#at this rate it will take me at least four months to finish

[astraea-linden]

The way I have been trying to finish the same damn chapter of this Satosugu fanfic for four days and have gotten no closer to tying it all together, someone please waterboard me.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Birds Of A Feather

Rating: Teen Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Words Count: 5,320 Summary: Your four hour flight home to Philadelphia turns into a 24 hour trip where you're marooned in the St. Louis airport thanks to a snowstorm. You and Joel Miller, the handsome man you just met on your flight, keep each other company. Warnings: fluff, like the amount of fluff inside of a 7 foot tall stuffed bear fluff, snow storm, pov switching, cinnamon rolls and apple juice, flight anxiety, comfort, kinda soulmate vibes, good dad joel, proud dad joel, sarah's in college, reader is an interior designer from philadelphia, the whole one bed in the hotel room trope as well, nothing bad happens to joel miller in this house, lying for a ticket.

A/N: This was written for @burntheedges' Roll A Trope Challenge. I received snowed in and thanks to the always lovely @maggiemayhemnj she helped me with suggesting snowed in at an airport. This is very very soft and cute, I hope you enjoy! ❄️💕

Masterlist

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Early morning flights are your favorite. The TSA line is usually short, coffee from the kiosk is fresh, the magazines in the newsstand are in order, and the airport is quiet in an early morning hush versus the roar of the afternoon crowds. You stop at the newsstand to pick up a magazine and a cinnamon roll before heading to your gate. You stuff your customary travel treats in your backpack looking forward to enjoying your newest Architectural Digest and sugar rush once you’re in the air.

❄️❄️❄️

A deep throat clear grabs your attention while you watch the tarmac crew prepare the plane. A broad man stands before you in the aisle, clad in a flannel and faded gray shirt taking up most of the tight space. Instant panic bubbles inside when you realize this gorgeous man is who you have to share a tiny cubicle with for the next four hours. 

“Hey, uh,” he stammers, a hand brushes the back of his neck in a nervous stance, “s’alright if I take the window? It’s… helpful to me.”

His voice is deep and husky with one of those famous Texas drawls, of course his voice is just as attractive as him.

“Not at all, I can take the aisle,” you say, awkwardly bending over to grab your bag. 

The handsome stranger attempts to back up as much as he can yet your body still brushes against his, he tenses before moving into the row and sits down with a big huff; if you thought he took up a lot of room in the aisle, the room he takes up in the cramped business class seat is something else.

He adjusts his shoulders to try to give you more space and fails miserably. He lets out a grumbly sigh while attempting to find a more comfortable position. His arm bumps into yours before you angle your body towards the aisle, trying to give the large stranger more room. At least he smells just as good as he looks… mint, coffee and burnt wood. There’s way worse looking people to be packed in like sardines with. 

The flight attendants walk the aisle and do their pre boarding steps, checking seat belts and doors before going into their safety spiel. Your seat neighbor shuffles nervously, tapping his fingers against his thighs. He’s a nervous flier, you can spot them a mile away. 

“Why are you headed to Pennsylvania?” you ask, turning towards him trying to cut through his nervous tension. 

“Oh, uh, to visit my daughter, she’s a freshman at UPenn. Wanted to spend the holidays with her,” he cracks a smile at the mention of his daughter. God, he’s handsome.

“That’s nice, it’s beautiful in Philly for the holidays. I’m from there, so if you need any tips on where to go and what to do, I can help.”

“Thanks,” his fingers still tap against his lap. “Guess you’re going back home then?” 

“Yep, I just finished a job and I haven’t been home in a month, just hoping to beat the snow.” 

“Here’s hoping… I’m Joel by the way,” he reaches his large hand out to shake yours. You grab his calloused and overworked hand then give him your name, he nods softly and repeats it. His deep voice echoes through your head, sending a shiver up your spine. 

“It’s nice to meet you Joel, even if it’s in this cramped airplane cabin.” 

“S’nice to meet you too,” he lets go of your hand, placing it back on his thigh, you notice that it’s no longer nervously tapping. 

Flight attendants, prepare doors for departure and cross check.

