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holybibly · 9 months ago

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𝔗𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔯'𝔰 𝔭𝔢𝔱 | Mingi x reader

Pairing: Professor Mingi x cam girl | student reader Summary: You hated Professor Song Mingi wholeheartedly. He was young, successful, too handsome to benefit himself, and сonfident as the devil himself. The living embodiment of all your red flags - 10 out of 10 on the "rich, narcissist, idiot" list. At the same time, Song Mingi was the sexiest, most gorgeous man you'd ever seen. But what will you do when Professor Song discovers your dirty little secret? And that he might be too interested in giving you a private lesson in good manners? Genre / Au / Trope : Smut, University!AU, Sex Work!AU, Non-idol!AU, sugar daddy, student х teacher, forbidden relationships, cam girl. Rating: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI Word count: 10.3 k Warnings: Unprotected sex, stomach bulge, fingering, degrading, pet names, size kink, face fucking, dirty talk, explicit sexual content, explicit language, squirting, pussy slapping, oral, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, сreampie, rough sex, masturbation, humiliation, blow jobs, rough oral, power play, spanking, orgasm delay, sex toys (dildo, sex machine), sex work and more. net: @cultofdionysusnet A|N: This ff has been in my drafts for a very long time and was supposed to be a really sweet "gift" for my bunnies. But for various reasons, it didn't turn out the way I had planned, and I'm personally not entirely happy with what I've written. But I tried too hard, so I'm posting it. I hope that the bunnies will be pleased with the amount of debauchery and lust that I am about to offer you.

Bunnies, Professor Song is waiting for you in the lecture hall.

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦��𝔱 @tiny-apocalypse @captain-joongz @alicedawitchbish @woohwababes @wlv-asteria @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisprincesss @lavishloving @teagietots @spooo00oky @sousydive @hwapou @bunnliix @softwsan @mjyungi @fantasy2wonderland @noirsfantasy @cassies-cookies @renaholicss @luffypants @hyukssunflower @watermelon2319 @peachygiku @bunnyxoxodarling @stolasisyourparent @soranosnowbunny @certifiedmoa @sanglix @slvtiny @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hecateslittlewitchling @xxawl @pastellbunno @starlletsblog @seonghwasstar @hwanring @vtyb23 @pearltinyy @minjaeum @chasevixx @bomi-ja @onedumbho3 @sanglix @cursedeastern @itza-meee @pinkies-things @atinism @mxnsxngie @nenefix-on @therealcuppicake @annafeebou @sharksandminhos @@lixies-pixieboy @@vampzity

The real life of a student is not always as fun and glamorous as it might seem at first glance. If you think university life is an endless whirlwind of parties and passionate romances, then I'm sorry to disappoint you. Student life is nothing more than tonnes of homework, endless stress, and litres of coffee, which you probably drink on an empty stomach because you've been up all night studying for the next 'ultra-important' lesson, and of course impossibly annoying and boring professors who seem to be just waiting for the moment to ruin your life. So when there was an announcement at the beginning of the new term that your group would have a new French literature professor, you were completely oblivious. Your previous professor had been a boring, retired man with an unhealthy obsession with young female students and cigarettes who always left his classroom reeking of tobacco, so you didn't expect much from another 'amazing' professor. But, God, you were wrong. Professor Song Mingi was maybe, just maybe, the most handsome and attractive man you had ever seen in your life. With his elegant and chiselled features, he could definitely pass for a haute couture model. His body was an art form in itself and the hottest topic of discussion in the entire university, not only among the crowd of blushing girls in love but also among the female faculty members.

The way his perfectly pressed classic shirts fit his broad-shouldered, muscular body and the tight, expensive fabric of his pants tightened over his thick, juicy thighs, outlining every muscle, could leave no one indifferent, and even you gave in to the temptation of checking his Instagram profile, especially on lonely evenings. In your defence, you weren't the only one who started fondling herself when thinking of Professor Song Mingi. After all, how could you resist when the man was literally a walking list of the categories on Pornhub? But while Professor Song was a wet dream come to life, he was also the biggest jerk you've ever met. And there were more than a few of them. He was 10 out of 10 on your red flag list: arrogant, narcissistic, annoying, and impossibly self-centred. The world seemed to revolve around him as he looked down on everyone from his lofty perch.

Seriously, every time you thought he couldn't be more handsome and sexy, Mingi would rush out to prove otherwise, driving everyone around him crazy, but in the process, you found even more horrible traits that both excited you and made you hate him with all your heart.

And it seemed that you weren't the only one to feel hatred and resentment, as Professor Song, for reasons unknown to you, decided to make your life a living hell, infuriating you with his every word and action. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't live up to Mingi's high standards, and you always ended up at the very bottom of his class. In all seriousness, the man treated you as if he had the proverbial stick in his arse 24 hours a day. But God, that arse, if you had the chance, you would have loved to sink your teeth into it. It was juicy and firm, and it just created an irresistible urge to hold it in your palms and pull his body closer as Professor Song fucked you hard into the mattress. All in all, if Mingi had been able to hold his lectures standing with his back to the students all the time, as a good student, you would have wanted a seat in the front row, but hell, that was a pipe dream because Professor Song Mingi found a new way to drive you to hysteria every time.

It was really fucked up; you were rewriting your report for the third time, and it looked like you were going to keep on doing it for an indefinite amount of time. It didn't matter to Professor Song that everyone who read your report praised what you said and thought or that you spent a lot of time writing it, sacrificing sleep and nerve cells. But it seemed that nothing could live up to Mingi's standards, which no mortal could ever hope to reach—except for himself, of course.

"Your report lacks depth and understanding of the subject; I'm afraid you weren't paying enough attention while I lectured, Y/N. Did you have more important things to do than listen? Your report is not very good for a student in the third year. I am going to have to ask you to make significant changes; otherwise, you will not be able to pass in my class. Don't let me down this time, or I'll have to take even more serious measures against you."

As if all you ever thought about was being a good girl for him, slobbering all over him, and giving him obedient nods. He can go fuck himself. You hated Song Mingi so much.

French literature was always the first class of the day on a Friday, and it was absolutely terrible. After listening to Professor Song lecture for two hours in his deep, pornographic voice, you usually spend the rest of the day looking grumpy and depressed. And to top it all off, Mingi decided to wear one of his most stunning black designer classic shirts today, in which he unbuttoned a few buttons so that everyone around him could admire his stunningly smooth skin, which you wanted to lick. You swear that this man is a true spawn of hell, sent to earth to be your tormentor and sexual frustration. Needless to say, as well as he ruining your mood, your panties were hopelessly ruined by the sticky juices that tickled your labia whenever you moved.

"Good, at least this day is finally over." You mutter tiredly to yourself as you enter the dormitory that you share with your best friend, who you can't seem to see anywhere at the moment, which is understandable since it's Friday.

Shit, it's Friday; how could you forget it? Damned Professor Song Mingi. You forgot you were supposed to be streaming tonight because you were so caught up in the whole situation.

You hadn't planned to do this all along. It was just a one-time thing to pay off some debts, but money is a real drug that you get addicted to too quickly. But it wasn't just the money; it was the attention. The huge amount of attention you got from your followers was so sweet and exciting that it was impossible to refuse. So, like most other poor girls, it was no surprise that you got sucked into sex work and webcamming too quickly. It was good money that paid your way through university and your way of life without much thought for the future. You received thousands of comments from people who were desperate to fuck that pretty pink cunt of yours, as they had always told you, or to do many other lewd and horrible things to you. You weren't ashamed to admit that you had always been an attention whore, and their words and praise made you want more. It gave you confidence in your body and gave you immense power over those on the other side of the screen, just because of your well-groomed little cunt.

With an excited smile on your face, you walk to your room and remember the package that was delivered to you this morning. A very special gift that you are hoping will be the highlight of this evening's stream. You give a slight squeak as you see a beautiful black box made of heavy, expensive cardboard sitting in the middle of your bed, with a small envelope on top of it. You pick it up, sit down on the bed, and bite your plump lower lip in anticipation. The envelope looks like it came from one of those books of gothic literature that you love so much. It's as black as the box it came in, with a blood-red wax seal in the middle.

As you carefully remove the seal, revealing the small note inside, your whole body subconsciously warms.

"I hope this will make you think of me, doll." Le Maître

The white ink on the black matte paper looks too formal, and you're a little disappointed that the note isn't handwritten. But just to be on the safe side, there's no hint as to who the mysterious sender of the parcel might be. After all, for your own safety, you had to accept the parcel under a made-up pseudonym.

Le Maître. You practically squealed like a schoolgirl when this user first appeared in your paid private chatroom after one of your streams. There were a few other people there, but Le Maître was different; he was regal and bossy to you despite the fact that he paid to jerk off on your body. He was your number one viewer, attending every stream, sending you huge amounts of money, and complimenting and praising you. By now, you can definitely see that you've developed an unhealthy obsession with praise ever since the first time he referred to you as his "good girl."

Just a few days ago, he sent you a text message saying that he wanted to do something special for you—a little gift in celebration of the fact that your account now has over 25,000 subscribers. The gorgeous gift box on your lap is a special gift, and you have an inkling of what's inside the decadent scarlet corrugated paper. You impatiently rifle through the layers of wrapping paper and gasp when you see what you have received—a little sex machine. As you inspect the shiny, erotic pleasure device, you notice a small piece of paper attached to the sturdy, mechanical body of the machine. "A special gift for my angel, who already has more than 25,000 subscriptions. You are such a sweet girl. Please use it in your next stream so your Maître can see it. P.S. I have a controller, Dolly."

You swallow loudly, feeling a nervous shiver run through your body and heat build in the pit of your stomach; you're sure your pussy is already wet with a strangely arousing anticipation, juices dripping down the quivering folds onto your lace panties. Fuck, he's really going to fuck you, thanks to this sex machine. Your attention will be drawn to the large dildo that is attached to the mechanism. It's thick and long, with lots of veins running down the shaft, mimicking the swollen veins on a real cock. It's cold and textured to the touch, and you can imagine how shiny and smooth it will be when your cum runs down it. You squeeze your thighs together in excitement, looking forward to using it tonight and putting on a show for your audience that they won't forget for a very long time. You put your 'gift' to one side and get out of bed to get ready for your weekly stream.

"Hello, bunnies! Are you ready for this evening?" You chirp, your voice sweet and luscious with a slightly childish, innocent tone, as you shyly rub the strap of your sheer lace lingerie. "Tonight I'm going to show you something different from my usual show; as you all know, by now I've reached 25,000 followers." You fidget slightly on the bed, twirling a strand of your long hair around your finger. You purse your lips, knowing that the shimmering lip gloss makes your mouth look just fuckable.

The mini-sex machine is standing on a pouffe out of the camera's view, and you take a deep breath to calm your excitement before you lean closer to the camera so that everyone can see your face and how plump and juicy your tits look in that bra. Luckily, this site doesn't allow screenshots and will quickly ban any user who dares to do so; otherwise, you could be in big trouble.

"You're all so nice to me; you deserve to enjoy my face. Today, I'd like to be a little closer to you. Don't I look especially pretty today?"

One by one, the comments come in, and you giggle at everyone's excitement.

"Goddamn, you're beautiful." "I want to cum on that pretty face of yours, baby." "Your face is making me so horny, sweetie." "These lips are made to suck cock." "You're so pretty; are you going to be an obedient kitty for Daddy?"

We all have our own dirty little secret that we carefully hide, and it happened that the secret of the seemingly arrogant and fastidious Professor Song Mingi was that his regular nightly routine involved watching livestreams of pretty webcam girls with small, tight pussies. A man has needs; sue him for that, and being so busy with work and surrounded by a crowd of hormonal, giggling university students every day, he doesn't have the time or energy to find a connection. And Mingi doubted that anyone could satisfy his sexual appetite. He had always been overly demanding in everything he did, and sex was no exception. Mingi wanted to find a perfect little doll who he could fuck and spoil as much as he wanted; he needed a sweet mouth and free access to a tiny pussy, and in return, he would be happy to give the cute doll his black credit card.

One evening, he found one who immediately caught his attention, and not just because of her pretty, juicy tits and doll-like, shiny mouth, while he was browsing through the numerous profiles of various girls. You were so adorable and innocent-looking, but completely slutty. It was an instant match made in heaven for Mingi. Imagine his surprise when he saw you the first day he started working at the university. You were his student, his sweet little student, the girl he had shameless fantasies about all the time. He thought that he should feel disgusted with himself, or at least ashamed, but to be honest, Mingi didn't care; your cunt was pink and tight, and that was enough to make him forget all sense of decency.

Mingi doesn't know how he feels about it, but the way his cock gets hard just at the sight of you means he'll be getting his money's worth and enjoying the show. His classic black shirt is unbuttoned, revealing his embossed abs and golden, luscious skin dripping with sweat. He unzips his trousers and pulls out his big, throbbing cock, which jerks at the sight of you in the slutty lingerie you have bought with his money. He hisses softly, biting his plump lower lip, his eyes fixed on the cleft between your tits. Mingi desperately wants to fuck your breasts.

"Someone very special has sent me a beautiful gift, my darlings, and I am definitely going to make use of it today." Your cheeks are burning from all the lewd comments, but it is only turning you on more and more, making your pussy even wetter and more needy.

You sit down on the bed, bend down until you can't see the chatter, and pull the ottoman between your legs to the edge of the bed. The sound of the incoming tips becomes loud and constant as soon as the erotic device appears in the frame.

Mingi slowly strokes his thick, veiny member with his hand, clutching the small sex machine controller in his other large hand. He can't help but wonder what it would be like to be the one to destroy your pretty pussy with his cock. His dark eyes bore into yours as he bit down hard on his lower lip and used the pad of his thumb to circle the already-leaking red head of his cock. If only he were able to fuck you right now.

You take a bottle of vanilla lube and smear it on the dildo, moaning loudly as you run your hand from the base to the head several times, tracing the ridges with your fingers to simulate veins, imagining that this is the dick of a certain professor. God, you hate and adore Professor Song at the same time; he is the star of all your most depraved and vulgar fantasies, which is why you always cum so hard and profusely. Fortunately, when you collapse during your orgasm, you have enough control over your mouth to keep from moaning his name.

With your other hand, you pull your pretty panties aside and run your fingers through your wet folds, spreading them slightly and showing off your wetness.

"Fuck, your pussy is so nice." "You've played with yourself before; you're already so wet." "Give me a lick of your pussy, angel."

The comments go on and on, as do the messages about the tips while you are gently massaging your pussy. You close your eyes, bite your lip and let out a soft moan as the pad of your middle finger makes contact with your sensitive clit.

"Damn it, I wish I could have your fingers playing with my pussy right now," you whine. Your free hand pulls down your bra straps, exposing your breasts to the camera, your nipples hardening with growing pleasure. You take the nipple between your fingers and gently twist and pull at it. Your pussy is leaking, the transparent, viscous mucus enveloping your fingers, making them shiny and smooth, and running down your milky thighs, leaving a wet, cold trail.

You imagine Professor Song's long fingers penetrating you, stretching your tight hole, and preparing you for the insertion of his dick into your pussy. Mingi has breathtakingly beautiful hands—wide palms, thick, long fingers, always adorned with rings and bracelets. Fuck, just to feel those rings inside you, pressing against the silky hot walls of your pussy, you would do anything. You circle your fingers around the wet, quivering edge of your hole before you slip two fingers inside, your soft walls tightening around them in an instant. Your other hand stops playing with your nipples and reaches out for the toy that is about to fuck you to death.

Your breathing becomes uneven, your chest rising and falling with your moans and gasps. Your fingers run over the silky walls of your pussy a couple of times before you start to fuck yourself to death at a fast and furious pace. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you stick out your tongue and let it drip onto your naked tits.

You know the effect you have on your audience; they love seeing someone so sweet and angelic looking like a slutty whore, and to get more praise and tips, you pull your fingers out of your cunt and slap your pussy with them. The loud signal of the incoming tip is echoed by the wet, disgusting sound of your hand touching your skin.

"Oh daddy, I want your cock so bad; my pussy is throbbing for you," you say. You hold your fingers up to the camera to show how wet they are with your slick. "I'm such a sweet Daddy; I want you to eat me up. I promise I'll come on your tongue like a good girl." You put your fingers in your mouth; you lick them, suck them, and slurp around them. The moans you make sound more like whimpering than something soft and melodic.

On the other side of the screen, Mingi is moaning in a guttural way as he leans back in the big leather chair in his home office, squeezing and massaging his balls as he enjoys the wet slurping sounds that you are making. His cock is pressed against his hard belly, the viscous pre-cum dripping from the head of it and flowing between the reliefs of his abs. His eyes roll back in his head as he imagines fucking your cunt with his nimble fingers, stretching your tight little hole in preparation for his hard fucking. You will be moaning loudly and writhing as your juices flood his hand and run down his sinewy forearm.

You get on your knees on the bed and adjust the toy so that it's right in front of your dripping hole, holding your knickers so that they don't block the view of your pussy. You are already looking so messed up. A long string of mucus is coming out of your hole, straight onto the toy, and the strokes are coming in at a crazy rate. You look straight into the camera with your big innocent eyes; your lips are pouting sweetly. Mingi hisses at this, grabs his dick, and squeezes it several times. The fingers of his other hand are flicking the switch on the controller of the sex machine.

"Please, sir, I've been such a good girl for you. Are you going to fuck me now?" You are licking your lips with the tip of your tongue, and you are lowering your pussy down onto the artificial dick. The silicone is cold and smooth, and the contrast in temperature between it and your hot pussy makes you moan loudly and for a long time.

Mingi growls, the desire coursing through him as he hears the respectful title that falls from your plump lips, in the same way that you address him as "Sir" in class when you turn up for his lecture, and it drives him mad. He turns the dial, and the car comes to life and begins to move. Your eyes lose their focus, and your mouth falls open as the toy begins to move inside of you. Your fingers spread your labia, and you show the audience how the dildo is slowly stretching your tight little hole. The size of the toy is huge, despite the artificial penis being cold and lifeless, but that doesn't change the fact that it is tearing you apart. Your legs tremble as you try to maintain a stable position on the bed. Your toes curl as you begin to play with your swollen, sensitive clit, stimulating yourself further and causing more of the sticky, slippery fluid to gush out of you.

Mingi watched intently through the screen as you writhed and moaned; the toy was finally buried completely inside you, and he could see its impressive size causing your belly to bulge. Damn it! He can bet his bottom dollar that the silicone head of the dick is in direct contact with your cervix. When he sees how greedily your cunt swallows the toy, his predatory dark eyes flash, and he swallows noisily. You can take his cock like a good girl, and he'll see to it that it happens soon. Even though this toy is much bigger than any you've fucked your cunt with in previous streams, Mingi doesn't give you time to get used to its size. But he knows that in reality, you are an absolute slut who lives for the cock and that you can easily take anything that is given to you.

The sex machine picks up speed, and you scream loudly as you feel the fake veins on the dildo drag along the walls of your body with every mechanical movement—your hands cupping and massaging your breasts, your fingers pinching your swollen nipples. The pleasure coursing through your veins, your moans growing louder by the minute, and your head falling back. Your thoughts turn to Professor Song, of course.

God, that man—the way your body has reacted to him has been completely abnormal. Professor Song Mingi is an absolute asshole, and all he does is bully you and ruin your grades. But fuck, you wanted it so much—to destroy your pussy with his dick. You hate every part of his gorgeous appearance—that stupid long hair, a weird shade of orange that looks damn good on him, those sharp fox eyes that always look at you with judgement. There's such disgust and contempt in his eyes; it's like he's saying, "You're a worthless whore," and God, you really want him to address you like that, especially in that porn voice that makes your pussy leak.

Under your fingers, what will his hair feel like? Will it be as soft to the touch as it is to the eye? What will his eyes be like? Will they be filled with unbridled hunger as his long, slick tongue flicks across your clit? Will his deep voice vibrate against your skin as he moans softly and tastes you in his mouth? Will his big, rough hands be gripping your hips, digging their fingers into the soft flesh until you're bruised and scratched, holding you still as he buries his face in your cunt as if he couldn't live without it for a single day? All these vivid erotic images flash through your brain, the constant beeping of the donors just background noise as you imagine your professor's deep, velvety voice commanding you to cum.

"Wish you could fuck me now. Oh fuck! Please, sir, fuck your pretty little doll properly." You moan loudly as the speed of the sex machine increases, all the words blending together. The whirring sound of the machine synchronises with the rapid beating of your heart as the silicone cock thrusts into you, lewd squelching fills the room, and your moans and cries become longer and more pitiful, like a cat in heat, as your orgasm begins to build rapidly.

"Oh sir, I'm thinking about the way your dick is sliding between my legs. Is it as thick and as big as this toy? Are you going to feed your doll with your cum?"

There are few things in this world that can make Professor Song Mingi lose his balance, but the sight of his cute little student fucking her dripping, plump cunt with the toy he has given her is definitely the one thing that makes his jaw drop. You are fucking beautiful, a real doll that Mingi would like to sit on a velvet cushion in his house and admire like a work of art. He knows you're about to come—your cheeks are flushed, your lips are parted in a perfect orgasmic "oh," your trembling little hand reaches for your clit to rub the throbbing bundle of nerves and bring you to the desired climax, and your eyes are so closed you can hardly see.

Mingi's hand glides a little faster over his dick; it's slippery and shiny with the sperm that leaks out of it. At the same pace as you rub your aching clit, Mingi makes sharp, quick circles with his palm around his cock.

"Fuck!" Mingi growls as he grips the arm of the chair and pushes his hips into his hand, the massive bracelets around his wrist clanking as his hand comes down hard on his cock. As the sex machine fucks you hard and fast at top speed, the controller is forgotten on the table next to his laptop. Your piercing moans are music to his ears, and the way your thighs subtly tremble shows the immense pleasure he is indirectly giving you. Your head is thrown back, exposing your neck, and your hips roll on the toy, the juices from your vagina running down your ass and soaking the sheets beneath you, your juicy, plump tits bouncing with the movement of the sex machine.

"Sir, Daddy, please! Can I cum for you? Please let me come for you! I've been such a good girl for you!" You are shaking all over, your orgasm is growing stronger with each passing second, and you know that it is going to be amazing. The palm of your hand is slapping your pussy again, and the sounds of tipping over are coming with renewed force. What fucking perverts!

