- I -”

No words left Y/n’s mouth as those green eyes stared back at her. Suddenly, all those times where they yelled in each other's face came to mind. How close were they to ever…?

Y/n sighed, there was no use hiding from the truth now. “I’m actually going back home.” Wanda placed the box back down, still not understanding why Y/n’s things were packed. “I’m-”

Y/n scratched the back of her neck, avoiding Wanda’s stare. “I’m transferring to Langford University.” An eerie silence settled in Y/n’s room. So when Y/n got the courage to look back at Wanda, she hadn’t expected the teary eyes and offended look on Wanda’s face.

“You’re transferring? Why?” Moving off the desk, Y/n sat on her bed as Wanda leaned back on to the desk. “It’s - complicated. I really don’t want to go into it.”

Wanda’s hand balled up into a fist. The lack of details pissed her off. “You’re seriously not coming back?” Wanda hated how bitter everything tasted. The sight of her trophy pissed her off even more.

Y/n opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. She didn’t know what to say. She was leaving what she called home for the past three years. Not only that, she was leaving the girl that has been there since her first day. What could she even say?

Before she could admit anything, Y/n’s phone rang, breaking the tense atmosphere. “Sorry, let me take this real quick.” Y/n walked out to the hallway to answer her phone.

Wanda sighed with her head hung low. What was she going to do now? Being #1 was something her parents always pressured her to do. But ever since she met Y/n, #1 was something that motivated her to get out of bed and start the day extra early. Meeting Y/n meant countless hours studying just to make sure she knew the lessons by heart. Meeting Y/n meant her life revolved around beating the girl in every single thing. And as harsh as it sounded, it was the only way Wanda knew to get closer.

She turned around and glanced at the open box. There was a various amount of figurines, crystals, and journals thrown in. Wanda picked up a green crystal, one that almost matched her eyes. She remembered the day back in freshman year where Y/n had admitted she recently got into collecting crystals. Wanda thought at first it was a waste of money until she stopped by a local shop.

The red head could see why it was intriguing to buy them especially when you believe the auras and specialities that a certain rock can bring to your life. So in secret, Wanda bought a sphere of rose quartz and placed it in her room. She didn’t notice anything different in her life but then again, all her thoughts already surrounded Y/n.

Wanda looked back at the hallway and could hear Y/n still talking on the phone. It felt wrong to steal, especially since that was a no no in the crystal community. But the idea of Y/n leaving her without a single thing to keep for herself felt cruel. So when she slipped on the necklace, as if it already belonged to her, she could feel her heart skip a beat at the thought of Y/n giving it to her.

Wanda tucked the crystal under her shirt when her fingers brushed the letter once more. The school logo printed on the top right called her name. It felt wrong to intrude, but the more she reminded herself of the situation, the less she cared about her morals.

Gently sliding the letter from under the box, Wanda quickly read it. Eyebrows furrowed, Wanda read “We regret to inform you…”

Y/n shuffled back into the room causing Wanda to straighten up. “Sorry about that. I need to get Natasha. She’s stuck at some frat party without a ride back home.” The brunette crumpled the piece of paper and tucked it into her pocket. Y/n was too distracted to notice. “Again, I’m really sorry but congratulations on the win Wanda.” Y/n looked at Wanda with the most sincere eyes. “Incase no one has told you, I’m really proud of you.”

With one last look, Y/n left her dorm, hoping the Wanda would be decent enough to lock it up for her. And all Wanda could focus on was the sound of her name leaving Y/n’s lips. ‘You never call me Wanda.’

‘Like hell I’m going to let this happen.’ Wanda stormed into her father’s office, knowing he would be working another late night. The clear warm glow from his room indicated that he was there.

Storming through the doors caused him to look up from his computer, clearly unexpecting guests at that moment.

“Give her scholarship back.” Wanda slammed the letter onto his desk, crossing her arms hoping to show that she wasn’t messing around. The brunette couldn’t think straight about anything after she fully read the letter, and by now, she didn’t know whether to strangle Y/n for not telling her or for her father to even approve such decisions.

“This decision was not made lightly.” Wanda could read past her father’s sentence and she was not going to take no for an answer.

“Then clearly you’ve made the wrong decision.” Eric sighed knowing just how stubborn his daughter was. It was unfortunately a trait she got from him. Knowing fully well just how smart Wanda was, explaining this decision was going to be a disaster and a headache away.

Looking past the letter and into his daughter’s eyes, he’s never seen her be this angry. Sure they’ve had arguments, but they’ve subsided ever since she started to attend college. Eric was hoping it was because Wanda was getting older and more mature.

But as she stood there, eyebrows furrowed with a frown on her face, it felt like she was 16 all over again. Not wanting to beat around the bush, Eric figured to cut to the chase.

“She’s a threat.” He didn’t like to admit it, but there was hardly anyone on campus that could match his daughter’s intelligence. This was something Eric wanted to keep. But the more he noticed Y/n move up on the Dean’s list, the more he feared Wanda’s spot would be threated. While he was confident in his daughter’s ability, he simply wanted to keep her spot safe. And that meant dealing with Y/n.

“She’s my equal.” All the guilt from the competition finally made sense. And as more things continued to click, the more Wanda stood in horror at the things she said to Y/n. This was all starting to become a nightmare, one that Wanda prayed to go away. But the look on her father’s face pissed her off even more. “If you don’t, I’m transferring. And there’s nothing you can do that will stop me.”

Giving him no time to respond, Wanda walked out of the office. There was no time to think about her ultimatum, not when all she could think about was Y/n.

‘Say something to her, Wanda, for fucks sake.’ It was finally the last day of the semester. Every student was mandated to leave by a certain time. While there was a large crowd of kids with their backpacks and suitcases, all Wanda could focus on was the goodbye happening between Natasha and Y/n.

The brunette had stayed up all night figuring out ways to get Y/n’s scholarship back. At one point, she even considered paying for Y/n’s tuition herself if it meant getting her to come back. But her father would immediately block her allowance if he caught wind of this.

So far, she hadn’t gotten a response back from him. ‘Maybe he needs more time.’ But time was running out as Natasha helped Y/n with the last box. Percy was already in the driver seat, ready for the long drive back home.

She could overhear their goodbyes and that Natasha would visit soon to hear the full story. But still, Wanda stood paralyzed, unable to move. ‘What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if I was too mean to her?’

And as Y/n got into the car, waving her goodbyes, Wanda stood behind the tree, clutching on to the only thing she had of Y/n. Tears quietly fell down her cheeks, a lingering question on her mind. ‘Did I push you away when you needed me the most?’

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