Joel lets out a big, deep sigh. 

“Nervous flier?” you ask.

“You could say that,” he grumbles. “Never liked giving up control of my life to someone I don’t know.”

“I understand that, but this happens to millions of people a day, you only hear about the bad.”

“I get that,” he chuckles, quickly stopping as the plane begins to roll on the tarmac. “Still don’t have to like it.” 

“Well, I fly all the time,” you reassure, “I’m sure everything will go smoothly.” 

“Here’s hoping,” he sighs, sinking deeper into the seat. 

You are the opposite of your seatmate, you love how the engines rumble as the plane picks up speed, the way your stomach drops when it lifts off the tarmac, the brief thud underneath when the wheels are tucked into the plane. Flying has never bothered you, it’s always been exciting and a means of getting to new adventures. 

The plane speeds across the pavement preparing for liftoff, your stomach drops before the wheels leave the ground... Joel’s hand grasps yours. Golden, thick fingers cover your hand squeezing tightly. You turn to him and your heart breaks a little at the sight, his eyes are squeezed shut with his nostrils flaring as he puffs deep breaths out. There’s something so heartbreaking watching this large, strong man look so scared. 

“Hey, you’re alright, it’s quick, very soon we’re going to be in the air and all we have to do is wait,” you try to sound as gentle and comforting as possible. It’s easy to take fearlessness for granted, especially when someone as large and seemingly intimidating as Joel looks so helpless. 

He nods, his eyes still tightly closed before swallowing a thick gulp of air.

Your free hand reaches up and opens his air vent before angling yours toward him. 

“Can you look at me Joel,” you whisper. His hand still clasps yours tightly. It hurts like hell, but you don’t mind; if it makes him feel better, he can clasp as hard as he needs. 

His brown eyes open wide and focus on you. 

“That’s good, Joel, can you take a deep breath for me? Iiiiiin and ooooout. Very good,” you encourage with a grin on your face holding his eye contact. “This is worth it, you’ll get to see your daughter, tell me her name and what she’s like.”

“H-her name’s Sarah, she’s uh, studying to be a doctor, sh-she’s way smarter than her old man, sh-she plays on the soccer team, got a scholarship for it ‘n everything, she loves music and going to too many damn concerts. She’s going to go deaf like me if she ain’t careful.”

“She sounds awesome,” you smile.

“She is, don’t know how I got so lucky.” 

“What do you do for work?” you keep him talking, making sure to distract Joel’s anxiety. 

“Contractor, I own a contracting service with my brother, we specialize in retail and office buildings.”

“Oh, that sounds like hard work, but it’s nice you get to work with your brother.”

“Could be better, could be worse,” he shrugs. 

“Hey, I’m an interior designer, we’re both in similar fields. How many carpenter pencils do you have? I probably have three floating around in my purse right now.”

He chuckles, his face loses its tenseness, Joel doesn’t attempt to take his hand from yours, and you don’t move to do it either. You work with contractors all the time, you’ve never seen one as gorgeous as him.

“My daughter always tried to get me to let her use ‘em for school work because they were a different shape, kept on having to take them away from her.” 

“She sounds tenacious.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he muses.

Good afternoon passengers. This is your captain speaking. First I'd like to welcome everyone on Flight 86A. We are currently cruising at an altitude of 33,000 feet at an airspeed of 400 miles per hour. We’re going to try to avoid the snow the best we can, we’ll keep you updated in case anything changes.

You’ve been entertaining Joel so much both of you didn’t notice you totally missed lift off and your ascent into the sky. 

“Would you look at that? We’re in the air, you only have four hours until you get to see her.”

“Thanks for that,” he says, moving his hand from yours. “I feel ridiculous.”

“No need, I’m happy I could help,” you shake the tenseness out of your hand after the twenty minutes of being in Joel’s vice grip.

“You alright? Did I hurt you?” his eyes round in guilt under his furrowed eyebrows focus on your hand. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you reassure. “You just have a strong grip. Must be all of that contractor business.”

He sends you a shy, crooked grin, “M’sorry.”