When he realises the effect he is having on you without even touching you, a tingle runs down Mingi's spine. He has complete control over your orgasm, and you will do whatever he wants without him interfering in your real life.

"Come for me, my doll." His voice is dark and deep, despite the force with which he fucks his hand, the leather chair creaking from the powerful thrusts of his thick, meaty thighs. As if you can hear him, you pinch your clit sharply and squeal deafeningly, your body shaking in small convulsions as you cum on a toy you imagine is Professor Song's dick. The walls of your pussy contract as you try to hold the fake cock inside you as you ride out your orgasm.

Mingi cum right after you, moaning gutturally, his eyes rolling back in his head as streams of cum spray onto his thighs and abs, his mind clouded by the orgasm, and he completely forgets that he hasn't turned off the toy that continues to mercilessly stuff your cunt. His attention is drawn back to you when he hears you squealing pitifully, the tears rolling down your face and smearing your make-up, and Mingi finds himself thinking that he would like to see the same look on your face when his dick is deep down in your throat.

"Oh my God, s-sir, turn it off! Please, I can't... Oh, bloody hell! Sir, I beg you..." You scream, the tears streaming freely down your face as the sex machine continues to fill your pussy with cock like there is no tomorrow, your hands gripping the sheets as the sensory overload washes over your body like a tidal wave.

Mingi looks at you with hunger and animal lust as he watches the toy abuse your used, dripping cunt. Of course, he could turn it off if he wanted to, but he doesn't because he knows that you could just lie back on the bed and put an end to your supposed agony, but you don't want to.

He gives you a devilish grin and licks his lips as he watches the fat tears roll down your flushed cheeks as you beg him to make it stop. Your whole body glistens with a subtle sheen of sweat, and as Mingi has watched your body countless times, he knows every reaction of yours—you will cum for him; he is sure of it.

"Oh god, damn, damn! I'm going to cum again, Daddy." You let out another loud squeal, your back arching as you come for the second time that night, and this time a clear stream of liquid shoots out of your pussy, soaking the sheets even more. The tipping sounds are louder than they were before, and if there was an audience in your room, they would definitely enjoy watching you squirt over and over again. Damn, you really put on a show for them that they won't forget in a hurry.

Mingi smiles with satisfaction and strokes his cock once more, this time prolonging his pleasure with lazy strokes as he watches you whimpering and twitching with the overwhelming pleasure of your orgasm. He is kind enough to put an end to your torment by picking up the controller unit from the table and turning off the sex machine. The loud mechanical whirring ceases as the toy stops fucking you. You slowly rise from your seat, the thick dildo sliding out of your pussy—glossy and wet with your essence. You whimper quietly, still too sensitive, your chest heaving with heavy, ragged breaths. The next thing you do is make Mingi sink teeth into his lower lip until it starts to bleed.

"Let me clean you, Daddy; you have been so good to me today. My cunt feels so warm and full." Your pretty, plump lips wrap around the fake cock's head, smacking sweetly before shoving the larger half of the toy into your mouth, sucking and licking with your tongue like a real cock. After tasting the juices running down the length of the silicone, you close your eyes and moan.

Your brain forms images of how you would do this to Mingi, choking on his cock, swallowing it to the base, tickling his balls with the tip of your tongue; sucking him like a good girl, licking every swollen vein along its huge velvety length, and you know Professor Song has a big, thick dick. You think about how he will grab your hips, slap your butt cheeks hard, and penetrate your needy, horny cunt with one hard thrust until his balls are slapping against your ass. Fuck, you really want Professor Song to destroy you, and this desire almost overshadows the hatred you feel for this man.

Snap back to reality, and you're practically crawling over to your laptop with innocent, tear-stained eyes before pulling the toy out of your mouth with a wet pop and smiling brightly at the camera as if you hadn't just been ruined by a silicone dick. Your mouth is shiny and wet from a mixture of saliva, sticky pink lip gloss, and your juices.

"Fuck, that was so hot."

"I'd like you to splash on my cock as well, honey."

"Wow, baby, I didn't know you could do that. Will you squirt on my face if I pay you?"

"I want to cum in your cunt so bad, sweet cheeks, daddy must keep you full and pretty with his cum."

"You're so fucking beautiful, angel, I'll jerk off on your face every night."

"That was your best stream ever, princess."

All these comments are making you giggle. Men are really just horny animals; show them a nice pussy and they will be at your feet.

You spend some time interacting with the public, reading comments, and showing off your new toys and lingerie that you bought with the money you made from streaming. The cursor hovers over the bright red button, and before you press it to end the broadcast, you look straight into the camera, first slowly licking your lips, then slightly tilting your head to the side with the sweetest expression on your cute little face. It may seem that you are talking to all the viewers, but in fact you are talking to just one man, Le Maître.

"I hope you have enjoyed today's show, sir, and that you have had a lot of fun. But I really want you to use your real dick to make me cum and squirt so hard. I really, really want you to fuck me in real life, Daddy." You kissed and winked at everyone, and you finally finished your show.

Mingi couldn't sleep at all that night; after the show, he jerked off two or three more times, even using an artificial pussy, imagining he was fucking you instead of a cold silicone toy. He came so much that his cum was everywhere, even landing on his luxurious diamond-encrusted Rolex.

In contrast to your restless, overheated professor, you fell asleep almost immediately—tired and satisfied—from an amazing orgasm and from a huge amount of money that fell into your bank account after the stream had ended. Of course, your Le Maître was the biggest donor of all.

Next Friday

"I expect all of you to take this course more seriously and to have your homework done by Monday. From next week, there will be three more lectures on French literature in your course, so don't be a disappointment to me. The class is dismissed."

You sigh heavily, already anticipating the torment the extra pairings with Professor Song will bring you. Fuck, you hate him so much, but the sight of his thighs in those tight trousers should be illegal. That's a real crime against humanity. You gather your things and hope to get out of the stuffy lecture hall, which now always has the smell of pure sex—Professor Song's perfume. If you didn't know any better, you'd be thinking that the man was literally bathing in an aphrodisiac, because it's just not real to smell like that. You never thought you'd be turned on by someone else's perfume, but here we are, drooling on the floor at the incredibly sexy scent that Professor Song Mingi wears like a second skin. Sometimes you wonder: Does the bitch know how attractive he is? But he does, and he uses it to his advantage, judging by that smug, arrogant grin that always sits on those plump, sensual lips.

You are just about to leave when you hear his deep, husky voice calling out your name. Oh no, not now.

"I'd like to talk to you about your performance, Y/N." Mingi begins to speak slowly, stretching out the letters and putting emphasis on the last word. There is definitely a certain ambiguity in all this, which you can't quite make out. "What can you tell me about it?" He walks around his desk, leans his gorgeous butt against it, and crosses his arms over his chest. His poor shirt buttons try harder than the devil on a good day.

You tilt your head to the side in confusion and walk down the stairs, authematic, to be closer to him. Why is he asking you that now? Damn, he always finds the perfect time to throw you off balance. Your heart races, and you try to ground yourself, thinking about what an idiot he is and what strange things could be going on in that beautiful head of his. You struggled to read him; his stunning model face always had this arrogant royal expression that completely failed to convey his true feelings, so every time you talked to him, it was like playing with a big cat.

"I think I'm all right, Sir. Why are you asking?" You stammer slightly, but when you hear Mingi's deep moaning, all your mental scolding about your nervousness quickly fades away. You stare at him with your eyes wide open in an attempt to comprehend what the hell is going on. Your eyes focus on Professor Song. The way your narcissistic jerk of a professor shamelessly adjusts his trousers, which now show a very noticeable bulge in his crotch.

Before you know it, you're standing right in front of him, and your nervousness has returned with a vengeance. He's even more handsome up close—classic glasses perched on the bridge of his perfect nose, his long fingers reaching up to remove them and place them on the table. He stares at you with his dark fox eyes, towering over your petite frame, as he carefully pulls the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows, revealing the massive bracelets around his wrists and the bulging veins on his forearms. God, does he have any idea of the effect this has on you? Too afraid to look him in the eye, you cast a glance at the small cross around his neck.

"Yes, you're doing very well. Too well, actually, aren't you, Y/N?" As his thumb runs down your soft cheek, tracing the outline of your mouth lower until he slides it between your parted lips, you almost gasp and feel like you're going to faint. You don't hear anything but your heart pounding in your ears. It feels like it's about to burst out of your chest. You stare at him helplessly as he presses the pad of his finger against your tongue, stroking it lightly. A devilish grin appears on his plump lips, replacing his usual bitchy expression with something more sinister and dangerous. "Such a beautiful little dolly, aren't you? So skilled with your fingers, so good with that pretty little doll mouth of yours, and you definitely know how to serve that little cunt of yours perfectly." Mingi whispers as he leans closer to you, his other hand reaching under your skirt and squeezing your bare bottom. Fuck, you definitely shouldn't have worn a thong today. "I'm sure you're playing with your sweet bottom, too, bunny." He continues to rub his thumb over your tongue for a few more moments, while his other hand gives your arse a hard massage that makes you squeal with pleasure. You're quite sure that the skin on your bottom is already red from his aggressive touch. As soon as Mingi stops touching you and pulls his hands away from you, crossing them over his broad chest, the situation comes back to you.

You are watching his every move, breathing heavily, letting your eyes glide over every pulsing vein on his forearms, and praying to God that you will have enough strength not to lean over and run the tip of your tongue over them.

"P-Professor, I don't have a clue what you're talkin' about."

"Oh, darling, don't play innocent; you have a very clear idea of what I'm talking about. I'm really glad you found a good use for the gift I gave you last night, my angel." Professor Song's voice is a velvety whisper, and considering how quiet it is in the lecture theatre, he might as well have shouted, the meaning of his words ringing loudly in your ears. He's like a predator, slowly circling around you, the soles of his designer shoes clicking on the parquet floor. Your feet feel as if they are glued to the floor, and you don't know what to do. When you try to speak again, your voice sounds broken, and you are on the verge of tears.

"Will there be a report against me, Professor Song? Or what? You haven't got any hard evidence that it's me." You say it with conviction, and hope springs, but unfortunately, it dies as soon as Mingi opens his mouth.

"That may be true, my dear. But you wouldn't want such terrible accusations to be made against you, would you? Mingi taunts you; his deep voice suddenly comes very close to your ear. You feel so unprotected in his presence, so tiny in comparison to his huge, tall body. Why does this man have to be so bloody big?

"They'll never know it was me who found your profile on the porn site; I could easily pass it off as an anonymous tip." You catch your breath as you feel his rough, hot hand slide under your skirt and up your thigh. Mingi smiles at your reaction and leans in closer to you, biting the lobe of your ear. "Besides, this is going to get rumoured around the university. People will be tempted to do a check on your account—people you know, people you might be close to." He goes on, the heat of his breath making you shiver.

His broad palm grips your mound in a possessive way, the heat from your pretty pussy causing his cock to twitch in his trousers. You try to stifle a shameful moan, but the sound escapes you, and you unconsciously lean forward, pressing your breasts against him. Mingi wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his body as he does so. Oh shit, your head is spinning from the smell of his perfume so close, and on top of everything else, you're ashamed to admit it, but your pussy is terribly wet, and you're pretty sure Professor Song can feel your wetness in the palm of his hand.

"It may be illegal to screenshot, and your streamers will disappear, but what about the pictures and videos you've posted? Of course, everyone will be able to see your sexy little body all over the place. And don't you dare argue about it. You always look like a thirsty slut, wearing those tiny skirts and shoving your tits in everyone's face. You are a worthless little bitch." Professor Song hisses and presses the palm of his hand harder against your pussy, and you want to rub it against it so badly that it's almost pathetic.

Your tongue doesn't turn into an object; it's as if it were glued to the roof of your mouth. Mingi was right; you've always dressed rather provocatively, and it's never bothered you, but it seemed to bother him.

"Either way, your name will still be in tatters, and my reputation will be perfect and clean, as it should be. I'm a respected professor with a model student. I'm not someone who watches a cam-girl stream every Friday night and watches how she stuffs a fake cock into her luscious little cunt." Wiping away a tear that has accidentally escaped your eye, Mingi's thumb runs down your cheek. Your vision is blurred by the tears, and the dark, lustful eyes of Professor Song are the only thing you can see clearly.

"Please tell me... What can I do to stop you from saying anything about me?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, and your words are a useless string of letters. Mingi's eyes flash angrily at your whimpering plea.

"Ah angel, you sound even better in real life when you're begging." Mingi moans as his middle finger slowly rubs the folds of your folds through your panties, which are more like a tiny piece of lace and do very little to cover the plumpness of your cunt. You whimper softly as you lean back against his shoulder. You've always been easy to arouse, and the wet sound you make when Mingi's fingers tease your pussy makes it clear that you're absolutely flowing for him right now. You can be sure that as soon as he pulls your panties off to the side, your viscous slime will be dripping freely out of your hole and onto the polished parquet floor. "I think you know very well what it is I want from you. I pay you good money all the time; don't you think I deserve the real thing, my doll?" You let out a loud whimper as his big hand pressed down hard on your shoulder. "On your knees, little one; don't keep your sir waiting."

As you kneel before your professor, facing the growing bulge in his trousers, your lower lip trembles. Professor Song is leaning against the desk, his hands on either side of his body, gazing up at you from under the lashes of his eyes. Your trembling hands are fumbling with his belt, and the sound of the metal echoes through the empty room.

"Oh, now you're embarrassin' yourself, darlin'? Where's that slutty bitch who was squirting all over yesterday because she let her pussy get stretched by a big dildo?" Mingi says it arrogantly, tilting his head to the side and tapping his fingers on his desk in disappointment. You flinch at his words like a slap in the face, but don't bother to reply as you pull down his trousers and underwear, the sight of his thick, wiry cock making your mouth dry as you try to swallow the lump in your throat. Like everything else about Professor Song, his cock is amazing—a drop of pre-ejaculate glistening on the flushed head, a thick vein swollen and throbbing just waiting for you to run your soft tongue over it, and its size—he's got a huge cock with a massive girth that you can barely wrap your palm around. Mingi wraps his hand around the cock, his thumb smearing the wetness over the head before he brings it to your lips and runs his whole length over it, leaving a wet sheen, and slaps your mouth a couple of times.

"Open your mouth, dolly."

Mingi's other hand tangles in your hair, pulling hard on the long strands as you obediently open your mouth for him. His thick cock enters your mouth slowly, your jaw tensing as you try to get used to the size of it. You choke as the blunt head of his cock hits the back of your throat and the balls rest against the side of your chin. Mingi's thumb caressed your tear-stained cheek, and he cooed sweetly as he watched you gurgle around his cock, drool bubbling at the corners of your lips and dripping down your chin. His cock is hot and heavy in your mouth, the veins stretching across the sensitive, velvety skin. Professor Song doesn't give you enough time to get used to the size of his cock and pulls your head back until the only thing left in your mouth is his head.

"Don't you think you should lick me before I fuck you in the mouth, doll? You were very eloquent about wanting me to do it yesterday." You obediently run your tongue around the head of his cock, feeling more pre-cum pouring from his slit onto your tongue. It has a sweetly bitter taste, and you think that it is very suitable for Mingi. "Well done." Professor Song hisses at you before he pushes his cock all the way back into your mouth. You gasp as your hands fly to his strong, muscular thighs in an attempt to push him away as his hips thrust sharply forward, mindlessly using your mouth as his personal cock sleeve. The thick length of it presses down on your throat, and the bulge of his cock is perfectly visible against the back of your neck with each powerful thrust.

"I have been waiting for such a long time to fuck that slutty mouth. Darling, I can see that you have nothing more to say to me, do you? That's how it's supposed to be; whores don't get to talk." Mingi lets out a deep moan and throws her head back as she pushes you down on his cock. Your saliva mixes with his pre-cum and sticky lip gloss, coating the length of thickly dick, making it shiny and smooth so it slides easily over your tongue and deeper into your throat. As you reflexively try to swallow, your jaw aches, your lips stretch around the thick circumference, and the walls of your throat contract. Never in your life have you sucked such a big, long cock, yet here you are, fulfilling the role of a pretty sex toy for your professor to enjoy. At least, unlike some lifeless silicone, no matter how expensive, your cunt and mouth are warm and moist.

As he mercilessly fucks you in the mouth, Professor Song is not shy about his volume, emitting hoarse, prolonged moans and growls. Anyone could walk into the lecture hall at any moment and see your compromising position, but for some reason it turns you on. Maybe you really are a slut, although as long as you get paid enough, you don't mind being one, especially when Mingi is the one scolding you daily until you pass out.

"Fuck, I'll cum." Mingi gasps as he wraps both of his large arms around your head, trying to hold it in place. You moan around his cock, the vibrations making Professor Song growl ducky as he presses harder into your slluty mouth and your grip on his hips tightens, your nails digging into the juicy flesh, leaving vicious marks, but Mingy doesn't give a shit; you could rip his skin off if he keeps fucking you like a personal doll. His dark, foxy eyes find yours, his beautiful, plump lips are slightly parted, and his balls are clenched, slapping you on the chin. Now you don't even know what to call him. If you thought Song Mingi looked like a wet dream before, then now he's sex itself.

"Damn, damn, damn, doll!" He moans loudly, jerking his hips as his sperm pours into your mouth. As you forcefully swallow the viscous liquid that seems to have no end, your prolonged whimper is distorted. There's so much of his cum that some of it seeps through the corners of your mouth. He continues to slowly fuck your mouth. "Don't waste it, slut." He says it in a threatening voice, and you whimper at the venom in his tone. Mingi uses his long fingers to push his cum between your lips and roughly wipes the wet mess around your mouth. All of his rings are covered in a thin layer of cum and saliva, but you think it's hot.

You blink twice, catch your breath, and the next thing you know, your knees are no longer touching the cold floor, and your face, wet with tears and sperm, is pressed against Professor Song's spotless, cold desk; he has thrown you on the desk like a fucking doll. Fucking hell, that wasn't supposed to turn you on, but God, this man is just driving you crazy. You're too preoccupied with your thoughts to notice that Mingi has lifted your skirt, exposing your wet thong to his gaze. The cold air in the audience causes your hole to clench in reflex and the liquid to squirt out.

You have to clench your fist to keep from squealing as the tight, expensive leather of his belt lands on your bottom with a loud crack. Oh my God, he has just hit you with his belt. Oh shit. Mingi doesn't let you recover; he holds your head against the table with one hand while he slaps your bottom again with the other. The sting of the contact between your soft flesh and the belt makes you squirm and writhe.

"You just sucking my cock, and you're already so wet? You really are a slut. Aren't you?" He smirks as he leans down and sinks his teeth into the flushed skin of your arse before giving you another good spanking. You whimper as Mingi pulls your thong down your trembling legs, long strands of your own slime tugging at the insignificant piece of fabric as he does so. He pushes your buttocks apart so that your plump, flowing pussy is exposed to his hungry eyes.

Mingi picks up your leg, which is bent at the knee, and puts it down on the table. You whimper and grab hold of the edge of the table, embarrassed at how open you are to him at this moment. To be honest, it's the most disgusting feeling—you're embarrassed, but at the same time, you want him to do even more disgusting and humiliating things with you. Professor Song crouches down in front of you and spits into your cunt before licking a long, sloppy strip between your folds. Mingi uses his fingers to push your folds apart and then slides the tip of his tongue into your tight hole, tracing the edge of it.

"Oh, God, sir..." As Mingi eagerly licks your cunt, avoiding your throbbing clit, you let out a long moan and arch your hips towards his tongue. He pulls back abruptly, his heavy hand coming down on your bruised arse to spank you hard before you can get the stimulation you need.

"Did I tell you you could move, huh? You impatient bitch." You whimper at his reproachful tone. You scratch the wood with your fingernails as he spanks you again. "A good student answers the question, Dolly." Mingi hisses, mixing the scalding pain with the pleasure of the spanking, as his hand touches your bottom again. "N-no, sir! You didn't tell me to move! I'm so sorry."

"That's right, doll, but I have a feeling the games are over for today." Professor Song says as he finally gets up to his full height and puts his arm around your neck.

Breathing heavily and hoarsely, Mingi feels the heat emanating from you as he guides his thick cock into your little hole. You let out a loud breath and wonder if his cock will feel like the toy he has given you. Probably not; however much you like it, nothing compares to the warmth and throbbing of a real cock, especially Song Mingi's cock. You squirm as you feel the head of his cock pass slowly between your muscles, a soft howl escaping from your lips. The dildo you used yesterday is nothing compared to Mingi's dick; it feels bigger and thicker, the swollen veins of his cock stretching deliciously along your silky, trembling walls. The urge to hold him inside you is almost irresistible, and you can't help but clench around him. Fuck, and here you thought Mingi couldn't be more slutty and godlike, and you were wondering if his cock had been given special attention during his creation? You let out a loud moan, your tongue flicking out of your mouth, and right now you definitely fit the definition of 'well fucked'. Drops of sweat roll down Mingi's neck, disappearing beneath the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt, exposing his hot golden skin and sculpted breasts. Heavy breathing replaces what he's saying, and you feel partly grateful for that. When he finally enters you at the base, the head of his cock touching your cervix and his forehead pressing against your shoulder, you both moan loudly.

"S-Sir, y-you're too big."

Ignoring your whimpering, Mingi grabs you by the hips and immediately sets a brutal but rhythmic pace with you. The objects on his desk shake and fall, shattering on the parquet floor as he fucks you, pressing your body against the desk with the full weight of his body. The fabric rubbing against your hardened nipples sends a pleasant tingle down your spine and makes you shiver from the added stimulation. Your moans grow louder and louder, your cheeks burning, and you can hear his heavy balls slapping against your clit as he thrusts your tight pussy back and forth along the length of his throbbing cock. The humiliation of pouring cream around Professor Song's cock brings tears to your eyes, but at the same time, you come to an almost orgasmic pleasure as he slaps your arse again. The sting stings like a bitch, but it feels fucking unbelievably good.

"That's it, goddamn it. I've been thinking about fucking that tight little cunt for ages. You really are the perfect doll to fuck."

It all makes you dizzy, and you moan "sir" and "daddy" as your pussy sucks him up greedily. You're getting so excited; you don't want to admit it, but you can't help yourself. You can't get enough of Mingi's cock. It feels so good inside you.

"That's my good little girl. You're definitely worth what I've paid for you." Mingi growls in your ear as he pushes harder and harder into your used cunt. He presses down hard on your neck, pinning you to the table, not letting you move, and fucking you relentlessly, his hips moving hard and fast as he takes complete control of your body. Your orgasm starts to form, an intoxicating sensation of rapture coursing through your veins like lava.

"Sir, please! Harder!" You need to cum so badly that you beg him to go harder.

Mingi's eyes were narrow—dark and cruel—and his muscles were quivering and tense from your pathetic begging. He's a professor, and professors always want the best for their students, especially the ones they like best.

"Look at you, begging for my cock like a good little bitch," he says. He accentuates the last word with a strong thrust and plunges so deep into your cunt that you can almost feel the head of his cock entering your cervix. A mixture of incoherent words and intermittent moans escape your lips. Your head falls forward as Professor Song releases your neck to grab your thighs again, leaving more bruises on them.

"Will you cum for me, bitch?" He leans down to your ear and nibbles on your lobe, the slapping of your skin and squishing of your pussy echoing through the empty hall.

"Hell yeah! I'm going to cum for you! I'm going to cum for you, Daddy; I'm going to cum on your cock!" You scream, the knot in your stomach gets tighter and tighter, and Professor Song fucks your flowing cunt faster and harder.

"Then cum, bunny." He growls, his hips losing their rhythm and jerking, his cock throbbing as thick, hot jets of cum coat the walls of your cunt. He moans your name quietly while your voice is barely audible—a weak, panting whisper, 'Mingi'. Both of your bodies are slowly at rest, revelling in the haze of your orgasms. Soft cries and whimpers escape from your lips, and you shudder as you feel your mixed juices pour out of you, staining the floor that was once so clean. You collapse helplessly on the table, your body going limp, a puddle of saliva pooling under your cheek, and your breathing heavy as you try to clear your mind.

Mingi moans. He bites his plump lip as he comes out of you. You whimper, squirming awkwardly as more cum pours from your pussy. You turn back to look at Professor Song, and your eyes almost pop out of your head as you see him pressing your panties to his nose and moaning loudly and satisfied. He smirks at you vulgarly, licks his lips, and wipes his cock with your underwear before tucking his dick into his trousers, the zip jangling loudly. He dismissively tosses your thong aside and presses against you again, pinning you between the desk and his big muscular body, his hot breath touching your earlobe, before whispering in his deep porn voice.

"Don't think that this is just a one-time thing, doll. I have paid for you, and now you belong to me. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes, Professor Song. I understand you perfectly."

"That's good. You're a real teacher's pet. On Monday evening, I will be expecting you for an extra lesson. Don't you dare disappoint me, doll." He slaps your butt once more before he pulls himself away completely and walks out of the classroom.

Oh, this is really fucked up.

3K notes · View notes

wintrwinchestr · 4 months ago

Text

strangers | part 1

summary: following in the footsteps of a girl you once knew, you decide to up and leave home one morning without looking back. when you find yourself to be tired, hungry, and alone in the middle of nowhere, you're thankful when a kind stranger offers you a ride, a warm meal, and a place to sleep for the night. he only tells you about himself in bits and pieces, but he seems trustworthy enough, and what you don't know can't hurt you, right?

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, talk of death/murder and blood, mommy & daddy issues, brief talk of domestic violence, lying/gaslighting, manipulation, f-receiving non-con somnophilia (no sex, but groping, fingering, dry humping, kissing, and choking), degrading language toward victims, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart), some joel pov, no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, takes place in illinois/ohio/indiana, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, this part is mostly introduction/storytelling/yapping, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 9.8k

a/n: i started this as a oneshot way back in november, and then it sat abandoned for a very long time. thank you to my lovely friends @polaroidpascal and @chippedowlmug for encouraging me to finish it, and also bestie kiers who never hesitates to match my freak. also thank you to the many writers who made me feel inspired to write something dark and not give a fuck what people think about it. i hope you enjoy this joel he's a freak and i love him and if you say anything mean about him i'll send him after you <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 2

Ruby Carpenter.

You had spent all day trying to remember her name without really knowing why. Maybe it’s because as the sun sets on what would be the first day of your junior year at the nearby state school, you wonder if she ever made it to one of the fancy ivy leagues she had always aspired to attend. You wonder if she’s even still alive.

Ruby had disappeared a few years ago now, the summer after your senior year of high school. For nearly a year afterwards, her missing posters remained stapled onto every telephone pole and stuck onto every store window around town, until the paper began to disintegrate and the ink began to fade. In that time, you couldn’t even make a quick run to the grocery store without being confronted by dozens of replicas of her yearbook photo printed onto the sides of all the milk cartons. Despite all of the efforts to find her, including several search parties and a decent amount of statewide media coverage, everyone had just stopped looking for her, eventually. Even the police. Even her parents.

It was decided that she had probably just run away, and you can’t entirely blame her, but you can’t imagine why she would, either. You remember her perfect head of blonde ringlet curls that shone a yellow gold in the sun, and her bright blue eyes that turned fiery in her more passionate moments during classroom debates. She had every boy in your grade wrapped around her finger, was the teacher’s pet in every class, and it wasn’t even a question whether she would win prom queen your senior year. She was always sweet to you, always complimented your outfits or your makeup or your art projects with a genuine lilt in her voice and a kind smile, so you could never bring yourself to hate her even though it would’ve been so easy to. You figured she was going to cure cancer or become the president after you had all graduated, which is why you never really stopped wondering whatever happened to her that summer. She was beautiful, with boundless potential and a bright future ahead of her, why would she have just given it all up?

Everyone around town knew Ruby, or at least it seemed that way. But maybe nobody ever really knew her as well as they thought. Maybe she’d had a secret boyfriend all that time who whisked her away that summer, maybe she had decided to try drugs and fell down a rabbit hole that she couldn’t claw her way out of, maybe she had finally figured out that the only thing this town would ever be good for is holding people back. Maybe she did just wake up one day and decide to run without ever looking behind her.

Maybe you should do the same.

With your dad long gone now and your step-father doing a piss poor job of filling in the hole he left, following in Ruby’s footsteps has sounded like a better idea with each passing day. Rob isn’t even really your step-father, anyway, just your mom’s sorry fucking excuse for a boyfriend. The guy’s already been married upwards of three times before, why try for another one? He’s a lazy son of a bitch who can’t hold down a job at a fast food joint for more than a couple of weeks at a time, who sleeps every second of the day that he’s not chugging through a six pack, and who leaves marks on your mother uglier than his fucking face.

She doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, of course, but it’s not like she’s winning the “mom of the year” award any time soon, either. She’s never even been nominated. She’s forgotten just about every one of your birthdays, been the reason you’ve never had any friends come over, and in her most recent offense, blew all the savings you had put away for your last two years of college. Which is why you’re not spending tonight celebrating being one year closer to at least having an official-looking piece of paper to show for yourself. Instead, you’re using the rattling of your bedroom window unit and the booming bass of your radio to drown out yet another drunken screaming match between your mother and the guy she lets live in your house now, watching the world outside pass you by and knowing that if you don’t do anything about it now, you’ll never make it out of here. You’re thinking about Ruby Carpenter, hoping she found somewhere greener and more promising and was able to make something of herself, far away from here. And you’re thinking that this rusted orange sunset is the last one you’ll ever see from your bedroom window.

It’s decided, then. You’re leaving, first thing tomorrow.

—

You’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep by the time your alarm clock chimes to life at five o’clock on the dot. You’re quick to silence the shrill beeping with a swift swat of your hand, careful not to wake anyone else in the house. The sun has just barely begun to stream in through the blinds of your bedroom window, but it illuminates the room just enough for your eyes to land on the backpack you had stuffed full of a few changes of clothes last night, waiting for you by the door.

You don’t waste any time stripping off your pajamas and pulling on just about the only clothes left in your room that aren’t in your bag. You’ve got your teeth brushed, face washed, and hair tamed in all of about ten minutes, too anxious to spend even one more unnecessary second in this house. You swing your backpack over your shoulder, pull your bedroom door open at just the right speed so that the hinges don’t squeak too loud, and tiptoe delicately down the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards that you know like the back of your hand—the one three steps from the top, the one at the landing about halfway down, and the very bottom one.

You land softly when you leap over that tattletale bottom step, successful in the most difficult part of your escape plan so far. Rob is passed out on the living room couch in typical fashion, his mouth full of crooked teeth hanging open as his grating snores permeate the calm morning air. He’s still got a death grip around an empty beer can, even in his sleep, and your mother will likely be the one to toss it into the trash for him, useless fucker that he is. You aren’t going to miss either of them, and you imagine they’ll just skip trying to replicate the first half of the aftermath of Ruby’s disappearance altogether—no posters, no search parties, no police. You’ll just be gone, one less mouth for your mother to feed. Though, you’d been mostly feeding yourself since you were tall enough to slide a couple of bills across the counter at the corner store down the street, anyway. You’re ready to disappear, the same as candle wax when it burns, the same as the end of a rainbow, the same as Ruby Carpenter.

You don’t bother looking back when you shut the door behind you, content to leave it all behind just as the sun begins to rise and set the sky ablaze. By the time it sets again tonight, you hope to be in a different county, in a different state, anywhere that isn’t here. The rest, you’ll just have to figure out when you get there, wherever “there” may be.

—

You had only realized about an hour ago that you’d forgotten your cheap digital watch in the drawer of your bedside table, where it’s laid unused for the past couple of months, because who needs to tell time during the summer? You never had anywhere to be, never had to get to class or turn in a paper by a certain time, so it’s just been collecting dust since you had unclipped it from your wrist on the last day of spring semester. It sure would have come in handy right about now, when you have no fucking clue what time it is. The sun had disappeared behind the hills several mile markers back, so it must be… eight o’clock? Ten o’clock? Fucking midnight? You have no idea. What you do know is that you’re exhausted, hungry, and your feet hurt like hell. You aren’t really sure what you expected, the reality only just now setting in that you don’t even have ten bucks to your name anymore, thanks to your narcissist of a mother. The crumpled up bills you do have in your pocket are hardly enough for a goddamn sandwich, let alone a motel room. The cool night breeze raises goosebumps on your skin, and you swear you can see your fucking breath, even in the middle of August. You wrap your arms around yourself just as tears begin to prick at your waterlines, and you let them fall as you collapse onto the scratchy patch of dead grass on the side of the freeway, not a park bench or a bus stop or even a gas station in sight for God knows how many more miles.

You sit cross-legged, elbows propped up on your knees so that your hands can support your weary head, the skin of your palms becoming slippery with salty tears as your crying just doesn’t seem to stop. The road you’ve found yourself on seems relatively low-trafficked, the heaving sounds of your sobs accompanied by more cricket chirps and rustling wheat than rumbling tires. But a few high beams do streak across your vision every once in a while, coloring the backs of your eyelids a flaming scarlet.

After several minutes, your tears seem to dry up on their own, your body likely too dehydrated now to produce any more. You wipe the moisture from under your eyes with the back of your hand, sniffling as you gnaw at the skin of your bottom lip and debate if you should just turn back now, give up on your stupid little plan (or lack thereof) and just call the whole thing a loss, pretend it never even happened. Your mother and Rob won’t have even noticed you’d left.

Just as you pull yourself back up to your feet, set on at least finding somewhere that isn’t the hard ground to sleep on tonight before you make your way back home tomorrow, the warm headlights of an old pickup truck are shining bright in your eyes. You put your arm up to block them as the truck slowly squeals to a halt in front of where you’re standing, and you squint your eyes at the driver as your vision adjusts.

“You need a ride, sweetheart?” A man asks in a gravelly voice, and you can still hardly make out what he looks like. Based on the southern accent you pick up on, he doesn’t sound like he’s from around here.

“N-no, thank you. I’m okay,” you respond shakily, taking a nervous step back from the stranger and his rusted pickup.

“You sure? Looked like you were cryin’ over here, like you might be lost or somethin’.”

“‘M not lost, I know where I’m going.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s that?”

Shit.

You take a guess.

“Um… the motel down the road,” you reply, tilting your head in the direction you had been walking in.

“There ain’t a motel down there, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ in either direction for miles, ‘s all just farmland out here. Reckon you’ve already figured that out, though.”

You pause, unsure of what your next move should be. He knows you’re lying, knows you’re alone with no fucking idea where you are or where you’re going. You could run, but even that shitty truck of his could catch up to you in a matter of seconds. You take another step back, swiveling your head around to look up and down the road as you try to figure your best way out of this.

“Just lemme give you a ride somewhere, darlin’. There’s a diner just off the exit, ‘bout twenty miles up ahead. Could take you that far, at least, get you somethin’ to eat,” he offers. A warm meal does sound pretty good right now, and you suppose you aren’t exactly in a position to refuse his help.

You think on it for a second. “What’s it called? The diner.”

The stranger huffs. “Moody’s.”

“What do they have?” you challenge.

He sighs. “It’s a fuckin’ diner off the side of the freeway, darlin’. They got greasy food and black coffee, ‘s about all you need.”

You don’t say anything.

Then, after a beat—“They got some kinda sloppy mess they call the Thunder Burger. ‘S got onion rings and shit on it. Ain’t half bad.”

You have to admit, he’s passing your pop quiz with flying colors. His answers have been too quick, too specific for him to be lying to you. There’s a pretty solid chance this diner does exist, and that he’s been there before. The man hasn’t said anything that’s indicated he wants more to do with you than to offer you a ride and some dinner. He’s probably just somebody’s harmless grandfather, anyway, judging by his motheaten flannel and gray-stricken beard you can see now that you’ve approached his truck a few paces closer.

“Okay,” you concede, your stomach growling loudly as the man leans over the bench seat to pop open the passenger side door for you. You shrug off your backpack and climb into the cabin, clicking your seatbelt into place as you situate yourself on the cracked leather seat.

“All set?” the stranger asks.

“Mhm,” you hum, finally getting a better look at the man you might just owe the rest of your life to after tonight. For being somebody’s grandfather, he’s… kinda handsome. Really fucking handsome, actually, in a rugged sort of way. He’s got warm amber eyes that sparkle even in the dark of night, a kind smile that completely disarms you in an instant, and a splintering scar across the bridge of his nose that somehow only adds to his good looks. You try to suppress your own grin as you look away from him quickly, opting to focus on fidgeting with one of the fraying edges of your denim shorts instead. Even in your peripheral vision, you don’t miss how his eyes shift from your own to the exposed skin of your thighs. He doesn’t say anything, just clears his throat as he shifts gears and steers his truck back onto the road again.

He lets the next few minutes pass in comfortable silence before asking, “You got a name, sweetheart?”

You tell him, and he flashes another charming smile at you. “I like that, ‘s pretty… Well, I’m Joel. Sure you were wonderin’. Now you ain’t gettin’ a ride from a stranger no more, are ya?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m not,” you giggle, and you’re surprised at how comfortable you feel with him. “So… you’ve been to Moody’s before?”

“Handful of times, yeah. When I’m passin’ through.”

You nod. “So you come up here, like… for work or somethin’?”

Joel chuckles. “Or somethin’. You never even heard of the damn place, so… reckon you don’t find yourself out here very often, do ya?”

“No… ‘M not even really sure where ‘here’ is, to be honest. I just kinda… started walking.”

“Ah… a runaway, then, are ya?” Joel asks, with an appreciated amount of understanding in his tone rather than judgment. “‘M sure your folks are missin’ ya right about now, must have your boyfriend worried sick.”

You scoff at that. “Fuck no. They probably don’t even know I’m gone, won’t even bother trying to come look for me. And I don’t have a boyfriend, so…”

“Damn shame. ‘M sorry about that, sweetheart,” Joel comforts, placing a large calloused hand on your thigh. It makes your breath hitch, but his touch isn’t entirely unwelcome. You let him squeeze once at the plush of your leg before he replaces his hand on the wheel, and your cunt spasms out a little fluttering pulse against the seam of your shorts, despite yourself.

The rest of the drive to Moody’s is relatively quiet, save for the gentle crooning of an old country singer emanating from the cassette player on the dash. The soft singing and steady strumming of a banjo combined with the muffled chugging of the truck’s engine is enough to lull you to sleep, especially after the day you’ve had. You know that just about every mental alarm bell you have should be screaming at you to jump out of the car, to run, that sleeping alone in the dirt would’ve been a better decision than getting into this strange man’s—Joel’s—truck, but you’re too tired to hear them. He smells good, like woodsmoke and pine and cinnamon, and if he wanted to do something awful to you, he probably would’ve done it by now. So you trust him, for now at least, and let your lashes fan out against your cheeks as your head falls back against the cushioned headrest, coaxed into sleep by the lullaby of tires against pavement and fingertips against guitar strings.

—

You only rouse when you feel the truck come to a stop about half an hour or so later, slowly blinking your eyes open against the bright neon sign that reads “MOODY’S” in bold capital letters. Your jaw stretches wide as a yawn overtakes the muscles, and you hear Joel’s southern drawl replace the one from the cassette as he shuts the engine off.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead. Not too tired to eat somethin’ now, are ya?”

Another unpleasant-sounding rumble from your empty stomach answers for you, loud enough for both of you to hear this time. The air puffing out of the diner’s kitchen smells strongly of fatty bacon and rich coffee, just like Joel had promised you the place would offer. Although the digital clock on the dash read just after 10:30 before you fell asleep, you’ve never craved breakfast quite like you do right now. You absentmindedly lick your lips as you imagine the sweet and savory—and more importantly free—meal that could be waiting for you beyond that blinding beacon of a sign.

“Well, alright then. Let’s get some food in ya before you keel over, hm?” Joel says as he exits the truck, landing on his feet in the dirt parking lot with a soft groan. He waits by the hood for you to meet up with him, and you walk up the couple of steps to the entrance together. He holds the door open for you, and you offer him a shy ‘thank you’, to which he responds with a soft spoken ‘welcome, sweetheart’. You stand shyly behind his broad form as he asks the hostess for a table for two, and she leads you to a green leather booth tucked into the corner of the diner. She hands each of you a sticky laminated menu, the pages a charming mess of clashing colors and faded pictures and retro-looking fonts, then departs with a promise that your waitress will bring the two of you some water as you take your time deciding on what you might like.

You light up upon reading that Moody’s serves breakfast all day, and that they can make you exactly what you were hoping for—a stack of chocolate chip pancakes with sides of bacon and hashbrowns. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you wiggle in your seat, excitedly anticipating the waitress to come back around so you can order.

“Whatcha so excited about over there?” Joel asks, eyeing you from across the table as he glances up from his own menu.

“Nothin’, I was just hoping I could get some pancakes, and they have ‘em on the menu,” you explain giddily. “I’ll probably get some coffee, too, really complete the whole ‘breakfast for dinner’ thing.”

Joel huffs through his nose. “Decaf, I hope. ‘S the middle of the goddamn night, sweetheart. Gonna be bouncin’ off the walls in the room later, hardly get any sleep.”

He’s right, you suppose. But wait—“What room?”

Joel shrugs casually. “There’s a decent motel another exit or two down, figured they could probably get us a couple o’ beds for the night. But, ‘m sorry, shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No! No, it’s okay.”

Is it? You only met the man less than an hour ago, and you already agreed to let him give you a ride before you even knew his name. You suppose you hadn’t really thought about what would happen after he bought you dinner, but not thinking ahead seems to have been a theme today, hasn’t it? You remind yourself that he’s only been kind and respectful to you so far, save for that placement of his hand on your upper thigh soon after he picked you up. But that could’ve just been a friendly, paternal gesture, right? And he said a couple of beds, when he mentioned the motel, which seemed to imply that he plans on the two of you sleeping in separate beds, maybe even separate rooms. You’ve found yourself having to make yet another somewhat reckless decision tonight, but one that would be in your best interest to say ‘yes’ to, at this point. What other option would you have if you declined his offer?

“Don’t really have anywhere else to go, so… yeah, okay. Motel sounds good. And decaf it is, I guess.”

Joel’s apologetic expression quickly morphs into a satisfied smirk. “Good girl,” he praises. You like how the words sound coated in his thick drawl, even though you probably shouldn’t. You shift where you sit as that familiar fluttering sensation returns to the seat of your panties, just for a moment. You’re grateful that the waitress arrives at the booth not a second later, cheerily introducing herself as she sets down a glass of water for each of you. When she asks if you’re ready to order, Joel gestures to you as if to say ‘ladies first’, and you politely prattle off your request. You make sure to emphasize that you’d like your coffee decaf, and ask if she could please bring some more of the little cups of vanilla creamer to the table. “Not a problem, honey,” she replies, and Joel winks at you as she asks what she can get for him. He orders the Thunder Burger he had told you about earlier, and a black coffee, which he doesn’t request to be decaf. The waitress leaves the two of you alone again with an ‘I’ll have that right out for ya,’ and you let your eyes follow the calming baby blue color of her dress as she glides her way back to the kitchen. When she disappears around the corner of the bar, you take the opportunity to study Moody’s other patrons. There isn’t another young person in sight, mostly just men around Joel’s age with similarly heavy bags under their eyes, likely truck drivers indulging in their first hot meal of the day within the diner’s comforting wood-paneled walls. You wonder if that’s how Joel knows about this place, because he “passes through” this area on long hauls across the midwest. You open your mouth to ask him if your assumption is correct, but he cuts you off before you can say anything.

“I gotta admit, sweetheart, I’m curious… The hell was a pretty thing like you doin’ out in the middle of goddamn nowhere tonight? I mean, I know you’re a runaway ‘n all, but… shouldn’t you be one o’ those college party girls or somethin’? ‘M sure you got plenty of friends wonderin’ where you are.”

You sigh, shaking your head as you distractedly pick at a splintered piece of wood at the edge of the table.

“I was in college. Was supposed to be going back again this year, but… my mom spent all the fucking savings I had left for the rest of it on fixing up her dumb boyfriend’s car. It’s just been sitting in the fucking lawn all summer, sure as hell not being used for something useful like going to the job he doesn’t have. That bastard…” You say the last part under your breath through gritted teeth.

“Shit… Tha’s a tough deal, baby, ‘m real sorry to hear that,” Joel comforts. “But y’know, everybody’s got mommy ‘n daddy issues, don’t mean you just up and start walkin’ all by your lonesome, not even have any idea where you’re goin’.”

“Well, it wasn’t just that. There was… nevermind, it’s stupid.” You slump into the cushioned booth, silently cursing yourself for even bringing it up.