“I’ll survive, just like we’ll survive this flight together, Joel,” you wink.

He looks at you, his brown eyes turn darker and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “You’re quite someth–”

“May I offer you a drink?” the flight attendant interrupts. Worst fucking time.

You order an apple juice. Joel orders a black coffee. 

“Apple juice?” he asks. 

“Yeah, it’s kind of a tradition I have. I always get a cinnamon roll and apple juice every time I fly in the morning. Tastes kinda like apple pie when they’re together.”

“Hm, I don’t know about that,” he scrunches his nose and shakes his head. 

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” you shrug before pulling the cinnamon roll out of your bag.

You ask for an extra cup when the attendant brings yours and Joel’s drinks before ripping off half of the cinnamon roll and handing it to him. “Here.”

“No, no, it’s yours.” 

“Yeah, but I want to share,” you urge, “I got you a cup for apple juice too.” 

“If you insist,” he obliges, taking the soft pastry.

Half of your juice is poured into the extra cup before you hand it to him and raise your cup up to cheers. 

“To four hour flights and apple pie” you quip. 

“Cheers,” he says, gently shaking his head with eyes lit resembling something akin to affection.

You both take a drink of the sweet juice before picking up the cinnamon roll and taking a bite. 

“See?” you say, still chewing the sweet pastry. 

“Mmf,” he shakes his head and swallows. “Not apple pie, but pretty damn good.” He wipes the errant crumbs off of his mustache, you wonder if his lips taste like cinnamon and apples. 

“I’ll take pretty damn good,” you muse, picking up your magazine and settling into your seat. 

❄️❄️❄️

Joel glances towards you every chance he gets. He’s a realist, sometimes too much of one, he knows why he’s so calm during this flight– your comforting presence. He’s hated flying his whole life, his father never understood his fear, always telling him ‘I flew on planes bigger and louder than this all through the war, kid, buck up.’ Thanks dad, that’ll surely help the terrified eight year old crying and clutching to his mother. Sarah damn near broke his heart when she met him at the door excitedly waving the acceptance letter to a school 1,700 miles away. How could he crush his little girl’s dreams because her old man hates being in the sky? He got to bide his time, driving her in the moving truck to her new school, but now– with her first Christmas out of state and unable to fly home due to work– Joel was forced to step on the scary metal tube. 

He could hardly believe his luck when the pretty girl gazing out the window ended up being his seatmate; the excitement over being so close to you helped shield a bit of his trepidation over his first solo flight and then he went on to embarrass himself. You didn’t shake your head or shun him, you accepted and supported him. He can still feel your soft hand wrapped in his and hear your gentle voice coaching him down from a panic attack. You’re a complete stranger, and yet you’ve shown him more kindness than he’s allowed himself to accept in years. 

You adjust in your seat, your elbow brushes against his, little do you know he bunched up the sleeve of his flannel so he could feel the touch of your skin. 

He doesn’t know why you affect him the way that you do, it’s only been a couple of hours in the sky next to you, but he’s already trying to think of a way to give you his phone number. 

Ladies and Gentlemen, Captain Scott has informed us that we will be diverting to St. Louis due to the weather conditions at Philadelphia. We will be landing in approximately twenty minutes and will keep you advised about the continuation of this flight to our destination as information becomes available. We apologize for the inconvenience this may have caused. Thank you for your patience and understanding. We are aware that many of you have connecting flights departing Philadelphia. Our ground staff will work with you to confirm you on the next available flight to your destination. Thank you for your patience.

“Well, shit,” you sigh, placing your magazine down, rolling your neck and stretching your arms. “Had a feeling this might happen.”

“Shit indeed,” he sighs.

“How are you with landings, Joel?” you softly question. “Can I do anything for you?”

His heart skips, he hasn’t felt this feeling in years. Sure his little girl steals his heart every second of the day, but for a woman to make his heart race the way it is now making butterflies flutter through his stomach… that hasn’t happened in two decades. 

“No, I should be okay, thank you,” he says, feeling a bit foolish. 