“What is it?” Joel pushes, sitting up straighter to show you that he wants to listen, wants to get to know you. And God dammit, he might be the first person you’ve met in a long time who actually seems to care about what you have to say, as strange as it is. You flick your eyes up to his face, and he’s wearing a sincere gaze that convinces you to continue.

“There was this girl I went to high school with. She disappeared a couple of years ago, nobody ever found out what happened to her. People figured she probably just ran away, and I thought… I dunno. That maybe she had the right idea, leaving that place behind. I always held onto this hope that maybe she was still out there somewhere actually doing something with her life, that maybe she just changed her name or something and disappeared on purpose.” You pause. “I guess I just thought I might be able to do the same, if I left.”

“I see…” Joel muses sympathetically. “Maybe I oughta give you a lil’ more credit, then. Must’a been tough losin’ a friend like that, not knowin’ where she ended up.”

“I mean, Ruby wasn’t really my friend. She just—”

“Hang on. Ruby, you said?” Joel interrupts, his eyes suddenly looking a little wild.

“...Yeah. Her name was Ruby. Ruby Carpenter.”

—

Fuck.

Joel has to adjust himself under the table, his dick now hardening uncomfortably in his jeans at just the mention of her name. He remembers Ruby, remembers chuckling to himself when he realized the irony of her name matching the color of her blood, remembers watching the news coverage of her disappearance in this very same diner, those handful of years ago. She was a sweet thing, he remembers this, too. It was a shame she had ended up being such a fighter, that she had to get put down the way she did. But she shouldn’t have thrown that fucking rock at his face, called him a sick fuck and a freak as she made her pitiful little escape attempt. Joel is lucky that all he came away from it with is that ugly little scar that mars the bridge of his nose. He can’t say the same for her.

“Why? You heard her name before?” You ask him, an unfortunate little twinkle of hope in your eyes.

“Maybe.” Yes. “Sounds a lil’ familiar, might remember hearin’ about it on the news or somethin’.”

That goddamn news coverage sure as hell taught him a lesson. Joel had spent months trying to keep the cops off his fucking tail after he had dumped her body on some forgettable patch of land behind an old decaying barn. He had even gotten pulled in for a fucking interview at the station in what he now presumes to be your hometown, where they had questioned him for an hour or so about her disappearance. He still isn’t sure how he talked his way out of that one. Ruby might not have been good for much else, other than pissing him the hell off with all of her pathetic crying and begging to just please, please let me go back home, but she did help him perfect his craft, he can give her that much. It’s because of her that Joel makes certain now that any girl he picks up doesn’t have anybody who will miss her or plaster her face on every local channel or send out goddamn search parties to find her. Girls like you.

You’re just so perfect, it would be so fucking easy for him to make you disappear for good, it’s almost comical. It had hardly taken any convincing at all to get you to climb into his truck, had taken even less to get you to agree to go to some seedy ass motel with him that might not even exist, for all you know. It does, but you didn’t even try to test him about it this time, just put all of your trust in him like a stray puppy would to the first person to pick it up off the street. That is just about what you are, he supposes. So far, you seem like the perfect candidate to become his little captive pet. If you keep it up, maybe you won’t meet the same fate as the rest of them. He’d told himself he’d be done after the last one, anyway, his body too old and achy and slow now to chase after the ones who put up a little more fight, like she had. She’d nearly escaped, made it a decent way through the woods and almost reached the main road before tripping on an exposed root and snapping her ankle. He remembers how weak and scared she’d looked before he’d used his knife to put her out of her misery, and it makes his dick twitch. Joel doesn’t plan on snuffing you out, not right now at least, since you haven’t given him a reason to. But his fingers still twitch where they rest on the table, moving out of instinct as he can’t help but imagine what they’d look like wrapped so tightly around your little throat. Would you cry? Would you beg? Would you pray? Would he have to glide his blade across your vocal chords just to get you to stop screaming so fucking loud? He wonders.

“Oh… Was that one of the times you were just ‘passin’ through’ for whatever reason you haven’t told me yet?”

Joel hadn’t realized that his eyes had been unfocused for so long, or that he’d been holding his breath, or that his hand had been squeezing his glass of water so hard he’s glad it hadn’t shattered. The airy sound of your voice brings him back to reality, and he huffs a light chuckle as he fixes his face into a more pleasant expression.

“Yeah, ‘spose it was.”

You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Come on, Joel. I just told you, like, my whole sob story. I feel like I deserve to know at least one thing about you now.”

You have a point.

He gives in. “Fine. I got a brother, used to come through this area when I’d pay him a visit. That good enough for ya?”

You cross your arms. “No. What’s his name?”

“Tommy.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Like me. Little younger. Little uglier.”

You laugh at that.

It makes Joel smile.

Maybe you could be the one he’s been looking for all this time. Too bad he had to waste so many others before he finally got to you.

—

The waitress comes back to your table soon after that, with your steaming plates of delicious-smelling food and hot mugs of coffee balanced expertly on a large plastic tray. She sets them down in front of the pair of you with a cheery smile, and you thank her happily when she doesn’t forget the extra sickeningly sweet cups of creamer you had requested. Joel doesn’t take his eyes off you once during the interaction, not even to feast his eyes upon the monstrous burger now sitting before him, not even as he thanks the waitress for delivering it to him. His lingering gaze makes you feel a little warm, but it could just be from the heat radiating off of your plates.

“What? You’re not getting a bite of mine, if that’s why you’re looking at me,” you tease, already getting to work putting the sugary creamer to good use.

Joel just shakes his head, his caramel colored eyes still never leaving you as your coffee begins to resemble their hue. “No, ‘s not why.”

“Whatever,” you reply through a giggle, making a poor attempt to hide your girlish grin behind the lip of your white ceramic mug.

The two of you eat your meals in relative silence, mostly enjoying each other’s company and basking in the relaxing ambience created by silverware tapping against porcelain, hushed conversations, and the local country station playing through the old radio sitting on the counter. The reception is a little spotty way out here in wherever the hell you are, so you can’t quite tell what song it is. But Joel seems to know, judging by the rhythmic bouncing of his knee under the table that creates little circular ripples in your coffee. Maybe you’ll ask him what it is later, how he knows it, if you can listen to it again in the truck together. He doesn’t seem to be as much of an open book as you’ve already given yourself away to be, and you respect that about him. It doesn’t make you any less curious, but you resign yourself to getting to know him better in the small doses he’s willing to offer you.

You decide to begin a mental list of all the things you want to ask him later, knowing that by the time you make it to the motel tonight, you’ll be far too exhausted to do anything more than just collapse onto the springy mattress and sleep until you get kicked out of the room the next morning. You almost wish you hadn’t listened to Joel’s request for you to take your coffee decaffeinated tonight, and you still aren’t quite sure why you did. It just feels so strangely easy to give into him, to trust him, to let him make decisions for you. You suppose that’s what you’ve been needing all this time, someone to guide you and understand you and at least pretend like they care about you. Joel has shown you more concern and care and protection in the last hour or so than either of your parents have pretty much your whole life. And he’s good at this, making you feel wanted, making you feel like somebody, even in subtle ways, just by looking at you.

“A’right, why don’t you finish up, darlin’, ‘n we’ll hit the road again. Practically usin’ your pancakes as a pillow over there.”

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize sleepily, waking yourself up enough to make quick work finishing off your plate and your last few sips of coffee.

“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout, sweetheart. Lord knows you need some rest, won’t be too much longer now,” Joel assures, fishing a few tens out of his faded leather wallet and placing them on the table. He slides to the edge of the booth and stands himself up with only a few pained noises as he straightens out his back, then offers his hand for you to take. You use it as leverage to pull yourself upright, and your hands linger in each other’s hold for a few seconds longer than they need to. The hostess thanks the two of you for stopping in when you pass her by, and Joel opens the door for you again as you leave Moody’s. He opens the truck door for you, too, and promises you that the motel is just another couple of minutes down the freeway. You make an effort to stay awake in your seat this time as Joel begins the drive, opting to gaze out the window and focus on trying to make out the sparkling constellations above the treeline. You smile privately at the moon when you find that she’s following closely behind you just as she always does, bright and full.

She doesn’t leave your side until you reach the unassuming little roadside motel, which to your gratitude, proudly displays their vacancy on the flickering sign in the parking lot. It doesn’t look like a five star joint by any means, but you know it will serve its purpose just fine. Joel instructs you to stay in the truck while he goes about getting a room for the two of you, and you don’t object. He’d insisted that you didn’t need to be on your feet any longer than you already had been today, and you were too tired to argue with him even if you wanted to. When he returns, he taps lightly on the passenger side window so as not to startle you from the half-asleep, half-awake state you’ve found yourself in, and swings your backpack over his shoulder as he helps you out of the truck. He leads you to the room at the end of the row, and the door takes some finessing of the key and a shove of his shoulder to open. Joel flicks on the light, and you let out a disappointed-sounding ‘oh…’ when it reveals your accommodations.

There aren’t two beds like you had assumed Joel was going to request. There’s only one.

Joel catches your reaction. “‘S this gonna be alright? I know it ain’t the Ritz Carlton, but—”

“No, the room’s fine, it’s not that. I just thought… I just assumed that… I didn’t know it was gonna be, like… just the one bed.” You try to explain your discomfort as gently as possible, without seeming ungrateful for everything Joel has done for you tonight.

He looks at you sympathetically. “I know, I ain’t tryin’ anythin’, I swear. Guy told me it was the last room they had, jus’ figured it was better than nothin’.”

You offer him a soft smile, but your eyes must still look a little wide as you begin to nervously pick at your fingernails. Joel continues, “I can take the chair if you want, darlin’. Get the bed all to yourself, how’s that sound?”

You visibly relax at that, your shoulders deflating as your smile becomes a little more genuine. “Okay, that’s good. Thank you.”

“‘Course, sweetheart. How’s about you take a nice hot shower, rinse off some o’ that dirt you picked up from walkin’ all day… Don’t suppose you got some suitable clothes in here for sleepin’ in?” Joel asks, handing your backpack off to you.

You shake your head. “Just some jeans and t-shirts, and another pair of shoes. And… y’know, some underwear, and stuff.”

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, then rubs his fingers across his forehead exasperatedly. “I swear… it’s like you didn’t think there’d be a tomorrow or somethin’, girl. Christ.” Joel looks out the window to his truck parked just outside. “Tell you what, think I got somethin’ in the truck you can wear. Why don’t you see if they got anythin’ on the TV tha’s worth a damn, ‘n I’ll be back, alright?”

You nod, “Okay,” then set your backpack down on the drab carpet in favor of picking up the remote perched in front of the small square television. You sit yourself down on the edge of the bed as Joel leaves the room, and begin to flick through the few channels that aren’t just a screen full of snowy static.

Local news. Commercial. Game show. Commercial. Documentary. Commercial.

Eventually, you land on what seems to be one of those old black-and-white western shows that you can never remember the name of. You only know that the reruns used to play on Sundays around lunchtime, because Rob would always be half paying attention to it with a beer in his hand when you and your mom would get home from church. For how adamant she was that you attend every weekend, she sure never called him a harlot and a sinner for not wanting to go with her. You’re not sure she had ever even tried to get him to go, but he probably didn’t own anything decent enough to wear, anyway. Whatever, fuck them. The show seems like the kind of thing Joel would like, so you let it keep playing.

He comes back a moment later with a small stack of folded up clothes, tossing them over to where you sit on the bed. You unfold what he’s given you and examine them—a pair of simple pink cotton shorts, and a white tank top with a ditsy floral pattern scattered across the fabric. The clothing is a little more revealing than you’d like, but you figure you’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable wearing them to sleep than the denim shorts you have on now.

“These are… great. Thank you, Joel. But…” you snicker. “Should I be concerned that you have a very convenient supply of girls’ clothes in your truck?” Joel scoffs. “‘S for when I got Tommy’s kid with me, smartass. He’s got a daughter, few years younger ‘n you.”

“Okay, well, I dunno how I was supposed to know that, but… as long as you don’t have a girlfriend who’s gonna come after me for wearing her clothes.”

Joel only chuckles in response, his attention suddenly pulled to the TV.

“Gunsmoke, huh? ‘S a good choice, definitely what I’d classify as ‘worth a damn’.”

You smile to yourself, and his approval makes that warm fluttery feeling return to your belly. “I didn’t even know what it was called, just seemed like something you’d like.”

He turns back to you. “That obvious, huh? ‘S just ‘cause I’m old and southern, ain’t it?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit, making a pinching gesture with your hand.

Joel nods as he makes his way over to the armchair on the corner of the room, collapsing onto it with a groan. “Well, why don’t you go ‘n get yourself all changed and cleaned up, ‘n if you’re quick enough maybe we can finish the episode together and then get some shuteye, hm?”

You swiftly unzip your backpack to retrieve one of your clean pairs of underwear, then bound over to the small bathroom with them and your new change of clothes in hand. It’s not the most spotless one you’ve ever had to use, but you’ve honestly seen much worse. You rinse off quickly in the steaming shower, using the scratchy motel-provided washcloth to scrub the dirt from your legs, stuck to you with the sweat you worked up from God knows how many miles of walking today.

Today. You can hardly believe it hasn’t even been a full 24 hours since you left home yet. It seems like you’ve already known Joel for days, maybe even years, as silly as it sounds. You wonder if he might just take you in after this, or if he’ll have had enough of providing for you after just one night. He seems like a man of limited means, and he’s already given you so much. If you’re brave enough, maybe you’ll ask him tomorrow, when you get to the ‘so… what now?’ part of your time together.

For now, you step out of the shower and dry yourself off with an impossibly scratchier towel, then pull on your panties and the tank top and shorts Joel provided you with.

Jesus, how much younger is Tommy’s daughter?

The shorts just barely cover your ass, and there’s a sizable gap between their waistband and the bottom hem of your top. The thin, white material of the shirt only serves to accentuate the way your nipples poke through the fabric, but you suppose there isn’t anything you can do about that.

You quietly crack open the bathroom door, and are somewhat relieved to find that Joel’s already fallen asleep in the chair. You do wish you could’ve finished the episode of Gunsmoke with him, but the end credits seem to be rolling already anyway, and you’d rather avoid being seen in your very ill-fitting pajamas. Although, you do wonder if he’d say anything, or if he’d just let his hungry gaze linger in silence again, holding himself back from touching you beyond a comforting pat on the thigh.

You pick the remote up off the bed and use it to make the TV screen sizzle to black, then tip toe over to the lightswitch by the door and turn it off, the room now completely shrouded in darkness. Joel snores softly from the chair as you blindly feel your way back over to the bed, pulling the covers back and nestling yourself underneath them. The bed is surprisingly comfortable, considering, and it doesn’t take long for your exhaustion to catch up with you. Your thoughts become slower and slower along with your breathing, and you’re asleep not even five minutes after your head hits the pillow.

—

The last room they had, yeah, right. You’re just the most pathetic little thing, aren’t you? You’ll believe just about anything that comes out of his mouth if he turns up the ‘southern charm’ dial a few ticks, throws in a feigned apologetic-looking expression for good measure. It’s sad, really. For you, anyway.

Joel fakes his snoring for another thirty minutes or so, until he’s certain you’re sound asleep. He had heard your breath even out almost immediately after you had tucked yourself in, but he had chosen to lay in wait for a little while longer, just to make sure you wouldn’t put up too much of a fight when he made his move. You don’t seem like the type, considering how you’d hardly argued with him at all tonight, like when he had convinced you to forgo the caffeine with your dinner. There’s a reason he wanted you sleepy and subdued tonight, but you didn’t know that. Joel likes how well you listen to him, how easily you do as he asks.

He also likes how warm you are, how small your body is compared to his own, the difference in size especially prominent now that he’s laying snugly against you, his front pressing firmly into the back of you. You don’t wake from his lumbering movement, only coming to slightly when you feel his arm slide underneath your body, his warm hand snaking its way beneath your tiny shirt to squeeze at your plush tits.

You mumble out a little “Hm?”, which he’s quick to quiet with, “Sorry, darlin’. Chair was too hard on my damn back. Just go back to sleep, ‘kay?” That chair felt like laying on a goddamn cloud compared to some of the other surfaces he’s found himself having to sleep on before, but again, you don’t know that, and what you don’t know won’t hurt you. You probably won’t even remember this in the morning, how his hard cock is slotted so perfectly against your ass, especially without the confines of his thick jeans holding him back. They’re discarded onto the floor now in front of the armchair, along with his flannel shirt and jacket. Joel holds you tightly against his bare, hairy chest as he circles a roughened pad of his finger around one of your nipples, smirking to himself at how quickly the bud hardens from his touch. He knew you wanted this, and the wet spot that the fingers of his other hand are teasing in the gusset of your panties is proof of it. How long have you been leaking for him like this? Had you been soaking the seat of his truck earlier today? Filthy thing.

You still don’t rouse when he pulls your panties aside and slips a finger inside your slick cunt, or when his grip on your tit loosens in favor of sliding up higher under your tank top, his hand coming to a rest around the base of your throat as he pumps his finger in and out of your tight heat. It would be so fucking easy…

But he can’t, he won’t, because you’re not like the others. You want to get to know him, you let him take care of you, you seem to like his company, and you don’t leap out of bed and call him a fucking perv and a dirty old man for what he’s doing to you. That’s what the others would have done. It’s what they have done. And they faced the consequences.

But you’re different. You’re not like them. You’re like him. A lost soul, that’s what you are. Nowhere to call home, no one who misses you or loves you or gives a damn what happens to you. Joel’s mouth had tasted bitter when he had told you about Tommy, or rather, lied about him. Joel hasn’t seen the fucker in years, certainly doesn’t pay him any visits or watch his brat, not since Tommy had learned the truth. You better not show your goddamn face around here ever again, you understand me? Tommy had spat at him. You’re fuckin’ sick. Only reason I don’t turn your ass in myself is ‘cause you’re my goddamn brother. But if I ever fuckin’ see you again, I won’t hesitate. Better make yourself pretty fuckin’ scarce ‘fore I change my mind. That might’ve been about the only time Joel had ever taken orders from his little brother.

That bitter flavor is cut by the sweet tang of you that he tastes on his finger now, so young and eager and fresh. The hand around your throat squeezes a little tighter, and Joel’s hips begin to move against your ass as he allows himself to suck wet kisses onto the skin under the hinge of your jaw. Softly, gently, so as not to wake you. He could come just like this, using your pliant body in your sleep, rutting himself against your still form with the taste of your pussy on his tongue and his fingers pressed against your pulse points.

He’s close when you stir again, making broken hiccuping sounds as you choke on your breath.

“Shh, shh,” Joel soothes. “You’re alright, sweetheart. ‘S just me. Just—fuck—hold still, go back to sleep, baby.” You let out a quiet whimper, squirming against him just a little bit, but return to your unmoving and silent state a second later. Joel finishes himself off quickly with another couple of shallow thrusts against you, his large hand still gripped around the column of your neck, trying to stifle his groans as he spills into his briefs. He removes his suffocating hand and keeps you pressed tightly against him for a while after that, tanned arms wrapped around your waist and breathing in your scent as he waits for you to settle back down.

When he’s sure he won’t disturb you again, Joel releases you from his hold and pads quietly back over to the armchair, redressing himself and resuming the position you had left him in. In the morning, if you do remember any of it, you’ll just chalk it up to a very strange dream, one fueled by the desire he knows you’ve felt towards him since he picked you up. You’ll be left with a strange assuredness that he feels the same way about you, without really knowing why.

But Joel will always know.

—

The digital clock on the nightstand only reads around 8:00 when you’re awoken by a beam of sunlight shining brightly against the backs of your eyelids, streaming in from the window’s lopsided blinds. You had gone to sleep with your back to Joel, but you find yourself facing him now. He looks kind of peaceful when he’s asleep, that permanent furrow etched between his brows finally smoothed out as he dozes. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, but they fall quickly when you adjust your legs and feel the cool dampness against your core, the sensation bringing back the memory of the dream you’d had last night.

It had felt so real, but it couldn’t have been, could it? There’s no evidence that Joel had really laid next to you last night, that he’d really touched you like that, that you’d wanted him to keep going. It must just be some kind of strange side effect of the affection you feel toward the man who had rescued you, more or less. You’ll likely just part ways after today, anyway, so it’s probably best to just try and forget about the whole thing, put on a fresh pair of underwear and pretend it never happened.

Joel is awake by the time you’re done freshening up in the bathroom, and he greets you with a raspy ‘Mornin’, sweetheart’ as you retrieve your backpack from next to the bed and shove your ruined underwear into the bottom of it. “You get some good sleep last night?” He asks, rubbing a hand over his eye.

“Mhm, the bed was nice, more comfortable than the one I had at home, honestly.” You finish zipping your backpack closed and sit back down on the bed, pulling on some socks and the lace up sneakers you had been wearing yesterday. “I hope the chair was okay, like, for your back and everything.”

“What makes you say that, baby?”

You pause in the middle of tying one of your shoelaces, turning to look at him with a confused pout. “Didn’t you…? I thought you had told me something about how the chair would be hard on your back. Like, last night.”

Joel frowns, shaking his head. “Don’t think so, darlin’. Chair was just fine.”

“Oh… Well, that’s good.”

Maybe it had just been a dream, then.

Joel hands you a few bills from his wallet, and tasks you with getting the two of you some breakfast from the gas station across the street while he cleans himself up. He tells you that he doesn’t eat much in the mornings, but that you can get yourself whatever you want, as long as you bring him back a carton of cigarettes and a black coffee. You obey eagerly, retrieving what he asked for and getting a pack of miniature powdered donuts and an equally as sugary coffee for yourself.

He’s just stepped out of the bathroom when you return to the room, and your face feels hot when you see him with his dark hair slicked back and wet from the shower. The few strands that fall onto his forehead as he laces up his boots almost make him look a little boyish, despite his whitened temples.

“Such a good girl, thank you,” Joel praises when you hand him his items.

You respond with a shy ‘You’re welcome’, but he doesn’t miss how you seem to light up at his words. You plop yourself down onto the worn-in chair that Joel had used as a bed last night, happily munching on your gas station donuts and sipping on your coffee. It all makes you feel warm from the inside out.

But you figure you should find out what the rest of today might look like before you let yourself enjoy the beginnings of it too much.

“So, um… We’re just gonna check out this morning and then… what?”

“Whaddya mean, baby?”