“I’m here for you, okay?” The gentleness of your voice void of any judgment helps soothe his shame.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent into St. Louis. Please turn off all portable electronic devices and stow them until we have arrived at the gate. In preparation for landing, please be certain your seat back is straight up and your seat belt is fastened. Please secure your carry-on items, stow your tray table, and pass any remaining service items and unwanted reading materials to the flight attendants. Thank you.

His breathing turns rapid, he feels the phantom of fear rearing its ugly head 10,000 feet above the ground. He’s seen far too many videos of planes spurting flames and panicked passengers escaping down blown up slides. He remembers Captain Sulley and the miracle on the Hudson… that ain’t no miracle. Joel Miller is a realist, how about everyone almost died in the Hudson? He tries to breathe like that weird lady on TikTok Sarah showed him… make a square with every breath? Or make a line and then breathe? Christ, he can’t remember. His lips part to inhale more stale pressurized oxygen trying to calm his pulsating heart. This time your hand grabs his, he looks over at your face set soft with a reassuring smile, a wash of calm runs through him. You’re so beautiful.

“You’re alright Joel, I’m here with you,” you gently lilt.

He focuses on the soft back and forth of your fingers against him, centering himself and making the phantom back away. He loves the way your soft skin looks against his. Your nails are painted a light blue, it reminds him of the bright Texas morning sky. 

The plane descends as you hold his eye contact with that same beautiful and assuring smile lighting up your face. 

“We’re almost on the ground, you’re doing so good,” fear and veneration perform a duet in his heart making it pound against his chest. 

The wheels hit the tarmac, he lets out a huge breath of relief. Your hand still holds his, even as he visibly relaxes. He watches the light blue of your nail polish swipe back and forth against the top of his hand. 

Ladies and gentlemen, we welcome you to St. Louis. The local time is 9:45 AM. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisle clear until we are parked at the gate. The Captain will then turn off the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign, indicating it is safe to stand. Please use caution when opening the overhead compartments and removing items, since articles may have shifted during flight. We thank you for your patience, rest assured our staff is here to help you.

“Well, I know it’s not home, or Sarah… but we’ll make the best of it,” you say, pulling your bag out from underneath the seat. He loves how positive you are, he needs someone like you in his life.

❄️❄️❄️

Three hours of being stuck in the airport have slowly ticked by, at least you have the company of your new travel partner. You check your weather app for the millionth time, no change at all… snow still falls all along the tri-state area.

“Anything?” he asks, looking up from his Sports Illustrated. 

“No luck,” you shrug, “I’m starving.” 

“Come on,” he points his head towards the restaurant near the gate, “my treat.”

You follow him, wondering why you feel so excited over this impromptu lunch date. You can’t deny your attraction to him, an inkling inside of you makes you believe Joel might feel the same. Yeah, you might be stuck in St. Louis, your return to your comfortable bed and bathtub postponed due to the falling snow, but at least you have your handsome flight partner with you. 

The restaurant is nice, a typical Concourse B type place full of simple people enjoying a hot meal, simple menu, a simple design inspired by of all things– airplanes. 

Joel asks for a table near the window, the hostess obliges, leading you to a table in a quiet section of the restaurant. He pulls the chair out for you, southern manners and all. 

He takes a seat with a humph, mumbling how tight his back is from all of the damn sitting. You order a hot tea, he orders a coffee. 

You’ve known him for a grand six hours and yet you’re going to remember this usually milquetoast adventure for a long, long time. 

“What’re you thinking?” he asks, perusing the menu. 

“Turkey sandwich and soup,” you answer, mouth already watering at the idea of your meal. “You?”

“Burger ‘n fries. I’m hungry though that half of a cinnamon roll sure did satisfy,” he sends you a barely perceptible wink. 

“So, do you have any plans for you and your daughter?”

“She says she has an idea or two for us, she’s a planner, I’m just there to see her, this is the longest I’ve been away from her.” His voice drops, a slight hitch in his breath appears, you can feel the sadness radiating off of him. He must be such a good dad.

“Sounds rough,” you empathize, wishing you could recreate what happened on the plane and put your hand over his while telling him everything will be okay.

“Yeah, it’s been difficult, it’s just been me and her since forever. I know she’s happy and fulfilled, that's all I can ask for.” 

You wonder where Sarah’s mom went, why it’s just the two of them, and most of all if he’s single. How can you be falling for this almost stranger and his big heart that sits below his broad, flannel covered chest?

“I moved far away for art school and it was the best decision I ever made. I'm so thankful for my parents letting me have that experience. You should be proud of her… and most of all you should be proud of you.”

He looks over the brim of his coffee mug, takes a drink, and places it down on the table before grabbing your hand.

“You’re so– I’ve never met anybody like you before,” he says, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles. 

The restaurant and airport disappear from your periphery, it’s only you and this man from Austin on the way to your hometown to see his daughter. This has never happened to you before… a spark of something you have no clue what to call shared between the two of you. 

“I could say the same thing to y–,” you're interrupted by the waitress’s arrival, Joel’s hand retreats from yours; the physical and emotional connection between you and Joel is broken by your food being placed on the table. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Joel asks as he grabs the Tabasco bottle and shakes a smattering of drops over his burger. 

“No clue,” you sigh, “I wish I could take a nap. What did your daughter say when you told her?”

“Oh, she was fine, disappointed but she told me she’ll still get over a week with me once I get there,” he shakes his head, his face lifts with a doting grin. “She’s always the glass half full type.”

“And let me guess, you’re much more of a ‘the damn glass is half empty’ type?” 

“Always.” 

“Mm,” you nod, before taking a bite of your turkey sandwich. 

❄️❄️❄️

His heart beats harder against his chest as he watches you approach him from the ticket counter. 

“Any new update?” he’s nervous, he hasn’t felt this nervous in years. He never realized how much he missed this type of emotional tension that pulls his back to stand straighter. 

“The storm hasn’t let up, all airports in the area are on a ground stop, and now with the storm here, I think we’re screwed,” you close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. You look exhausted, spending all day in a packed airport has obviously taken its toll on you. He wants to wrap his arms around you, carry you to whatever destination you need to go to and never let go. He can’t believe he’s thinking like this, he doesn’t even know your favorite color or movie. “I’m sorry Joel.” 

He hates watching your face drop, you’ve done nothing wrong. “Hey, none of that,” he takes a tentative step forward, he’s worried to overcross a line, but your sunken shoulders and defeated posture pushes him forward. He wraps his flannel clad arms around you, pulling you into a hug. Your body instantly molds to his, finding the perfect spot on his chest to rest your head against. A sweet and grateful sigh breathes out of you, radiating through his whole body. 

“Looked like you needed this,” he says against your hair, breathing the feminine scent of you in. He hasn’t been this close to a woman like this in years. Sure he’s had some hookups here and there, but a real honest to goodness connection with someone after only half of a day spent together? Never happened. He feels lucky.

“I did, thank you,” you breathe out. He still holds you, making zero attempt to let go. You imagine to the average passerby you resemble a couple in love, standing in the airport terminal, holding each other. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks, still holding you tight. “I think there’s a pretty good restaurant here.”

“I am, a real nice guy once took me to lunch there,” you pull away. “It’s my treat this time.”

❄️❄️❄️

Joel stands at the ticket desk, it’s now his turn to see if there have been any changes. It’s been twelve hours of being marooned in this airport, you should feel more miserable at this point, but the constant support the two of you trade back and forth to each other has helped alleviate the ugliness of stress. 

“Any luck?” you ask, perking up when he stands in front of you.

“Actually, yeah, they have a 9 AM flight to Philly tomorrow afternoon,” he says, tucking his ticket into his pocket. You can’t look him in the eyes, if you do you’re going to think about how much you’re going to miss him… this man you’ve only known for a grand total of twelve hours. “There’s two seats left… and I got one. The lady at the desk is waiting for my fiancee to go get her ticket.”

Your eyes widen at what he implies.

“Oh, ohhhhhh,” you grin. “Clever man.”

“Yeah, I need your help, since I’m a nervous flier and all…”

Your knees feel weak from the doting smile Joel gives you. “Thanks love,” you stretch and kiss his cheek before heading to the ticket counter.