“I mean… are you just gonna, like… take me to the nearest bus station or something?”

Joel’s confusion is written all over his face, embedded deep into those lines between his brows. You could swear he almost looks a little hurt. “Why would I do that? ‘S that what you want?” He asks softly.

You try to backpedal a little, afraid you might’ve offended him or seemed ungrateful in your question. “I just thought it might be what you want. That you probably have somewhere else you need to be, like Tommy’s or—”

“No, I don’t,” Joel says definitively.

You pause. “Okay, so—”

“You ever been to California?”

His question stumps you for a moment, seeming so random in its nature. “No.”

“You want to?”

You shrug. “I mean… sure. Maybe someday—”

“Why don’t you come with me then, baby?”

You let out an awkward giggle. ��...Come with you where?”

“To California. Come with me.” Joel’s tone is genuine but firm.

“Like, today? Are you sure?”

“I mean, we ain’t gettin’ there today, darlin’. But yeah, I’m sure. We both got nowhere else to be, do we? So let’s just go, we’ll see it together.”

You beam up at him, realizing that he’s being serious. Joel does want you, wants you to be his companion, maybe even something more that you’ll discover on familiar-looking back roads and in cities you’ve only ever seen pictures of.

“Okay,” you agree excitedly.

Joel nods. “Okay, then. Lemme go check us out ‘n we’ll get back on the road again. Burnin’ daylight already,” he jokes. He carries your backpack out to the truck for you, setting it down between your feet after he opens the door and helps you inside with a stable hand. It only takes a few minutes for Joel to hand in the room key and pay for the night, and then he’s back at your side. You begin to feel like that’s where you always want him to stay.

“So, where to first, baby? California ain’t goin’ anywhere, can take as long to get there as we wanna. We’ll go wherever you like, take your pick.” Joel leans across your body to dig a folded up map out of the glove compartment, handing it to you.

You examine it, your eyes darting across the dozens of dots with the names of cities next to them, some you’ve never even heard of. You point to one that you have heard of, but have never been to, because you’ve never even left the state you grew up in before.

“Um… how about Detroit? I’ve heard it’s nice, I think.”

Joel belly laughs at that. “It ain’t, but sure. You wanna go to Detroit, that’s where we’ll go. Buckle up, baby,” he instructs, patting your thigh. You oblige, and it feels good to finally know where you’re going, and that you’re going there with someone who cares about you, who feels safe, who wants you around. You also feel a little hopeful that maybe you were right about Ruby, after all. That you didn’t start walking for nothing, that you weren’t following some childish delusion, that if something as good as Joel had happened to you when you left, that maybe she had found herself on a similar path, ran into somebody good who took her wherever she wanted to go and helped her find someplace she belonged. Maybe she found her way out to California, eventually. What you are certain of is that neither of you ever have to go back to that town ever again, and that feels good, too.

And if it feels good, then it can’t be bad.

tag list: tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @k1l4ni @joelsdagger (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

#my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller smut #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader

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star-my · 8 months ago

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BTS Fic Recs ☆ Tumblr (ii)

These are all available on tumblr as of April 2024. Some are likely crossposted on ao3 as well.

~Ao3 RECS HERE~ ~Recs (i)~ ~Recs (iii)~

Almost all are complete works, those with “+” after WC are incomplete. Most are BTS x (F!)Reader.

Most of these are Mature or Explicit (usually because of smut) ~ mdni ~ italicized titles rated G or T ~ Please read responsibly

If any authors tagged here wish to be removed/untagged, please lmk!

F2L = friends to lovers ; E2L = enemies to lovers ; FE2L = frenemies to lovers ; R2L = rivals to lovers ; BFB = best friend's brother ; BBF = brother's best friend etc

OT7/Multi

☆ Crescent Bound series by @parkhabits | Werewolf AU | 32k+

☆ Tainted Souls series by @mininky | ?2l Vampire au, Canon Idol-verse | ?k

Kim Namjoon

☆ He Loves Me series by @bratzkoo | Sugar Daddy AU | 11k +epilogue to come

Kim Seokjin

☆ How to Fake A Boyfriend series by @bts-reveries | F2L Fake Dating AU, Youtuber AU, SMAU | ?k

☆ the taming of the bridezilla by @cinnaminsvga | F2L Fake Dating AU | 7k

☆ Arrogant by @dreamyjoons | FWB2L Uni AU | 7k

Min Yoongi

☆ bloom by @aquagustd | BBF AU | 15k

☆ want a taste by @suga-kookiemonster | S2F2L Mall AU, Rapper AU | 18k

☆ Private Lesson by @dntaewithluv | FWB2L Pianist AU | 6k

☆ what's poppin' by @joonberriess | Sugar Daddy AU, Canon Idol-verse | 2k

☆ angel by @joonberriess | Established Relationship, Canon Idol-verse | 7k

☆ honey bunny by @lonelyhobi | Established Relationship AU | 6k

☆ boseong breakfast by @honeymoonjin | S2F2L B&B AU | 24k

☆ subscribed by @aquagustd | S2L Uni AU, Camboy AU | 15k

☆ eargasm + eargasm, pt 2 by @lavishedinjimin | S2L Phone Sex AU, kind of Uni AU | 24k

☆ first love series by @clouditae | F2L Uni AU, Tattoo Artist AU | ?k

☆ skin deep series by @aquaminwrites | S2F2L Tattoo Artist AU | 47k

☆ ink petals by @yminie | S2F2L Florist AU, Tattoo Artist AU | 11k

☆ love is for the birds, baby by @mininky | (F)E2L Tattoo Artist AU, Author AU | 13k

☆ Arranged series by @minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong | ?2L Arranged Marriage AU, Chaebol AU | 111k

☆ punch drunk by @joonbird | R2L Boxer AU, Rival's Sister AU | 33k

☆ Sweet like Candy series by @lysjeon | E2L SMAU | ?k

☆ loser baby series by @dejayoonw | R2L SMAU, Witch AU, Uni AU, kind of Hogwarts AU | ?k

☆ heaven's winter by @jksangelic | Supernatural AU, Angel AU, Historical AU | 19k

☆ under the sun by @mirahuyooo | Greek Mythology AU, Greek Gods AU, Historical AU | 25k

Jung Hoseok

☆ baseline by @jiminrings | R2L Teacher AU | 3k

☆ Hot & Bothered by @sahmfanficbts | Gardener AU | 3k

☆ the art of war by @wwilloww | F2E2L Historical AU, Arranged Marriage AU, Royal AU | 5k

Park Jimin

☆ kiss the girl by @sketchguk | F2L Disneyland AU, Coworkers AU | 5k

☆ the happiest place on earth by @dovechim | F2L Disneyland AU, Coworkers AU | 24k

☆ florezco by @honeymoonjin | S2F2L Roommate AU | 24k

☆ Midnight Munchies by @yoongihime | Deliveryboy AU, Uni AU | 2k

Kim Taehyung

☆ good girls go bad series by @jkstompers | S2F2L Uni AU | 46k

☆ paper cranes by @aquaminwrites | F2L AU | 18k

☆ rubies and roses by @min-youngis | S2?2L Fake Dating AU, Chaebol AU | 40k

Jeon Jungkook

☆ Part-Time Lover by @sketchguk | Fake Marriage AU, Agent AU, Journalist AU, Spy x Family AU | 31k

☆ the art of series by @venusianguk | S2F2FWB2L Grocery Store AU, Single Parent AU | 95k+

☆ Heartbreak Trials by @dreamyjoons | R2L Roommate AU | 14k

☆ Stress Relief by @strawbkoo | F2L Roommate AU, Uni AU | 5k

☆ ego series by @suga-kookiemonster | F2L Uni AU, Fboy AU | 97k

☆ Confident series by @h0neypjm | FWB2L Uni AU, Fboy AU | 23k

☆ what money can buy by @jeonstudios | Sugar Baby AU | 18k

☆ rich people shit by @nochueso | S2L Uni AU, Chaebol AU, Sugar Daddy AU but you're the same age? idk | 11k

☆ Diamond in the Rough series by @kimvtae | S2F2L Chaebol AU | 25k

☆ glitter & disquiet series by @joheunsaram | Youtuber AU, Chaebol AU, CEO AU | 36k + drabble

☆ oxytocin by @chemicalpink | FE2L Chaebol AU, Arranged Marriage AU | 6k

☆ the lottery offering by @skswriting | S2L Werewolf AU, kind of Arranged Marriage AU | 22k

☆ to tame a god series by @jeonstudios | S2L Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU | 50k

☆ This Mortal Coil by @jinfizz | BFF2L Werewolf AU | 40k

☆ Temptation series by @aiimaginesbts | Werewolf AU | 25k

☆ Law of Nature by @ausblack | F2L Hybrid AU | ?k

☆ deal by @jeonstudios | S2L Demon AU | 20k

☆ calling you cool by @kithtaehyung | S2L Rock Band AU | 12k

☆ his by @thvhoe | R2L BBF AU, Band AU | 6k

☆ most undesirable by @kinktae | S2L Regency/Bridgerton AU | 5k

☆ bad delivery by @jeonstudios | Deliveryboy AU | 5k

☆ Accelerate series by @dreamscript | S2L Racer AU | 8k

Overall Favourite Authors (If I recc'd all their works like I want to/more than I have, I'd have to make this series even longer >.<)

☆ @eoieopda's masterlist

☆ @gimmethatagustd's masterlists (mxr) (mxm)

☆ @helenazbmrskai's masterlist

☆ @jeonstudios's masterlist

☆ @jjungkookislife's masterlist

☆ @jkstompers's masterlist

☆ @lovesickjoon's masterlist

☆ @sketchguk's masterlist

happy reading!

#group: bts #type: fic #member: ot7 #bts fic recs

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kookslastbutton · 2 years ago

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Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) || ch.I

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 4,187

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), flirty banter, fighting, jk has a bit of a temper, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, Heaven+

A/N: Okay I have been having such baby fever for last few years no joke. I wanna be mom or aunty but my sister won’t have kids yet! So i write this lame series to cope even though it's lowkey sad? lmao. Enjoy!! 🥰

༓ ch. II >> | series masterlist

You’re not exactly sure when it happened but one minute you’re crouched over, sketching in your journal and the next, a child with big brown eyes comes up beside you to watch over your shoulder. He’s a cute little fella, you note. Can't be more than four years old. His hair is ink-black and on the longer side. He’s got on a pair of black and white checkered pants, navy blue sweatshirt, and a toy snug under one arm. At first glance, you struggle to make out the toy but it looks like an elephant.

“Hi…” His hand reaches for you. It tugs the edge of your dress sleeve before reaching down to latch onto a few fingers. You smile up at the child, warmth immediately beaming through your heart.

“Hi sweetheart,” you say. “What’s your name?” You wait for the boy to answer but he doesn’t. Instead, he shuffles down next to you on the grass and points to your drawing. His delicate eyebrows knit together in an inquisitive manner. “What is this?” he asks.

You look down at your drawing, examining it from various angles. It's unfinished but you're working on a sketch of the pond nearby. You've managed to capture the sun-kissed water but the sky needs more work. Being the weekend, you couldn't give up the rare opportunity to indulge in your favorite hobby. “It’s the pond with all the colorful leaves,” you reply.

Blank face, the child thinks before speaking again. “Who taught you?”

Now that's an interesting question. Drawing had always been in your blood since a child. You fell in love with the ability to let your imagination run wild on paper whether it be on the back of your homework or even cardboard. To you, drawing was freedom and discovery. It allowed you to express emotion, memories, abstract thoughts, and to recreate the real world. You typically preferred sketching with drawing pencils but occasionally dabbled with watercolors. You had a gift for it–a natural gift.

By the time high school rolled around, you tended to hole up in the art room, sketching for as long as you could. Your art teacher suggested you go to school for it come senior year which gave you enough push to bring it up to your parents. Determined, you spoke to your parents about it but it was null–art could only be a hobby, it couldn’t support your future. They suggested you go to school for economics or finance instead. You nearly hurled at the idea but you eventually agreed, knowing they’d never pay for you to go to art school. Drawing, as you found out, had to be on the side.

"I had a teacher once in school," you say. "But I mostly learned myself."

The child tilts his head to the side, a puzzled look on his face. “You?”, he says.

You nod your head in affirmation.

“No way! Even I have art teacher.”

You chuckle lightly and move to stand up from the grass, needing to stretch due to your crouched position. He follows suit, still clinging to your hand. “Where you going, Eomma?”

Eomma...That's a name you don't get called often. You're not used to being seen as the mom type. In fact, when you tied the knot with Jungkook, the two of you agreed that having a family was a grey area. You both liked kids, sure, but being parents? That was a subject neither of you seriously considered. “I’m sorry sweetheart,” you coo. “I’m not your Eomma. But, let’s find her together, okay?”

The child shakes his head, refusing to budge. "Mm no," he says, clinging to your leg. "Wanna stay with you." Your heart skips a beat. Children don't typically take to you like this. It causes something inside of you to want to lunge down and pick up the child in a tight embrace. But you nip that thought in the bud when you catch sight of a woman roughly your age jogging toward you. She looks like the child’s mother.

“Si-woo!” She gives a wave. "Si-woo come here!"

“Eomma!” The child’s cheeks rise into a big grin as he watches his mom approach nearer. He lets go of your leg but his hand remains locked in your own. You end up squeezing Si-woo’s tiny hand but then, like a bitter aftertaste, you remember– he doesn’t belong to you. You loosen your grip and allow him to run back to his mom.

“It was nice meeting you Si-woo!” There’s a hint of sadness in your tone but you do your best to brush it off. You only knew Si-woo for a short while and now he’s back with his real mom. You should be happy but when Si-woo’s mom lifts her son, she gives you a scowl. She doesn’t even come up to say anything to you but turns around and carries her son back to their picnic area. You frown realizing you were merely a stranger who little kids are told not to talk to.

You sigh and glance at your unfinished drawing. Suddenly, you don’t feel like drawing anymore. You pack up your belongings in your bag and head to your car, the event replaying in your mind.

You can’t blame Si-woo’s mom for being a little rigid, you think. You’d share a similar reaction with your own kids if you had any–if you had any. You repeat the phrase unexpectedly. Were you warming up to the idea? Your marriage did recently surpass the two-year mark, perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to consider having…no, you mentally stop yourself. Yes, Si-woo was cute but it likely wouldn't happen. You toss your bag of art supplies in the back seat and drive home.

“Jungkook! You here?” You step into your shared apartment and drop your bag on the kitchen counter. The smell of burnt wax mixed with vanilla bean hits you as soon as you walk into the living room. “Jungkook you better be home or these candles are going in the trash!” You really didn’t mind the candles but your husband had a nasty habit of keeping them lit even when you were both out of the house. He didn’t do it on purpose, of course, it was accidental but it was too much of a fire hazard to ignore.

“Kook!” you holler again, but no reply. These damn candles. You snuff them out one by one before venturing into the bedroom. Thankfully none were lit in there. You reach behind your back and unzip your dress, letting it pile around your feet. It's a beautiful dress but you were dying to get into a pair of sweat shorts and a t-shirt.

“Hey honey,” Jungkook says, emerging from the bathroom with damp hair and a towel tied around his waist. You let out a yelp before making eye contact. You've always been easily startled. “How was the park?”

Mentally, you bite your lip. This man was getting sexier every day, especially with that gold band wrapped around his fourth finger. You toss a t-shirt over your head. “Absolutely wonderful. Been a while since I’ve been able to really focus and draw. I loved every second." Should you mention the child? You pause, briefly contemplating the thought. Why not? "A really cute kid came up to watch me draw too…’til his mother took him away.” You don't notice but you nearly spat the last part.

Jungkook lets out a small snort, amused by your sudden irritation. There were many things he knew you could put up with, a resilient woman you were. But whoever this kid’s mother was must have gotten under your skin in the most unusual way. “It’s great you had a good time but you sound borderline offended about whoever this kid’s mother is.”

“It’s nothing really.” You shrug. “The kid came up to me and grabbed my hand. We had a nice talk but then his mom showed up. She didn’t even say hi to me. She just picked up her son and scowled at me like I took him or something. Believe me, I get it. But I didn’t do anything!”

“Don’t think about it too much __. She was probably just worried about getting her son back. I’m sure she did mean anything.”

“I guess. But do I really look that harmful?” You face your husband, hands perfectly poised on your hips.

Jungkook strides over to you and strokes down your arms until your hands relax to your sides. He gives you a quick peck on the lips. “Yes.”

Surprised, your mouth falls open. How dare he?! You give a pout, one that Jungkook finds especially irresistible. “Then you can keep your hands and lips off me for the rest of the night, Mr. Jeon.” You wiggle out of his grasp.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you for the past four years Ms. y/l/n. But you couldn’t stay away, could you? Just had to marry your hot professor, you naughty girl.” Jungkook grabs you again, pressing himself against your torso. You squeal at the contact. Married for two years and you’re still a blushing mess, get it together __!

“I wasn’t the one who was grabbing my student’s ass after class halfway through the first semester,” you quip, gripping his biceps. “I’m innocent.”

“Oh honey, nonono. You don’t get to play the role of a shy little angel who got eaten by her big bad wolf of a professor day one of university. You were already a master's student when we met. You knew what you were getting into when you started wearing tight little skirts to my class.”

You roll your eyes. “C’mon I had leggings underneath and I wore sweaters. If you’re accusing me of seducing you through my wardrobe then you have a very odd way of getting turned on.”

“Honey, how long have you known me? Sure tits and ass are cool and I won’t say no if you wanna show me.” You give a light shove on his shoulder at that, Jungkook chuckles. “But I have a doctorate in economics. Nothing catches my interest more than a studious individual like yourself studying all the angles of supply and demand. Plus, I liked your sweaters. Made me curious what you were hiding.”

“Oh stop it!” You end up giggling at your husband’s beyond-cheesy explanations. “How am I supposed to know my economics professor was ogling my teddy bear sweater for fuck sake?”

Jungkook throws his head back, feigning frustration. “It wasn’t a teddy bear sweatshirt. It was a bunny and it was very cute!”

“Whatever. Point is, I’m not the one to blame. I was a good student getting her master’s like her parents wanted until she found out her professor was sculpted from the gods themselves. Your shirts were barely fitting you. I swore they were going to bust one of those class periods.” You imagine the horrified look your peers would give. Not you though, you'd probably start drawing him. Shameless, really.

“As I recall that shirt-busting happened many times by your claws. I had to replace a dozen shirts in a month from how many you destroyed.” A pair of manly hands sensually trace down your sides. Jungkook leans forward, lips near your ear. “Seems like you had a lot of pent-up energy.” He nips your ear before peppering small kisses down your neck.

“You have no idea.“ You close your eyes, a moan escaping from you. "Professor–"

Jungkook grunts, suddenly suckling on the sensitive skin. “Mmm you haven’t called me that in a while. Kinda missed it”, he says, backing you up against the dresser. You were about to hop on top when your ass hit the edge but a rude, obnoxious ringing pulled Jungkook off you.

“Hey man!” Your husband answers the phone, a little too joyous in your opinion. You knew exactly who it was on the phone–Park Jimin. You bite your cheek, doing your best to keep down a sour face.

“Yeah let me ask __. Hold on.” Jungkook looks at you. “Honey, Jimin wants us to go out to dinner with the guys. You wanna go or stay in?”

Maybe, you think. You love Jimin but his dinners are usually quite elaborate. He always makes reservations to the fanciest restaurants in Seoul, and he required everyone to be dressed to the hills. It was fun now and then but did you have the energy for that tonight? Eh. What the hell. “Sure. What time?”

Jungkook passes on your inquiry before looking at you again. “6 p.m.” You nod in consent and walk to your closet, rummaging through your clothes for something Jimin-worthy. “Alright man, we’ll see you there. Yeah got it, k bye.” Jungkook hangs up the phone and watches you pull out dress shirts, pants, blazers, literally all your work clothes. “Found anything?” he pipes up.

You pull out a dark green dress, above knee-length, and gorgeously hemmed. “I’m pretty sure I wore this last time but–“

“Next," Jungkook interrupts. "Jimin will notice and you know how he gets when people wear the same outfit twice in a row.” your husband fiddles with through his own dresser drawers, yanking out an oversized t-shirt. You groan knowing all too well how tight Jimin ran this operation. One time Namjoon came in the same maroon dress shirt as before causing Jimin to have an absolute fit. He even made the man go home and change. Dinner was late that night.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You rummage through your closet again hoping to find something tucked in the back. There’s bound to be something. “Damnit, I thought I had more than this,” you grunt, finding nothing.

“Do we need to go on a last-minute shopping trip?” Jungkook throws on a pair of cargo pants.

You groan internally. Shopping isn't your favorite activity. It always took so long, and nothing was to your liking. You prefer online shopping but with only three hours until dinner and apparently nothing in your wardrobe, you suppose it's inescapable.

“Come on, honey.” Jungkook combs through his hair with a few fingers and grabs his wallet from the nightstand. “This is for Jimin."

"Alright, let me put some jeans on.” Jimin, you bougie little punk.

You view yourself in the dressing room mirror, a plum-colored dress adorning your body. This is the tenth dress you've tried on and to be honest, you feel pretty good in it. Nothing feels itchy, too snug, or out of place. The dress was a simple, strapless sheath dress and it fit you like a glove.

"__." Jungkook taps on the door. "You're not gonna like what I have to say but it's inevitable…there's been a change of plans."

"Okay," you reply with strain. "What is it?" You unlock the door to find your husband glancing down at his phone. It's a text from Jimin, you notice.

"Sorry for this but we're not going out for dinner tonight. Seokjin's daughter isn't feeling well so they're going to stay home. Yoongi also hasn't been able to get much time with his kids and wife lately so he's not coming either." Jungkook continues reading Jimin's text aloud. "I don't think we should go out without the whole party so I'm thinking about canceling our reservations."

Damn.

"You look beautiful," he says, catching your half-disappointed expression. "I'm sorry."

"It's no big deal," you sigh. "We'll eat in." From Jungkook's point of view, you were upset about wasting an hour and a half on shopping. He knew you'd much rather be back with your drawing pencils or watching a drama. He felt bad. The real reason, the one you think best to keep to yourself, however, is that hearing Jimin's text reminded you of Si-woo again. Further, it reminded you that nearly everyone in your friend group had at least one kid except you and Jungkook. Normally it didn't affect you though, so why did it today? Had the little kid from earlier really stuck with you that much?