❄️❄️❄️

He can’t keep his eyes off of you as you walk over to the counter. He can still feel your lips against his cheek, there’s a foreign feeling in his heart. He’s already thinking about introducing you to Sarah, what the hell is this? 

The airport worker laughs at something you say, of course they’re charmed by you, you’re such a sweet thing, like cinnamon rolls and apple juice. 

You turn, a big smile lights your face when you walk back to him, waving your ticket in the air. 

He chuckles out a nervous snicker when you skip over and wrap your arms around him.

“The agent pulled in a favor and got us a room at the hotel attached here, she said she has a softness for ‘lovebirds’ like us,” you pull away with a mischievous glint lighting your face. “Plus, she thinks my fiance is handsome.”

“Uh… okay,” he’s not sure what you’re implying, you’re far too special to him already for a one-night romp in a hotel room. 

“No funny business Joel,” you wink as you grab your bag. He can’t believe how well you read him. “Now, let’s go get our luggage and check in.” 

❄️❄️❄️

You enter the keycard into the door thanking that lovely ticket agent for access to a comfortable bed. And it’s just as you feared… a bed…  just one, singular bed that greets you in this average airport hotel room. 

“I can take the chair,” Joel nervously says.

Part of you wishes he wouldn’t have offered.

“If you want, but the bed is big enough for both of us,” you shrug out of your jacket. 

“S’okay, wouldn’t feel right.”

It’d feel just fine to you, but you don’t say anything, instead you open your luggage and fish out your toiletry bag and your pajamas. 

“It’s almost midnight, I’m going to get my shower and get ready for bed.”

❄️❄️❄️

His foot nervously taps against the carpet, goosebumps prickle along his arms when he hears your sigh reverberate against the shower tiles. Why is he so anxious? It feels like prom night all over again; he’s just a shy boy waiting for the beautiful girl to give him a sign, any sign, that she likes him. The last time he felt like this Sarah was born nine months later.

He grabs the TV remote trying to find a reprieve from his anxious thoughts, flipping it to the news. The anchor drones on about the great holiday snowstorm. In a way, he’s thankful for the blizzard– sure it means even more time in a flying panic tube, but at least he met you. He vows to not let any type of temptation get in the way of what feelings are developing between you two. No matter how much he thinks about your naked body in the shower and how good your body wash smells. 

❄️❄️❄️

You emerge from the bathroom, clean and fresh in your pajamas. 

“Should’ve figured you’d be an Eagles fan,” he says, smirking at your oversized and faded sleep shirt.

“Let me guess, Cowboys fan?”

“Forever and always.”

“Oh, well, you’re my enemy now.”

He laughs, “I’m sure I am.” 

You tuck yourself under the covers while Joel takes his shower, quickly falling asleep to the sounds of whatever generic late night host is cracking jokes on the TV. 

❄️❄️❄️

He quietly opens the bathroom door, the hotel room is bathed in the dim glow of the television. You're already fast asleep, cuddled under the white duvet, you look like an angel surrounded by clouds. Of course you're beautiful when you sleep. He tries not to stare too long, and yet he's planted in the threshold of the bedroom admiring you. He feels lucky at this moment, being able to watch someone as pretty as you slumber peacefully, while trying to silence the fact that tomorrow you both will go your separate ways. He doesn't want to say goodbye.

❄️❄️❄️

A bassy groan and shuffle in the dark floats through the air waking you. The clock reads 1:45 AM. “There’s enough room in the bed for you, you know?”

“I know, just don’t want to overst– I’m still a stranger.”

“No, you’re my fiance, remember?” you shuffle the sheets on the other side of the bed down, “Joel, please, I insist.”

He sighs when he stands and makes his way to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, you can feel heated tension radiating off his body, the strong specimen of all man lays insecurely next to you. 

“Joel, relax,” you whisper before placing your hand on his chest feeling the rapid beat of his heart. 

“I’m okay, I-I just– haven’t done something like this in so long.”

“What? Laid in bed next to someone you’ve known less than a day? I’ve actually never done this.”