"__? Everything alright?," Jungkook says. "I know we had plans and we've been shopping for a while but if you like the dress you should still get it. Jimin will have his dinner again and there will be other times you'll need it."

It takes you a moment but you reply, forcing a fake smile the best you can. "Oh yeah, yeah I'm good. I dazed off for a second there. I'll–I'll put the dress back actually."

Seeing through your facade, Jungkook lightly grips your arms. "If there's something you're not telling me I'd like to know, please?"

His endearing facial expression both soothes you and creates coils of nervousness in the pit of your stomach. You want to tell him what's up. You also want to pop the question that you've both been sweeping under the rug for the last two years. But how? Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe you're just in a mood today.

"Have–" You start but the rest of the words don't come out.

Jungkook waits for you to finish the sentence. "Have you thought of any ideas for dinner?" You stutter out. "'Cause I was thinking it’d be easier to order takeout tonight."

Eyes narrowing, your husband stares into your eyes. He's searching for any hint that you're bluffing–shifty eyes and such. You think he's caught onto you until his shoulders relax and eyebrows soften. "I was thinking the same thing. But also, I'm buying you this dress even if you don't. It's gorgeous on you and I know you want it. Now take it off and let's go find something to eat."

You manage to chuckle a "thank you" and slip back into the stall to change into your normal clothes. You feel a slight pang of guilt in your gut for not coming clean to him but you weren't sure if you were ready to tell him the truth no more than he'd be ready to hear it.

“Seriously honey.” Jungkook’s voice carries over the stall. “Are you really alright? Do you need anything?” You swallow hard at his persistence.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you reply. “Maybe a little hungry.” One day at a time __, you think.

You end up placing a dinner order at a local favorite nearby. You and Jungkook take it back to the apartment, curl up on the couch, and put a movie on. You nearly fall asleep after the first forty minutes because the plot is so utterly dry and quite frankly, boring. Jungkook seems to be enjoying it though so the movie plays the entire way through.

Still hardly paying attention, your mind drifts off to other affairs. You think about your upcoming work week, what to get for your best friend's birthday in the following few weeks, and the cute dog you saw yesterday, and of course, you loop back to the same lingering topic–your brief afternoon with Si-woo. Part of you wanted to take him home but Jungkook would have a fit, as well as you know...Si-woo's mother. You snort at how interested you've become in entertaining thoughts about children and taking care of them. As you've covered before, you aren't the mom type.

Si-woo and his mother looked very similar though. They shared the same hair color, eyes, and face shape. You wonder what his father looked. Did he have long hair too? Did he share the same lips? Before you can stop yourself from going further you wonder how identical your own child might be to you and Jungkook. Would your child love the arts like you or the social sciences like your husband? You suppose it could be a blend since you technically have a master's in economics yourself. You'd much rather be owning and operating an art museum or being a studio art professor but that's beside the point. Your child would be free to venture down their own path. That is if you have any.

You shift your eyes to Jungkook who's concentrating heavily on the movie. He's a wonderful husband, you sigh, full of love. No doubt he'd make a great father but did he want to? Jungkook never really mentioned it before and neither did you. When you first start dating you had a brief talk about children and building a family but you were still in school then and Jungkook was swamped with his teaching responsibilities. Children weren't something that either of you felt like you could handle at the time. After you'd gotten married there was an opportunity to discuss it again but you were both quite comfortable with it being just the two of you. Today is the first day you've shown any serious aversion to your comfortable lifestyle–you want a baby.

Once the credit scenes appear Jungkook feels your eyes burn through him from your lounged position. "You're making that face again," he says.

"There's no face."

"Yes there is."

"I don't think so."

Patience running thin, the tone in your husband's voice gets firmer. He's not angry but it's clear his temper is rising. You and Jungkook haven't had a spat in a while and you really don't want to start now. "I can see that there's something on your mind. It's the same one you had from the dressing room and I'm pretty sure it isn't about food this time."

"I don't know what you want me to say," you mumble tiredly. You sit up straight. "My face is my face."

"Honey, I know there's something going on that you're not telling me. Is this about that kid's mother from earlier? Because I'm certain it wasn't personal."

"No, it's not about that at all. It's just been a long week and I'm exhausted," you lie, yawning as if on queue. Jungkook grips the couch arm in agitation. He isn't sure what's going on but he isn't letting you go to bed without getting to the bottom of it.

"You're not having second thoughts about our marriage are you?" He throws the idea out there, hoping its obvious inaccuracy will push you to tell him the truth. You grimace at the guess.

"That's ridiculous!" You sneer. "How could you think that?"

"Well maybe because you're not telling me anything else?" Jungkook tosses his hands up. "I mean who knows, it could be anything. Was it the movie? Shopping? Are you horny? What the fuck is it?!" You jump at his sudden outburst.

"No it's none of those–"

"Look," Jungkook cuts shortly. "Will you just tell me so we can deal with it?!" You throw him a nasty look.

"Just deal with it? Like it's some kind of nuisance of an issue that needs treatment?" You jump up from the couch and head to your bedroom in a fury, your husband hot on your trail.

"I don't mean to be pissing you off, sweetheart but I know something's up." He follows you into the bathroom, watching you reach for your toothbrush. "Can you please slow down and talk to me?" He grabs the toothpaste before you can, forcing you to stop in your tracks. You feel your body starting to shake, eyes tearing up. You friggin' hate fighting and you hate being so unsure about telling him the truth–that you want a family. You're scared of his response most. What if he says no?

Realizing your nervous state, Jungkook takes a deep breath and softens his tone. He hates seeing you cry and he hates it even more when he's the one causing it. "I'm sorry honey." He steps towards you but you flinch away. You're not ready to be touched yet.

"I–I want...I want to be a mom. I want a baby." You wait for your husband's reaction and when it comes you instantly start bawling.

"A baby? What do you mean you want a baby?" Jungkook feels everything inside of him panicking. There's a reason he teaches economics to college students and not high schoolers or below. He doesn't do children, he isn't cut out for it. He'll babysit of his hyung's kids from time to time but at the end of the day, they aren't coming back home with him. Jungkook was sure his wife felt the same way but now? Now she's tearing up in front of him, scared to tell him she wants a child–one that will be his.

Jungkook takes you into his arms, his thumb wipes off some of your tears. "Honey, I'm sorry I didn't know. When you came home from the park I didn't realize that little boy meant so much to you." You try blinking back your tears but they keep running down your face. He's being gentle with you and you appreciate that but his choice of words tells you his answer is no. It's quiet, subtle, and cuts like a knife.

You break away from him to splash cold water on your face. The coolness calms your nerves. “He didn’t. Never–never mind what I said, sorry. I’m tired and I’m probably not thinking straight.” You leave the bathroom, leaving Jungkook scrambling for his thoughts.

A/N: Lmk what you think, tysm for stopping by 💞

Masterlist

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

#btshoneyhive #bangtanbathhouse #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts au #fic:toolatetodream #kookslastbutton

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fayes-fics · 2 years ago

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Teacher Bridgerton

2k Celebration Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Modern AU Benedict, primary school art teacher

Warnings: none... fluff, dad!Benedict

Word Count: 830

Authors Note: Last of my 2k follower celebration drabbles. This is for @guiltywaves with the prompt of art teacher Benedict (ask here). i had to end with some soft dad!Benedict, Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3

“Is this right, Mr Brid-etun?” a boy holds a piece of paper aloft, struggling to enunciate the last name a little, wiggling in his tiny chair.

“Daniel, this is art,” Benedict explains softly as he drops to kneeling next to the little boy. “There is no right or wrong; just whatever you want to draw, do that. And please call me Ben.”

The boy looks at him wide-eyed, almost suspicious. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure. I am your art teacher, remember?”

The boy nods solemnly and reaches across the low table for a crayon.

“Fank you, Ben,” he murmurs, a little peek of tongue at the corner of his mouth as he draws an arc in bright green.

Benedict smiles at the little boy and then stands back up to survey the cheery art room filled with 5-year-olds, preoccupied with crayons and their imaginations. It never fails to make him happy when Reception Year has its lesson every Wednesday morning. And not just because of one very special person it contains.

He never saw himself as a teacher, but a 2-month volunteering stint at summer classes on a whim became a temporary placement the following term that somehow became a job. That was seven years ago—he has never felt more content.

“Uncle Ben, I drew a cat!” a voice pipes up proudly, and he turns around to see Mary Bridgerton beaming up at him, holding a picture of what could possibly be a cat. It's a bright purple circle with rather demonic-looking red eyes and lightning-bolt yellow whiskers.

“Mary, that's very… colourful,” he offers diplomatically, bending down to ruffle her hair. “But remember, I'm just supposed to be Ben at school; I'm Uncle Ben at home,” he whispers as his brother's youngest child taps a finger to her nose with a wink, her pretty brown eyes shining as if agreeing to safeguard some grand secret.

“I want to draw a car,” Mary’s friend Lila sighs wistfully.

“You can do it, Lila. Here,” Benedict hands her a blue crayon. “Try with this. I can help if you get stuck. I’ll be right here. And look, it's blue, just like your Mummy’s car.”

Lila rolls her eyes. “Yes, I know, Daddy. I’m not colourblind like Uncle Colin,” she replies dryly, eliciting a peal of laughter from Mary. She is often far more mature than her years, and she is growing up so fast that sometimes it terrifies him.

“Lila!” he admonishes quietly. “Remember, you must call me Ben when we are at school! And Uncle Colin isn't colourblind; he is just clueless about how to dress himself,” Benedict adds with slight relish.

“But Mary just called you Uncle Ben,” Lila retorts, drawing a quite impressive version of a blue car for her age—Benedict's heart wells at the sight but schools his expression the best he can.

“It was a accident!” Mary pipes up, indignant.

“It’s okay, Mary,” Benedict soothes. “Just remember to call me Ben at school if you can.”

She agrees and returns to her art—starting on a quiet terrifying-looking green dog.

_____

“Mummy, look!” Lila runs up to you as you walk in from work after a long day, the delicious scent of garlic and herbs greeting you as soon as the front door opens.

She is holding aloft a remarkable drawing of a blue car. Very much like the one you just climbed out of.

“That's wonderful, Lila!” you compliment as you drop your work bag and take the paper from her for a closer look, kissing her cheek before she runs back to the kitchen table excitedly.

You wander in after her, admiring her handiwork, to be greeted by your husband feeding your baby boy in his highchair as dinner simmers away on the hob.

“Somebody is taking after her Daddy,” you smile indulgently, leaning in to kiss his jaw as you watch his face light up with joy, seeing what you have in your hands. He turns his head to capture your lips instead.

“I am so ridiculously proud; she's my star pupil. That's bad to say, isn't it?” he confesses over your lips, grimacing slightly in an utterly enchanting way.

You chuckle, nuzzling his face, enjoying the slight rasp of stubble. “It's just fine, Mr Bridgerton. I do believe it’s okay to play favourites if the class contains your own daughter.”

“I'm just glad she draws better than Mary,” he confesses, keeping his voice soft enough that Lila cannot hear.

“That bad, eh?” you laugh, dropping a kiss on your son's hair as he mashes banana into his own cheek, burbling happily.

“Stuff of nightmares,” he shudders, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Well, I'm certainly not telling Anthony,” you warn, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as his twine around your waist, pulling you into his comforting embrace. “Or Kate.”

“Yeah, me either; I’ll give Mary a gold star and lie at parents' evening,” he jests into your hair.

“Smart man, teacher Bridgerton.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #2k follower celebration

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the-burd-lord · 2 months ago

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Finally decided to draw little refs for them. It's a bit wonky, but I mainly wanted to get the general heights and color palettes of 'em down. Maybe one day I'll go back and fix the mistakes.

I still have other designs that I've made for this au. I haven't even finished the other teachers yet. Speaking of made uncolored designs for Crayon Box, Test Tube, and Fan (who are the science teachers I couldn't think of any hosts that would work). Also still need to make a design for Daddy Longlegs, but beyond that got the concepts for the staff down.

Dunno if I'm gonna make any complete student designs beyond maybe Bot and the crayons but we'll see.

And if you're wondering why the descriptions are so bogus, I kept working on these from 12 to 2am. Which is when my art is decent and my writing horrendous.

#digital sketch #sketch #sketch dump #character design #object show humanization #object show art #hosts as teachers #4 bfb #x bfb #2 tpot #one airy #ii mepad #announcer bfdi #ab animatic #itft clock #popcorn showvember #ii mephone4 #object kerfuffle

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anxious-dumpling · 9 months ago

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Chapter One: First Day at Playcare! (6,600 words.)

♡ Fandoms: BTS, Stray Kids!

REQUESTS OPEN :) RULES IN END NOTES!

♡ Characters: Little!Reader CG Jungkook CG Taehyung Playcare Owner Hoseok EA Felix EA Hyunjin Little Jimin, IN, Seungmin Everyone else is Teachers!

♡ Genre: SFW Littlespace, Fluff, Non Idol AU!

After moving from the rural city of Geochang to the bustling city of Seoul, your parents Jungkook and Taehyung decide to start you in a new Playcare Centre. Life is about to be so much different!

Time to be brave!

Notes: Welcome! ʕ•◡•ʔっ♡!

This is a very fluffy, very relaxed series that hopefully you can immerse yourself in!

There will be some angst but mostly fluff!

In this universe, Littlespace is permanent. If you don't know much about Littlespace, please research the topic elsewhere, since this story doesn't reflect how Littlespace functions in real life! Thank you!

The car's tyres grind against the tarmac as Jungkook pulls into the Little Sunshine Playcare's car park, a single storey building coming into view. It's made of caramel colored wood and black metal, a big welcome sign at the front that has a smiling cartoon sun attached to it. Arts and crafts are stuck to insides of the windows, so many colorful handprints reaching out to you as if giving you high-fives.

You tuck your chin into the soft collar of your pink sweater, peering at them nervously through your lashes.

As Jungkook chooses a parking space and turns off the engine, Taehyung twists around in his seat.

A kind smile graces his face. "Are you ready for your first day, sweetness?"

"Umm-..."

You glance back outside.

There's a man holding the hand of a colourfully dressed woman walking up to the front safety gate. He pulls the little knob and guides her through to the door, stopping to poke some buttons on a square thingy on the wall before heading inside.

"I dunno, Papa," You mumble as they leave your sight.

What if they don't wanna play with you? What if your teachers are meanies, and not nice like your Daddy and Papa?

"You don't know?" He sing-songs, pouting and reaching out to pinch your knee playfully. "Are you a little bit scared?"

Hang on.

You didn't say that!

Jungkook turns just in time to see you gasp, giggling to himself.

"I'm not scared!" You protest. "I'm not scared of anything, Papa!"

"Aww. I know."

Jungkook is sceptical. "No? Not even Lord Tirek?"

You think back to last night, when the big, scary monster appeared on the screen and you just had to hide in your Papa's arms.

You admit, "Maybe I'm scared of some things."

Taehyung smacks your Daddy on the shoulder, eyes wide behind his black glasses. "Luckily there's no Lord Tirek here then, right?"

"Right, Jagi," He agrees guiltily.

"Come on. It's time to get out now, sweetness."

You hug your teddy bear to your chest as they both exit the car.

Taehyung appears at your window, pulling your door open and leaning over you. He takes the big, red car seat buckle laying on your belly in his hands and clicks the two halves apart. The straps fall over your shoulders as he slots his hands under your armpits.

"Let's not forget your present," He reminds you, lifting you out of the seat and onto the ground.

As Jungkook rounds the car, he catches you chewing on your teddy's ear.

"Ah-ah," He chides, his tattooed hand coming up to pull it from your lips. "That's yucky. Be nice to Mr Bear, okay?"

"Sorry, Mr Bear."

"And?"

"Sorry, Daddy."

"Thank you."

"Here it is." Taehyung pulls out the bakery carry-box, slamming the door closed and carefully passing it to you. "Gentle hands."

"Good job." Jungkook praises. "It's not too heavy?"

"S'fine, Daddy."

Walking through the car park together, Taehyung strokes his hand through your hair, fixing the few fly-aways that have slipped from your piggy tails he very lovingly styled you in this morning. Your Papa is great at doing hair. Oh, and at picking outfits.

He's wearing a beige knitted vest over a plain white shirt, baggy pants, big shoes, and a beret.

The hairdresser's he works at lets him wear whatever he wants!

Jungkook, though; He has to wear a suit every day.

"Wooooow. Is that right?" Your taller parent exclaims. "You must be very strong?"

"Yes, I am, Daddy." You agree, plodding along.

For some reason, as he opens the gate and lets you through, both of them break out in chuckles above you. You don't know what's so funny about saying that! When you carried that heavy bag of rice at the shops yesterday, Daddy only had to help a little.

The door makes a clicking sound as the code is punched in, Jungkook pushing it open gentlemanly.

As you step into the foyer, you're suddenly hit with the feeling of being lost in a new place. You got lost in the supermarket once and it was so scary. Even scarier than Lord Tirek. You were about to be lost forever and ever until your Daddy finally found you.

You don't want to be alone again. No, no, no! A sad moan leaving your throat, you drop the bakery box onto the floor and wrap your arms around Jungkook's waist, smooshing your face into his breast through the black fabric. You're never letting go!

"Oh!" Taehyung exclaims, picking the small box back up. "Whoopsies."

"Whoopsies," Jungkook croons.

"Good morning," The lady at the desk greets, before her eyes widen. "Would you like some help?"

"We've got it." Your Papa assures her. "We're here to sign in Jeon-Kim Haen, please."

"Of course. Just a moment."

"I'm scared," You muffle.

"It's okay, baby." Jungkook soothes, rubbing your back. "Remember what you said before?"

I'm not scared of anything!

"I lieeeed." You complain. "I'm sc- scared of Lord Tirek and the air frier and scorpions and getting lost!"

Taehyung plucks a tissue from the reception desk box, bending to mop the yellow frosting off the floor.

Jungkook tsks sadly. "Maybe. But you're still very brave, Haen-ie."

"I'm b'ave?"

"Of course you are. Can you say, 'I'm Daddy and Papa's strong, brave girl'?"

"I'm- I'm Daddy and Papa's strong, b'ave girl."

"Good morning!" A new voice comes lilting into the room. You squeeze Jungkook even tighter, turning your head ever so slightly to get a look at the newcomer. A man as tall as your Daddy is approaching the three of you, dressed in an orange hoodie and looking like he swallowed the sun and all the stars for breakfast, the light trying to escape through his face. "Did we have a little accident?"

"We did," Tae laughs, throwing the used tissue and squished cupcake into a nearby bin.

"Don't worry. No harm done!"

His black hair is tousled neatly over his forehead, a rainbow lanyard laying against his chest.

"She's nervous about her first day." Jungkook explains, stroking your cheek. "Had a bit of a scare coming in."

The man smiles, his eyes turning into crescent moons. "You must be Haen-ie. I'm Hoseok-seonsangnim. It's nice to meet you!"

"Hello, Hoseok-seonsangnim." You murmur politely. "Are the cupcakes okay?"

Taehyung chuckles. "They're for her classmates."

"Wow, that's very nice of you." Hoseok gasps, looking through the little plastic windows. "Ooooh, yummy. They look perfect."

You let him know, "You can have one, too."

The three of them burst into soft laughter.

"Awww. Thank you, Haen-ie. You're a very kind girl. How about we go share them with everyone? Would you like to do that?"

You pause, thinking about it for a moment. "Okay."

"Awesome! Good idea." He praises, even though the idea was his, taking the box. "You'll have so much fun today!"

"You hear that? Come say goodbye to Papa-bear, sweetness."

You let go of your Daddy to fall into Taehyung's embrace, trying not to feel too scared as he wraps you up safely in his arms, rocking you gently from side to side and growling like a big, happy bear. When he pulls back, he kisses your forehead and passes you off to Jungkook, who gives you a quicker, lighter hug and reminds you not to chew on Mr Bear because he likes his ears to be clean.

"I won't, Daddy." You promise, earning another kiss to the forehead.

"Good girl. Daddy and Papa will come and pick you up later, okay?"

"Okay."

One last kiss. "We love you."

"Love you," Tae smiles.

"Love you, Daddy, Papa."

Hoseok offers his hand to you. "Come on, Haen-ie. Let's go share these yummy cupcakes, huh?"

Taking his hand in yours, you bravely let him guide you away.

"What flavor are the cupcakes, Haen-ie?"

"They're chocolate," You tell him, remembering what Papa asked the baker-lady for this morning.

"Oooh. I loooove chocolate." Your teacher gushes, giving your hand a bit of a squeeze as you walk side by side down the bright corridor. Splodgy paintings and crayon drawings hang from little wooden pegs along the wall, all the cats and dogs and dragons and two headed shark-giraffe hybrids all grinning down at you with silly faces and glittery decorations. "Is chocolate your favorite, too?"

"Uh-huh." You sheepishly nod. "I like it- I like it even betterer than vanilla, but Papa likes strawberry."

"He likes strawberry, does he? What about Daddy?"

"Daddy likes chocolate, too. He goes to the gym a lot, but he says it's healthy so we can eat lots!"

He laughs at that. "Well, I don't know about 'healthy', but it sure is delicious. Oh, look! Here's our classroom!"

You come to a stop in front of a door with a sticker on it that says, 'A2.'

Glancing back down the corridor, you notice the foyer is suddenly very empty. No Daddy, no Papa. Hoseok distracted you. You face forward again, taking a deep breath and telling yourself, I'm Daddy and Papa's brave girl, as he knocks on the door.

It opens. A man with long, wavy hair smiles sweetly at the both of you, moving to let you inside.

"Good morning!" He greets, closing the door behind you. "This must be our new friend, Haen-ie."

The classroom is bustling, filled with squealing laughter as Baby Shark plays loudly from somewhere.

"We're doing some dancing right now. It helps shake out all those early-morning jitters." He explains. "My name is Hyunjin-ie. It's so exciting to meet you! I'm one of the EAs in this room, so I'll be helping you get settled in today! Does that sound good?"

"What's an EA, Hyunjin-ie?"

"It means, 'Educational Assistant'. That means my job is to be your best friend and help you with your work!"

When you giggle, Hoseok adds, "We've got some delicious chocolate cupcakes here for everyone, too."

"Ohh! Cupcakes? I knew today was going to be a great day."