A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest. “No, just haven’t met someone as real as you in a long time. Is it real?”

“It’s real,” you say, shuffling closer to him, replacing your hand with your head. He wraps his arm around you as you listen to the pitter patter of his heart. “Goodnight Joel,” you whisper, closing your exhausted eyes. 

“G’night,” he purrs, you feel the ghost of his lips against your hair as you drift to sleep. 

❄️❄️❄️

He lays awake most of the night, too afraid to fall asleep and disturb your beautiful sleeping form. He wishes he could record the cute sounds that emit from you as you slumber and dream, he’d listen to them forever if he could. He can’t believe he’s thinking this way, what should’ve been a terrifying and lonely standard trip to see his daughter has turned into an adventure of a lifetime with a woman he’s already crazy for. 

Sure, he’s shared a bed with others since Sarah’s mom, he’s had a couple of flings here and there, but he never allowed himself to cuddle or care for them. They were never good enough for him… or most importantly Sarah. He thinks Sarah would adore you. 

The red digits on the alarm clock read 3:00 AM, he’s known you for a grand total of twenty hours. Meaning he only has about eight hours left, he’s already dreading saying goodbye. 

❄️❄️❄️

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Your groggy eyes open, you move to silence the alarm but you quickly realize you’re trapped under a heavy weight. Joel. He groans against you, with his arms held tight around your stomach and his face nuzzled into your shoulder. 

“Joel, it’s time to get up.”

He tenses against you and quickly unwraps your body from his hold.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly says, reaching across you to turn the alarm off. 

“It’s okay,” you want to tell him you didn’t mind it all, that you haven’t slept that well in years, but you stay quiet. 

“I’m just going to… get ready,” he stands, stretching and wiping his tired eyes. You try not to focus on the glimpse of his stomach remembering what it felt to have the soft swell of him against your back. “Don’t think I’ve slept that well in years.”

The bathroom door shuts as you flop back into bed, welcoming the fluttery feeling inside your body. “I feel the same way,” you confess to the empty hotel room. 

❄️❄️❄️

Flight attendants, prepare doors for departure and cross check.

“Well, we’re back to where we started, it’s been quite an adventure,” you smile.

“It has,” he clears his throat, reaches for your hand and sends you a soft smile. “I have ten days in Philadelphia, I was wondering if you have any good suggestions for a nice, romantic place to take someone I really like to?” 

[loliwrites]

I. Tenacity | Edelweiss

pairing: joel miller x f!reader  rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni  warnings/tags: jackson era!joel, sharpshooter!reader, age difference [joel is mid 50s, reader is early 30s], joel lives forever fight me, canon compliant violence, no infected here just terrible humans, mention of death, blood, and murder, mentions of hunger, diva cup appearance, talk of irregular menstrual cycles [trauma-induced menopause][epigenetics], DUBCON/NONCON [tagging ‘cause reader allows it but true enthusiastic consent is absent], brief SMUT, unprotected p in v sex, female reader, no physical description other than a height difference, slow burn-ish, protective!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 5.6k series masterlist a/n: my first go at writing something tlou-related. be gentle pls.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The steady rhythm. You could count the number of times your hip would be shoved into the wooden table with a high degree of certainty of when it would be over. Michael never lasted too long. Somewhere between thirty-four and thirty-seven thrusts. He was never particularly rough, and though he was never chasing to make you feel good, he was at least better than George and James – both of whom would probably be lining up after Michael was done. George seemed to last forever. Some old fart who’d gained his stamina before the world came to a screeching halt. He usually landed somewhere between sixty-two and sixty-six thrusts. The bruises he left behind always lasted the longest because of the sheer amount of times he slammed your body into whatever you were up against. A table, a railing, an old pool table with torn, dirty felt. And the worst of all was James. He may not last the longest, but he had the uncanny ability of making you feel like some depraved wild animal he was trying to break. He never took his time to make sure it wouldn’t be absolutely painful like Michael did. Nor did he have a pencil dick to make it somewhat manageable like George. He took it how he wanted it – fast, unceremonious, and always left you in a mess you’d have to clean up.