"Excuse me, friends!" Hoseok calls out over the song, getting everyone's attention. "I know we're all having fun dancing, but we have a new classmate here joining us today and she's very kindly brought us some delicious cupcakes to eat together!"

Exclamations break out across the room. "Cupcakes!!"

As the kids come running over, Hoseok sets the box down on the nearest activity table. "Everyone, say thank you to Haen-ie!"

"Thank you, Haen-ie!"

"I love you, Haen-ie!"

A shy smile makes its way onto your face, realizing that nobody here is mean like you thought they would be.

Your classmates jump up and down like pieces of popcorn as Hoseok hands a small cupcake to you first, then sharing the rest of them to the gathered crowd, reminding them all to be patient and thanking them for their nice manners.

Peeling back your cupcake's paper liner, you take a big, big bite.

Mmm. Chocolate with sweet, yellow frosting and a tiny, bear-shaped cookie sticking out of it.

"Thank you, Heun-ie!" A boy exclaims, his chin smeared with frosting. "Dis is soooo yummy!"

You smile, "My Papa buyed them."

"I love your Papa."

"I love my Papa, too."

"Nice manners, Jimin-ie." Hoseok praises him, handing the last of the cupcakes to EA Hyunjin and two other men who must be teachers. "Haen-ie, you've already met Hyunjin, but this here is EA Yeongbok-ie and Teacher Yoongi-seonsangnim."

The first man, Yeongbok; he has blonde hair, the color of vanilla cookies, and a wonky, toothy smile sweeter than every cookie in the world. He gives you an enthusiastic wave, his voice deeper than even your Papa's. "Hi! Nice to meet you!"

The second man, Yoongi, looks a bit like a sleepy, smiley cat. "Hello, Haen-ie."

"Hello," You wave back.

"We can meet the rest of your teachers later, but Yeongbok here is our second EA, and Yoongi is our very talented music teacher."

The man snorts. "I play recorders, Hoseok."

"All the same."

"Do you like music, Haen-ie?" Yeongbok asks as he pulls out a wooden seat for you, sitting in the one next to it.

"Okay, everyone! Sit down to eat, please!"

As everyone gets settled, you sit down next to Yeongbok and Hyunjin while Yoongi walks off with his cupcake.

"I like to sing with my Daddy and Papa," You tell the friendly EAs, your two new best friends.

"You guys just moved here from Geochang, didn't you?"

"Yeah," The mention of your old home sends a pang through your heart. It was a lot different than here. The streets were lined with wild grass and old, proud houses, always a breathtaking view of the mountains sitting on the horizon. "We got here two days ago."

"Well, we're very happy to have you here." Hyunjin smiles like a pretty prince. "What do you like about Seoul so far?"

Oh, um... You've never thought about that up until now.

"I like Han River," You guess, popping the biscuit in your mouth. "And we're going to Teseum Teddy Bear museum this weekend."

"Uwaaah," Yeongbok exclaims, "That sounds exciting?"

You nod, chewing, the wet crumbs falling from your lips and into your lap. "Bea'ws are my fav'ite animal."

"Oooh, careful," He warns, taking the handkerchief out of his pants' pocket and using it to clean you up.

"Oh! Sorryyyy."

"Don't worry." He brushes the crumbs off your sweater, and then your bear's fat, brown nose. "Look. It's as if nothing ever happened!"

"Daddy doesn't like it when I get my things dirty," You babble, giving the teddy a kiss as an apology, "Or chew on Mr Bear's ears."

"Aaah," Hyunjin hums understandingly, "So you're going to be one of the messy ones."

"You're going to love art class."

"I love art class!" A nearby boy butts in. "I made a painting for my Mommy yesterday!"

"Yes, and you used yourself as the canvas, didn't you?" He jokes, pinning him with an cool, sassy look.

The boy does nothing but giggle, his teeth covered in bits of chocolate cake, before running off to join his friends again.

"That's Jeongin-ie."

As you bite and swallow the last chunk of your cupcake, Yeongbok stands from the small seat, leaving his own cupcake on the table and offering his hand to you. "All done? Let's go put your bag away in the cubby before class starts, okay?"

"Okay, Yeongbok-ie." You agree, grabbing his pale hand and following him.

He takes you over to the wall besides the classroom door, where the cubby shelves are all stuffed with the other Little's backpacks, books, spare clothes, and water bottles. Coloured strips of paper are velcroed above each one, their names printed on them.

'Jimin', 'Jeongin', 'Maru', 'Nathan', and even your name! You point it out to Yeongbok, who chuckles in that delicate, tinkling way of his that makes it sound like he's a magical xylophone. He takes off your purple backpack and places it in the cubby below your tag.

Returning to the sitting area together, you spot Hyunjin and Yoongi helping tidy the aftermath.

"This one was yours," Yoongi nods toward an empty liner, wiping down the table with a cloth. "Go put it in the trash, please."

Hyunjin adds, "You too, Jeongin."

"Okayyyy." The boy sing-songs. "Fine."

Scooping up your trash and dumping it in the nearby bin, everybody works hard to clean up before settling down in their assigned seats at the activity tables strewn across the room. You're unsure where to go, awkwardly hugging Mr Bear, but sweet EA Yeongbok is there to help you again, taking your hand and guiding you to a table near the toy boxes. Jeongin and Jimin are sitting there, too.

"Ooh, Haen-ie. Look." The man points at the back of the chair. "What's that?"

You follow his finger.

Wow! It's another tag with your name on it!

"My name!" You exclaim proudly as you sit down. "This is my chair, Yeongbok-ie!"

"You're right. It is your chair," The man praises this genius discovery, as he drags another chair over and sits next to you.

Hyunjin and Yoongi are both sitting at other tables, joking with the kids around them.

"Hi! I'm Jimin!" The boy in front of you cheers.

"I'm Jeongin!"

"These are your table-mates, Haen-ie. Say hello?"

"Hello," You greet, using Mr Bear's fluffy arm to wave to them. "It's my first day today!"

"Why is it your first day?"

"We moved here." You explain, "And my old playcentre is too far away to visit, now."

"Awwww," Jimin pouts.

"That's so sad!"

"It is a little bit sad," Yeongbok validates, his tone comforting, "But she's going to make lots of new friends here, isn't she?"

Jeongin nods so fast you think his head might fall off. "I'll be your friend, Haen-ie!"

"Me, too! Do you like dinosaurs?"

Glancing at the T-Rex printed on his blue sweater, you shrug. "Um... A little."

"Oh." He deflates, perking right back up again afterwards. "It's okay! I'll still be your friend!"

"Yeah! He's friends with me, and I like sharks, but he doesn't like sharks, and we're still friends."

"Okay, guys," Yeongbok interrupts, placing a finger over his lips, "Sh, sh, sh. Let's listen to Hoseok-seonsangnim, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay!"

"It's time for our first class of the day, friends." You turn your attention to the front of the classroom, peering over Jimin's shoulder as Hoseok drags the wheelie whiteboard into view, uncapping an orange marker and smiling brightly at his class. "Now, Yoongi-seonsangnim and I were nice enough to let you guys have some cupcakes before class this morning, weren't we?"

"Yeah!" You all reply at once.

"Yeah! Fun, right? So do you think you'll all be able to put your learning caps on, now?"

As he mimes putting on a big hat, you all copy him.

Even Yoongi, Hyunjin, and Yeongbok, too!

"Perfect!" He lowers his hands. "Does anyone know what we're going to be learning today?"

The whole class starts giggling hysterically as he glances at the laminated chart on the wall, which very obviously reads, Monday, 1. Music, 2. Arts and Crafts, 3. Snack Break, 4. Math, 5. Nap Time, 6. Lunch Break, 7. Reading, in bubble letters.

Everyone shouts out, "Music!"

"It's Music!"

"Music, Hoseok!"

"It's what?" Your teacher squints, cupping his ear. "We're learning what?"

You join in the chaos, shouting, "Music!!"

"Aaaaah. Music! Why didn't you say that the first time?"

Silly Hoseok-seonsangnim. You guys did say that!

"Let's start with our word of the day first, and then we get out the instruments." Turning and writing, Word of the Day, at the top of the whiteboard, he faces forward and looks directly at you. "How about you choose today's word, Haen-ie?"

Oh! You?!

"There's no wrong answers," Yeongbok encourages you when he notices your apprehension. "What about Bear?"

You give a quick nod. "You say, please?"

He happily reports back to your teacher, "The word of the day is Bear!"

"Oooh. Good choice. Let's all use the letters at our tables and have a go spelling Bear!"

"Oh! I know, I know!" Jimin exclaims, wiggling impatiently as your EA reaches into the middle of the table and pulls out a velcro board and a cup of felt letters from the basket of supplies, splaying them out. "Let me do it! I know!"

He grabs the pile of letters, pulling out a flimsy G character and sticking it to the board.

"Good job, Jimin-ie." Yeongbok slides the letters in front of you. "Haen-ie's turn, now. We have to work as a team!"

Humming thoughtfully, you sound out the word Bear in your head. There's a Guh, and then an Ohhhhh. Must be O.

You stick the O character below the G.

When it's Jeongin's turn, he sticks down an M character, completing the simple Hangul symbol.

"Is everybody ready? Show us your boards!"

Chatter fills the room again as Yeongbok holds up the board for you.

Hoseok glances from table to table, nodding, "Correct! Yep, correct! Well done! Yeongbok's table, correct!"

Your EA gives you a high-five.

Yay!

"Hyunjin's table," He sucks in a breath at the last group, "I'm afraid that's not quite right."

Everyone at the table groans in defeat and starts throwing accusations around.

"I told you it was just one M!"

"Hyunjinnnnn!"

"You didn't listen!"

Yoongi's laughing behind his hand, shoulders shaking.

The kids keep heckling him as he grumpily throws down the letter in his hand.

Yeongbok laughs, "Maybe you need to move to the baby's room, Hyung? What do you guys think?"

"Baby's room!" The girl next to Hyunjin chants. "Baby's room!"

Hyunjin sticks his tongue out at her.

"Okay. Okay," Hoseok chuckles, taking back control of the room as Yoongi stands up. "Time for music, now."

When Namjoon checks his watch, he announces, "Snack break, everyone!"

Jumping up from your seat and pulling your bucket hat on, you can't wait to eat!

You file out into the play yard with everyone else, finding a spot at one of the picnic tables. Hoseok and Namjoon-seonsangnim wheel out two carts of food, approaching each table and handing out the small bowls. Namjoon; You met him during Arts and Crafts. He's tall and muscly like a sports teacher, but he actually teaches art and English, his face round like a toffee candy, both cheeks dimpled.

"Hello, everyone." He greets, placing a plastic bowl and spoon in front of you. "Did you have fun in art today?"

"Thank you," You remember your manners, licking your lips at the sight of the sliced fruit and yoghurt.

"You're welcome, Haen-ie."

As you stick your spoon in, Seungmin exclaims, "Yeah! I maked a rainbow! It was really pretty."

"'Made'." Hoseok calls out.

The boy corrects himself. "I made a rainbow."

"Yes, I saw. It was pretty."

Gulping down the dollop of yoghurt and crunchy apple pieces, you gaze out at the patch of sunlight nearby. Your class's art creations are drying in the sun, the pieces of paper swaying in the breeze, wrinkled from all the glue and pom poms on them.

"I made a dinosaur with Jimin," You garble as Namjoon walks away with the cart, your mouth full.

The boy nods. "It was a brontosaurus. Brontosauruses are the ones with the-!"

"The long necks," The girl across from him rolls her eyes. "We know."

Your dinosaur's neck was five pompoms long!

He gasps. "You like dinosaurs, too, Ahyun?!"

"No. You just talk about them all the time." She glances up from her bowl. "Haen, you have glue on your elbow."

You do? Shrugging a shoulder, you peer down at the side of your arm and scratch the dried flake off.

"And paint on your shoulder."

Oh, she's right. There's a pink splat on your sweater. You hope your Daddy won't be too upset.

"And on your hand."

... Oh.

"She got really messy," The girl beside her giggles. "She's like my baby brother, and he's only one!"

"I think she's messier," She jokes, making your cheeks go hot.

"Are you one, Haen-ie?"

"No. I'm nineteen," You mumble uncomfortably, hiding your paint-covered hand under the table. "And four on the inside."

"You should go sit somewhere else," Ahyun chirps. "I don't want you to get me dirty!"

"She won't," Jimin frowns.

"Yes, she will!"

Whatever. You don't want to sit with Ahyun, either. You pick up your bowl and stand from the wooden bench, storming over to the playground and ducking under one of the platforms. You hide away in a dark corner to finish eating your snack in peace.

Tears start burning at the edges of your eyes when you catch a second glimpse at your ruined sweater.

"Haen-ie? Sweetie?"

Sniffling, you watch Hyunjin as he searches the playground, coming to a sudden stop when he sees you. He looks like he's about to explain that you're not allowed to eat in the playground, but something in his expression changes and he crouches down.

"Haen-ie, sweetie, what are you doing all the way over here?" He asks. "What's the matter?"

Glancing behind him, you catch the other teachers watching the two of you, before they go back to what they were doing.

Hyunjin crawls in and sits beside you, long hair framing his face as he tilts his head at you.

"Haen-ie?"

You pout, "I don't wanna sit at the tables."

"No?"

You shake your head, poking sadly at your yoghurt.

"You don't want to sit with your friends? Jimin and Jeongin?" He tries, only to be met with silence. "Me and Yeongbok-ie?"

You admit, "I don't wanna sit with Ahyun."

He pauses. "Did Ahyun say something a little bit mean?"

You nod. "Her friend said I'm like her baby brother because I'm messy. And then Ahyun said I'm even messier than him because I got paint and glue on my clothes in art class, and then she said I can't sit with them, so I came over here to hide."

Sympathy washes over his face. He muses, "That wasn't very nice of her, was it?"

"No, it wasn't," You agree.

"Did it make you sad?"

"Uh-huh." It did make you sad. "I didn't get messy on purpose, Hyunjin-ie. It was an a'sident."

"Awww, Hyunjin-ie knows it was an accident, sweetie. And you know what?"

"What?"

"Art class is all about getting messy, little friend. Wouldn't it be boring if the paint only got on the paper?"

"My Daddy doesn't like it when I get dirty. He likes it when things are perfect and nice and clean."

Your Papa calls him a 'Perfectionist'.

"You're already perfect and nice," He argues. "And Yeongbok and I are going to make sure you're clean, too."

"You are?"

"Yeah. Yeongbok is new, too, you know. He's only been here a week. And he says I should be in the baby's room. Pssh. After art class ended, I had to teach him where to find the extra wet wipes, but you went outside to eat before we could clean you up!"

Ohhh. You remember now! After class ended, Yeongbok told you to wait, but you forgot and ran outside!

"I was too excited to eat!"

"Yes, you were." He chuckles, taking your hand. "Come on. Let's go get clean!"

"Okay!"

He helps you crawl back out from the playground, leaving your bowl at the table and stepping inside the empty classroom.

It's much quieter in here. The aircon hums above you, tables all clean and glossy. You see Yeongbok standing behind the partition of the exposed bathroom area, peeling open a package of wet wipes and digging through your purple backpack.

Both of you approaching him, Yeongbok gasps dramatically with a big, sunny smile. "Haen-ie!"

Hyunjin squeezes your hand.

"I'm sorry I didn't wait for you, Yeongbok-ie," You apologize sweetly. "I got distracted and forgot to wait for you!"

"Aw. That's okay." He says, pulling out a spare shirt with a big strawberry on it. "Let's get you into some clean clothes."

The two nice men work together to remove your paint-covered sweater and stuff it back into your backpack, wiping down your fingers and palms with the wet wipes afterwards. Yeongbok quickly dresses you in the green shirt and adjusts your bucket hat.

"There we go," He celebrates, zipping your backpack up. "That was nice and easy, wasn't it!"

"Thank you, Yeongbok-ie and Hyunjin-ie!"

"See? Nothing bad about getting messy." The older EA holds his hand out to you. "Come on. Let's go finish eating, little friend."

Uh oh.

"Do I have to?"

Yeongbok makes a confused face. "I thought you were excited to eat?"

"I am, but," You twist your shoe into the floor. "Ahyun was mean to me."

He frowns. "Oh, no."

"Hyunjin-ie will make sure Hoseok-seonsangnim tells Ahyun's parents she was being mean to one of our friends," Hyunjin promises. "And you can sit with me, if you like, or we can ask Jimin and Jeongin if they want to move tables with you?"

You wanna sit with all of them!

"Let's all sit together!"

"Okay, sweet friend." He praises as you take his hand. "Let's go. Your yoghurt is waiting for you!"

You giggle. "I'm coming, yoghurt!"

Hyunjin guides you back into the play yard, approaching the picnic table.

"Excuse me, guys," The man politely interrupts, pointing to a nearby empty table. "I'm going to take my friend Haen-ie over to the kind-friends table over there, and we want to know who else is going to join us."

"Ooooh," Ahyun's friend exclaims. "I do!"

Not wanting to be left out, Ahyun agrees and raises her hand. "Me too, Hyunjin!"

"Sorry, Jenna and Ahyun. This table is only for kind friends. You weren't being a very kind friend to Haen-ie today, were you?"

She gawks. "Wh-?!"

"Maybe when you're feeling a little bit kinder," He suggests, "You can come and join us later."

As she scoffs angrily, Jimin raises his hand. "Can I come, Haen-ie?"

"What about me?" Jeongin adds. "I wanna sit with you!"

"Me, too!" Seungmin agrees. "I'm a kind friend!"

You go pink under all the attention. "Okay!"

"Yay!"

"Let's go!"

"Kind-friends table!"

The four of you grab your bowls and go sit at the other, better table together. Hyunjin offers his lap to you since you might still be a little sad. Even though you're feeling better now, you still climb up onto his thigh, while the three boys sit around you.

"There you go," Hyunjin cooes, bouncing you up and down a little. "Ooooh. Apple? What else did you get?"

"I got banana," Seungmin answers, pointing at his friend's bowl. "Jimin got some, too!"

Jeongin pouts, "I got grapes."

"He hates grapes," The boy beside him explains helpfully.

You ask, "Do you like apple?"

When he nods, you hold your bowl over his, using your spoon to flick the apple into it.

"Thanks, Haen-ie!" He gasps, before giving you his grapes. "You can have mine!"

"Thanks, Jeongin-ie."

"Woooow," Hyunjin exclaims, "Nice sharing, you guys."

"My Papa says it makes our friends sad when we don't share," You tell him. "And I don't like it when people are sad, Hyunjin-ie."

The man suddenly clutches his heart through his baggy shirt, wincing like he's in pain. "Dawww."

You giggle at his outburst. "What, Hyunjin-ie?"

He makes a Grrrrrr sound as he mimes grabbing your cheeks. "You're adorable, that's what!"

You push his hands away. "Silly Hyunjin!"

Yeongbok comes into view as you all laugh together, setting his bowl on the table. "Hey! Don't have all the fun without me!"

"How are you guys going over here?"

As Hoseok approaches your table, you pout your lips around the pencil in your mouth.

Not good. Math is hard!

He takes notice just like all good teachers do. "Needing some help there, Haen-ie?"

You mumble, "Yes, p'ease."

Yeongbok gently pulls your hand away. "We don't chew on pencils, little friend. There you go."

As he goes back to helping Jeongin, Hoseok takes a seat next to you. "Tell Hoseok-seonsangnim what you need help with."

"Yeongbok-ie is busy with Jeongin and there's-! There's too many steps!"

"Ahhh, I see. Don't worry. Let's break them down together, shall we? Can you read the question to me?"

You look down at your paper, making sure to ignore the cartoon gardener at the bottom because he's annoying you. "Taeyun buys some-... some flower seeds. He plants five seeds in normal soil, and five seeds in special mulch. The seeds in the... in the special mulch grow double the flowers than the seeds in the regular soil grow. How many flowers will he have when they're done growing?"

See?! That's super hard.

Taehyun should ask somebody else about his flowers, because you have no idea.

"That was great reading," Hoseok praises you, before grabbing a blank piece of paper and some crayons from the supply box. "I've got an idea. You know what helps me when I can't figure out a question? Drawing it out!"

Your eyes widen. "There's questions you can't figure out?"

A laugh escapes him. "Yes, there are. Even teachers need help, sometimes."

"But you're super smart?"

"The only way to get smart is to be wrong a lot of times first." He explains, drawing some dots on the page. "Let's draw what we need to know. First, I'll draw the seeds... Five normal seeds on the left and five special seeds on the right."

When he's finished, he hands you a green crayon.

"Now let's draw the flowers coming out of the seeds."

"Okay. I'll try!"

"That's what I like to hear, friend. You should draw two flowers coming out of each special seed, remember?"

Nodding, you get to work drawing the stems.

After that, you add a yellow ball and colorful petals to each one.

"Let's add some ladybugs!" You suggest, reaching for the red crayon.

"Hang on. We don't need any ladybugs right now." He reminds you. "Maybe you can draw some in art class tomorrow, okay?"

Awwww. "Okay."

"Let's count the flowers instead. Ready?"

"Uh-huh. One, two, three," You concentrate hard and count every flower. "Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen!"

"Fifteen. Well done!" Hoseok exclaims with a big, excited grin, giving you a double high five. "You did it!"

"I did it!"

"Go ahead and write the answer down and we'll have a go at the next one."

"Okay! Thank you, Hoseok-seonsangnim."

"You're very welcome, sunshine."

By the time you've filled out the math booklet, you're in serious need of a nap. Being smart is lots of effort. How does he do it?

Luckily, it's nap time.

You grab Mr Bear and head into the toy area, where the EAs have moved the furniture out of the way and set up sleeping mats on the floor. Your Papa packed your softest, pinkest bedding today. You kneel on the cotton fabric, yawning and laying your head on your pillow as Hyunjin pulls the curtains over the windows. Hundreds of stars light up the walls when Yeongbok switches on the lamp.

"Who needs a little extra help getting to sleep today?" He asks quietly, switching on the speaker next.

The sound of somebody playing the piano graces your ears.

A couple of kids raise their hands, including you. No matter how tired you are, it's still scary falling asleep in a new place.

Hyunjin comes over to you.

"Close your eyes, sweetie," He whispers, settling beside your mat.

With him slowly stroking your hair, you're drifting off into dreamland before you even realize it.

At the end of the day, while you're all sitting on the rug, Hoseok asks, "Who here had a good day today?"

"Me!" You all shout.

"Let's share three things we're grateful for today," He says, gesturing to a student. "Let's start with you, Jihyun."

She tilts her head. "Ummm... Art class, Yeongbok helping me find my pencil when I lost it, and... Oh! Haen's cupcakes!"

"Oooh. They were yummy, weren't they? Jimin?"

He's got his answer right away. "Meeting my new friend Haen-ie!!"

Jeongin's got his, too! "Haen-ie sharing her fruit with me!!"

"Aw, those are great answers. I'm grateful for our new friend, too."

When it's your turn, you shyly stare back at the class. It's difficult to choose only three things! You're grateful for the EAs, who made your first day as easy as possible for you, Yoongi for making you laugh as he taught you how to hold the recorder, Namjoon for opening the glue pot for you when it was stuck, and Hoseok for being such a great teacher, even if he's bad at drawing flowers.

"I'm grateful for my friends and my teachers and the EAs... and nap time, and brontosauruses."

That might've been five things... But Hoseok doesn't mind. "Aww. I'm so glad, friend."

Hyunjin does that thing again where he looks like he's going to die.

Yeongbok chuckles, petting his shoulder in support.

Parents start gathering in the corridor outside the classroom as the rest of the kids share their three things. You keep an eye out for your Daddy and Papa, your legs squirming and your heart racing like it's trying to break out of you and go find them.

The last time you glance through the window, they're both there!

When they spot you, their faces light up like they always do when they spot you in school assemblies and sport events.

They wave to you.

"Daddy, Papa," You cheer under your breath, trying to keep your hand in your lap. "Daddy, Papa are here."

"Okay, my friends." Hoseok eventually concludes. "I'll see you all tomorrow!"

"See you tomorrow!!"

"Bye, Hoseok!!"

"It's home time!!"

As soon as he opens the door, you jump up and run over to the big group of parents, straight into your Papa's open arms.

"There you are!" Taehyung gasps happily, holding you tight. "There's our sweet girl!"

"Papa!!"

"Did you have a good day?" He asks you, kissing your hair and letting you hug Jungkook next. "You didn't miss us too much?"

"I missed you so much," You muffle into Jungkook's button shirt. "But I had a good day at the same time!"

"We missed you, too," Your Daddy chuckles.

As Hyunjin approaches the three of you, handing your backpack and artwork to Jungkook, you pull away slightly.

"Here are Haen's things," He smiles.

He thanks the man. "Wow. Is this a dinosaur, baby?"

"I made it with my new friend, Jimin! He said I could keep it because he has a lot of dinosaur drawings at his home already."

"It's so cute."

Taehyung adds, "I love it."

"She had a good day," The EA smiles. Yeongbok and Hoseok are talking to some other parents behind him, handing more backpacks and artworks out. As Jungkook gives your dinosaur craft to his husband and unzips your bag, making sure everything is in there, Hyunjin explains, "We did have a little hiccup this morning, though. You'll find her sweater in there. It just has some paint on it."

Guilt squeezes you as you watch Jungkook turn the fabric over in his hand. "Sorry, Daddy."

"It's okay, Haen-ie." He shakes his head, zipping it up. "Daddy just wanted you to have fun today, okay? We can wash it out."

"I also got crumbs on Mr Bear," You admit.

He laughs at your sudden burst of honesty, slinging your bag over his shoulder. "We can wash him, too."

"He'll love it," Tae agrees. "It'll be like a spa day."

Some people might think your Daddy is the stricter parent, but he actually breaks more of his own rules than you do, and it's him who's always spoiling you with new toys, treats, and clothes! He's a big softie!

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow then, Haen-ie!" Hyunjin says. "High-five!"

"Buh-bye, Hyunjin-ie!"

After you smack hands, Taehyung and Jungkook thank him again and they each take one of your hands, leading you out of the Playcentre. They listen intently as you babble about every detail of your day all the way to the car, where Tae lifts you in.

"Did everyone enjoy the cupcakes?" He asks, helping you thread your arms through the straps.

"Oh! Yeah! They were really yummy, Papa."

"No dessert tonight, then, I guess." He pouts, clicking the buckle together, before grinning cheekily at you. "Just kidding."

You stick your tongue out at him.

"Hey," Your Daddy chuckles, watching you in the rear-view mirror. "Save that little tongue for your ice cream tonight."

"We're having ice cream?!"

Tae closes your door and settles into the passenger seat as the car starts. "Didn't we tell you? Brave girls get ice cream, baby bear."

"Yay! Thank you!"

Cupcakes, new friends, a good nap, and ice cream?

You wish every day could be your first day at Playcare!

When you get a whole bowl's worth of chocolate ice cream all over your pyjamas that night, Jungkook just fondly smiles at you and sneaks you a second scoop while Tae isn't looking. He taught you that chocolate is healthy when you want it to be, after all!

Notes:

Please share your thoughts and leave some suggestions for future chapters! ʕ•◡•ʔっ♡!

Things I won't write. - Smut. - Self-harm. - Intense angst. - Anything unrelated to Haen or Littlespace. Everything else goes!

Current roles. - Taehyung: Parent Caregiver. - Jungkook: Parent Caregiver. - Jin: ??? - Namjoon: Art / English Teacher. - Hoseok: Homeroom Teacher / Playcare Owner. - Yoongi: Music Teacher. - Jimin: Little. - Bangchan: ??? - Lee Know: ??? - Han: ??? - Changbin: Sports Teacher. - Hyunjin: EA / Art Teacher. - Felix: EA. - Seungmin: Little. - Jeongin: Little.

I encourage you to be friendly and patient with me! ^◡^

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dejwritesarchived · 2 years ago

Text

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── ( synopsis ) ugly duckling zeke yeager return to campus looking better than ever and he’s back dealing with his biggest academic rival that want what he has.

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — reader discretion is advised: female reader, female anatomy described, her/she pronouns, written with black reader in mind, college au, teacher assistant!zeke, grad student!reader, mean girl!reader, profanity, cumeating, mentions of alcohol drinking, academic rivals trope, zeke and his freakin’ daddy issues, hand job, spit usage, slight exhibitionism, they kinda do it at a party but it’s after the party, corruption kink (on both ends), tbh reader and zeke should just be happy and make out already, if i am 1 out of maybe 30 zeke simps i am okay with that, mentions of other aot characters, is this kinda self indulgent? yes, the marley men just have some flavor to them to me, entry for @poohbea 'once upon a collab' event, art credit

ANOTHER YEAR OF GRAD SCHOOL MEANT ANOTHER YEAR BEING AT THE TOP OF YOUR DEPARTMENT. You were in competition with yourself in academics, fashion, popularity, social status—you name it. You went from student body president during undergrad to the grad student that everyone could lean on when they needed something. That was until he returned to campus. The eldest son of infamous doctor Grisha Yeager—Zeke Yeager. He not only knocked you to number two in your department, but he also snatched your teacher assistant position right from you. Eventually, taking away that excellent bullet point on your resume.

You felt frustrated that the opportunity even got snatched from your hands in the first place. Of course, the guy with the infamous doctor would get the position before you. You had to figure out how you could get back on top. You could torment him as you did during undergrad. No, that wouldn’t work. The way he was looking now—he wouldn’t fall for your tactic of inviting him out to drink and causing him to miss an exam. Maybe, cause a scandal within his family. His family does always seem to stay in the tabloids. No, that wouldn’t work. Their PR agent would have that buried before you could convince your professor to give you the teacher assistant position.

“Are you going to this party tonight? Please don’t tell me you’re spending your Friday at home again,” Your friend asked as she tapped her manicured fingers on your kitchen top. “Everyone is going to be at this party, you know?”

“Why would I want to be around drunk strangers? How does that benefit me at all?” You asked while letting your finger trace alongside the rim of your wine glass.

Your friend was here to convince you to come to this party just by her attire. You were sure she would be zooming to this party immediately after her poor attempt to get you to come out. You always told her not to let you rain on her parade. Go out and have fun; just be safe.

“What if I told you Eren Yeager is hosting it, and it’s at his family’s lovely home?” Your friend leaned over, smiling at you.

“I’m not interested in Eren Yeager. Do I look like one of those sophomores that easily let his man bun distract them on how much of a manwhore he is,” You sipped from your glass before you heard your friend drag out a sigh.

“If one brother is going to be there, obviously the other will be.” Your friend rolls her eyes at your obviously, not-smart thinking. “Perfect opportunity to talk to him to let you have the teacher assistant position. After all, it’s not like he will need it anyway. I’m sure daddy has a job lined up for both of his sons.”

“I highly doubt he’ll be there. Doesn’t even seem like his scene,” You added.

“You think he trusts his younger brother to throw a party in one of their family properties alone?”

You thought about it for a second. Hypothetically, this could be a perfect opportunity to convince him to step down from the position. Give him a couple of cups of alcohol and get to batting your eyelashes—this could work.

“Fine, let me change into something else,” You finished your glass of wine before your friend could let out a squeal of excitement.

You went into your room to freshen up and get changed. When you stepped out, your friend had some devious grin as her eyes flickered up and down to look at your outfit. “Let’s hope the outfit works in your favor.” She says as she places the wine glasses you guys used in the sink.

“Hope so.” The dress you wore wasn’t too fancy, but it was something that could have anyone doing a double look. You glanced in the full-body mirror in your living room—slowly leaning forward to apply a coat of clear lip gloss.

The ride to the party was filled with rules; you and your friend always went over. If you were leaving with a guy, let the other know. If you hit your alcohol limit—it’s time to go. Don’t leave without the other without confirmation that you were; that was common sense. As you dawned closer to one of the biggest houses in the gated community, it seemed you could hear the music as you got closer and closer. When you entered the party, it was crowded, from people dancing in the living room to people littering the steps sitting, and talking. Your friend had seen one of her usual semester flings and instantly shot right towards them after letting you know that if you were ready to go—just find her.

Now you were alone in a sea of people hoping you could clichely bump into the older Yeager sibling. You pushed your way through to find him yourself. Hoping he wasn’t indulging in flirting with someone

You tried your hardest to avoid anybody that knew you. Each of them gets in the way of why you were here in the first place. You spent the past thirty minutes pretending to be interested in conversations until you eventually entered the kitchen to see the person you were searching for. There he stood up, scrunching up his face at the taste of the mixed drink his younger brother had made.

“It’s not that bad,” Eren said as he sipped from the red solo cup.

“It’s horrible, but when does alcohol ever taste good?” Zeke questioned as he placed his empty solo cup on the counter.

“Exactly! Everyone is going to love this Yeager juice,” His brother responded before he poured more of the drink into two cups and made his way out of the kitchen.

Zeke was all alone, sipping alcohol in the kitchen and chatting with his friends. You didn’t even know you caught yourself staring at him and how his biceps flexed in the tight black shirt he wore. Did he get hotter from the last time you saw him? His little internship in France surely must have done wonders for him. Wait, you weren’t here to drool over his attractiveness—focus.

As you inched further to get something to drink, Zeke's eyes landed on you, and you watched his lips curve into a smirk before he met you near the counter you were near. You were glancing at all the alcohol choices they offered, pretending that you weren’t here for something else.

“It’s funny that this will be where we bump into each other again.” Zeke interrupted your pretend task of searching for alcohol of your choosing.

“Couldn’t turn down a Yeager party,” You shrug your shoulders while collecting a bottle and pouring some into the cup. “It was the talk of the campus. Everyone is here.”

“Would have thought you’ll ditch to do some project or something.” Zeke leaned against the counter that was next to you. His head tilts like an innocent puppy attempting to challenge its owner.

“You know me, any project or paper I must do is most likely done already. Come on; we didn’t play hot potato for the top of the class spot for nothing.” You sipped from your cup, peeking up at him.

“Still the same overachiever, I see.” Zeke poured him some of the drink Eren had made. “Same girl that tormented me.”

“That’s what I’m here for. To apologize; we’ve matured now. I’ve matured now.” You placed your hand on your heart and gave him a sweet smile before that smile disappeared after hearing his snickers.

“You’re funny; what do you want?” Zeke took another sip of his drink and poured more into his cup once more now that it was empty.

Your lips gasp upon pretending to be offended. “I can’t just see how you been?”

“When did you ever care?” Zeke backfired. “Before, during, or after you were the biggest manipulator during undergrad?

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a horrible person to you, Zeke.” You gave him a pout. “So please let me have that T.A. position you have.”

The sound of his laughter caused your eye to twitch in annoyance. His eyes form tears as he hunches over to laugh. “You’re hilarious. I knew you wanted something, and the answer is no. For once, you couldn’t beat me or use some conniving way to beat me. Enjoy the rest of the party, Y/N.” He clinks his red solo cup with yours and talks to his friend Pieck who is searching the fridge for something.

You inhaled sharply and exhaled slowly. Your nails dig into the palm of your hand before you turn to fill your cup up. You had to think of another way, but you needed to drink for now. You ventured around the property two times, searching for your friend. You had no luck but found yourself in the living room talking to your friend Reiner. You remember being lab partners with him; he was such a sweetheart. He didn’t know how to do the labs, but he was charming. You felt someone staring at you as you laughed at one of his jokes, you felt someone staring at you. To your shock, Zeke's eyes were staring at you as some random girl was talking his head off. You turned around after playfully rolling your eyes at him.

Hours went by, and people headed home to sleep off the alcohol they consumed or head to the next party. Your friend had gone home with their semester fling after confirming with you that it was okay. You decided to stay back to continue to pester Zeke. He hasn't budged at all with giving you the teacher assistant position—and you weren’t giving up that easily. As you help, throw away the red solo cups that decorated the expensive marble counters. Zeke was collecting the empty alcohol bottles to toss in the recycle bin. The two of you silently cleaned up the kitchen as you could hear Eren and his friends drunkenly messing around in the living room. Zeke knew they weren’t doing any type of cleaning as they told him they were doing.

“You know…” Zeke broke the silence between the two of you.

“You’re going to let me have the T.A. position?” You interjected as you tossed another cup in the trash.

“No, but I find your eagerness—quite attractive,” He chuckles, dropping a whiskey bottle in the bin. He walks closely towards you, and you meet him halfway, dragging the black trash back with you.

Just as you met in the middle of the kitchen where the counter was, he stared at you with his gray-colored eyes trying to read you. He wasn’t sure if you had changed or not since undergrad. “It’s quite comical that you even parted your lips to ask me after the hell you put me through during undergrad.” He grabs the empty red solo cup off the counter and grabs the black trash bag you had.

Being sure to let his fingertips brush against your hand as he takes the bag. He threw the cup in the trash before speaking again, “You were a horrible person. Kinda need you to beg a little more,” he reached by you to grab another liquor bottle.

“I apologized so many times. I don’t understand why you need the position so much.” You snatch the alcohol bottle out of his hand and place it on the counter. His need to ensure the kitchen was clean before his parents returned to their luxury trip distracted you from your goal. “Your daddy will help you find the perfect job when you graduate.”

You watched as Zeke’s jaw clenched in annoyance, hearing your words. Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion before your lips curve into a smirk. This was your opening. “Oh, that struck a nerve, huh?” Your head tilts as you watch those eyes darken.

You’ve seen that look countless times during undergrad, especially when you caused him to miss a final exam which helped you to have the highest GPA in your department.

“That’s not true. I work very hard for the positions I have.” He glanced at you, and now it was him with a devious smirk on his face. “Just like the T.A. position that you want.”

“You leave for an internship in France for the summer and come back with some balls; that’s what’s fuckin’ comical, actually.” You suck your teeth before stepping back and hopping on the counter.

You were growing frustrated with not getting what you wanted after years of getting what you wanted—which you didn’t have an infamous surname and an academic medical school building named after your father to do so. It was a bit insulting to you that he was dangling this position in front of you.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up already. It’s only one in the morning. You’ve tormented me longer than this.” Zeke went back to cleaning up. “I’m starting to think you may just want to be in my company or something. I must advise you; others wouldn’t mind being in my company and not being a pain in my ass.” He tossed a bag of opened chips in the trash.

“And yet, you’ve declined them all night just to let me pester you.” You muttered under your breath.

“And yet you spent this whole night pestering me, ignoring all the advances thrown at you. You really think Reiner cares about your fuckin’ marketing project?” Zeke backfired as he leaned against the counter opposite where you were sitting. He rubs at the thick blonde beard on his face in a mockingly thinking manner. “Starting to think you may like me.”

“I would rather gouge my eyeballs out and take the least-rated Professor in our university than ever admit any attraction to you, Zeke Yeager.” You shrugged your shoulders at him, but you also noticed that he had stepped closer once again, not being afraid to invade your space.

You just were trying to figure out if you thought this was a good idea. The sexual tension was there. It was obviously there—you two wouldn’t be going back and forth like an intense tennis game if it wasn’t. You grabbed Zeke’s belt, tugging him closer to fill the gap between your thighs.

“You’re still that ugly duckling in undergrad that I enjoyed sabotaging to be on top.” You attempted to push him, but his hand caught yours before eventually letting his lips crash upon yours.

The taste of hard whiskey and Eren’s horrible mixed Yeager juice lingers on your tongue as you’re eagerly tracing it to get a taste of all the liquor Zeke consumed during the night. The scent of a freshly opened pack of cigarettes and a woodsy-scented cologne crawls up your nostrils to cause you to be even more intoxicated. Your grasp on his shirt as if he was going to blow up was a bit funny, considering you were insulting him all night. You wanted more; you needed more. The kiss broke apart, and you tried to utter another degrading thing. The short break from tasting each other allowed Zeke to remove his glasses and place them next to you on the counter—before his lips were back on yours. Shoving his tongue down your throat in a heated makeout session because he would rather have that than hear your nagging about him being undeserving of a position he has already.

Your hand untangled from the cotton threads of his shirt to travel down to his pants to rub his hardened cock. The bulge was so noticeable you would have thought he was a virgin that just discovered an exclusive OnlyFans account. Zeke breaks the kiss again, his plush lips pecking soft subtle kisses on yours as if he didn’t want the kiss to end. Now those gray hues of his were softened—they didn’t look at you as if he hated your guts. But for pure hunger for you.

“Want to go upstairs?” Zeke asked; he didn’t budge from towering over you as you were on the counter. He could hear the loud laughter of his younger brother and his friends playing another round of Never Have I Ever.

You rubbed your lips together before shaking your head. “What’s the fun in that?” You questioned as your hands fiddled to undo his belt. “It’s a bit more exciting when you’re about to get caught by your brother, isn’t it?”

You never saw Zeke’s face turn red so quickly. His cheeks are stained a crimson color as you’re unbuttoning his pants. He watches as you bring your hand up to your mouth to spit it and soon dig into his boxers to massage the tip of his cock. You didn’t want to fully bring his cock out just in case someone walked in, so you brought him closer using the heel of your foot, and your hand slowly guided up and down his shaft. His head fell back in complete bliss as he was poorly attempting not to utter a moan.

“If you think this is going to….” His body shutters when he feels the pad of your thumb brush against his plump mushroom-shaped tip. “—going to get me to step down from the teacher assistant position, you’re highly mistaken.” He finishes.

You leaned up to place a kiss on the corner of his lips. “At this point, is it really about the damn T.A. position?” You questioned as you continued to palm his cock. This time your hand is pushing his pants down just a bit to give yourself some more room.

If anyone was to walk in, they could assume that the two of you were just making out—but really, Zeke was desperately thrusting forward for more friction as your hand squeezed around his cock. Broken groans trembled out of Zeke as he prompted his hand on the cabinet just a few inches from your head to hold himself up. “Shit, I’m going to cum.” He utters as your hand slides up and down his cock.

“I’m going to stop that from happening,” Your teeth bite your lower lip as your hand palms at his thick cock.

“Mhmm, okay.” Zeke leans in to kiss you again, but you’re quick to lean back teasingly. Continuing the urge to make sure he cums and becomes a bowl of putty right in front of you.

You’ve adored seeing Zeke get tugged from the temporary bliss of passion. You could sense the heat from his skin and all the color rush to his face. Thick ropes of cum came out so quickly before you could spit out some witty comment. Your hand motions slowed to ensure that he experienced every emotion that came from the fact that you had him in the palm of your hand. Zeke’s chest heaved upward as he tried to regain his composure. His eyes watched as you removed your hands from his box just in time to hear footsteps behind Zeke. Eren walked into the kitchen to grab something from the fridge.

“I didn’t know anyone else was here,” Eren said as he opened the bottle of water in his hand. His eyes were shot red from the weed he smoked, and he went through the many stages of cottonmouth.

The droplet of Zeke’s cum imprinted your fingertips, and you brought your fingers to your mouth to lick up the mess he made in your hand. He let out a shaky sigh before quickly fixing his bottoms to answer his brother.

“She was just leaving,” He sighed.

Eren’s thick brows raised at the sight he was seeing before he let out a laugh at his brother's words, “Sure, just be sure to wear protection. Our father finds out you knocked someone up—say goodbye to your cut of his will.” He gives a sly wave to you before he leaves the kitchen again.

“I’m going to go get cleaned up, and when I return, I would love for you not to be here.” He admits as he steps back from the space in between your thighs.

“Okay,” You didn’t bother to argue as you gave him an innocent smile. “No goodbye kiss,” Your teeth nibbled at your lower lip as you glanced up at him through your lashes.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” You heard Zeke utter.

But he didn’t argue against your wishes; his large hands cupped your face so gently that you could only grasp his waist, not wanting to let go. When he finally pulled away, he let his eyes linger on you just a bit longer before escaping the kitchen.

He would always be your ugly duckling that you enjoyed bothering—but this time, he wasn’t afraid to bother you right back.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀thanks for reading, reblogs & comments are highly appreciated.

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── TAGS: @tyga-lily @maydayaisha @eiflawriting @stunnababyyabyyy @shamelesshoefairy @violxtbxbyy @kenpachis-woman @euhmae25 @mostlyclearbeans @emotionalfatbword @bella-fl1z @levisecretgfblog @cherrypussprincess @zcmbi @4522-08 @sprkled @magxnoria @lisia-primary @ramenaddicted @tashniko @charminstasia @cluelessb19 @maxi8898 @hyunsannie @awkatsukis @cashae @indiecursor @melaninmight @blessedfatui @hopelhss @trueformsukuna @kentcs

#zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager smut #aot x smut #aot x reader #black reader #anime x reader #anime smut #aot x black reader #attack on titan smut #aot smut #x black reader

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