Part of you wondered if this was worth it. If the wolf was only as strong as the pack, then having a pack was supremely necessary. And though, these guys… and the group they led… weren’t the people you would’ve gone with by choice. A pack was a pack. Alone, you were an easy target for almost anything and anyone. Being together afforded you safety in numbers. Relative safety in numbers. Safe enough to have stayed alive with them for the past six years. Years that you likely wouldn’t have gotten if you’d fought them tooth and nail and went off on your own. Solitude could only get you so far. No matter how proficient you were with your rifle.

The one that lay in front of you on the table. Clean, well-oiled, with a scope affixed to the top. As Michael started to moan recklessly behind you, you thought about the meals you’d forfeited in trade for the supplies needed to keep the weapon in the best of shape. Times were tough – had been tough for a couple decades now – and a gun was a gun. It didn’t need to be clean, it just had to work. But this was no ordinary gun.

Michael came inside you with a strangled grunt and pulled out a second later. That was a relatively new twist in the routine. For years the men were careful to never finish inside you… or any of the other women in the group. Food and resources were scarce enough as it was, let alone adding little mouths to feed and take care of. But a few months back, you’d confided in some of the women that your period hadn’t been coming when you expected it to. And when time had passed and neither a baby nor your period came, you came to the conclusion you were suffering from the same fate as some of the other women. A hard life compounded. Trauma induced menopause. You weren’t sure which of the women had ratted you out. But soon enough the men had become aware of your new biological situation, and they stopped the frantic pulling out as they came. Perhaps that was for the best. Who’d want to bring a child into a world like this?

“Was that alright?” Michael asked, buckling his belt back up. His back was turned toward you as he reached for his own rifle, which he’d propped up against the wall.

You glanced over at him and pulled your pants back up your legs. Over the lofted railing, you could hear George and James mumbling to each other. “Fine,”

“Did you…?”

He finally met your eyes. Anxiety-ridden. None of the other men ever asked, but you didn’t have it in you to lie to him. At some point maybe it’d sink in that he should stop partaking in the act just to fit in with the boys. “No,”

His gaze averted to the floor sheepishly and he shouldered his rifle. “Guess we should get back downstairs,”

“I’ll be down in a couple minutes,”

Now you were the one to turn your back on him. Though you hoped he’d come to his senses and start to become a better man. You knew he wouldn’t. He was initiated into the system. The one George and James, and all the other men in the settlement formed. The one that meant they brought girls along on patrols so they could get their kicks and save face with the others that they were doing their due diligence in protecting the group. And you joining the group… well you turned out to be the little guardian angel for the women in the pack. Good with a gun, able to pick off infected and humans alike from a mile out. It only seemed natural that the men going out on patrols would take you with them. For that you inadvertently protected the other women from your fate. 

Michael cleared his throat and started down the stairs from the loft. You bit the inside of your cheek to show yourself you could still feel something, and – BANG! 

Your head flicked around toward the noise. What was left of Michael was splattered against the wall leading up the stairs. You grabbed your gun and held it poised. Looked over the lofted banister and down at the room below. George had backed up into the far corner; his arms raised in non-threatening compliance. Someone must’ve been pointing a weapon at him, but you couldn’t tell from the angle. And James, well… if it didn’t warm your heart a little bit to see him being restrained in a chokehold with a handgun to his temple. The man you could see, holding James, was tall, muscular… he had black, curly, jaw-length hair. A thick mustache. He was in all denim. And it was clean, which was the thing that caught you the most off-guard.

You lifted your gun, disregarding the scope, and looked down the barrel. James may’ve been part of your pack, but you’d thought about putting a bullet in him on a daily basis for the last eight years. And while these guys might kill you afterward, at least you’d have the brief satisfaction of knowing that you’d taken one terrible human off the face of the planet.

So there was no hesitancy when you squeezed the trigger. The round flew by the denim-clad man’s head and went straight into James’. He crumpled to the floor and the man who’d been holding him looked up in your direction, though you’d backed away enough to ensure you weren’t seen.

Your pulse was pounding in your ears. Despite two thirds of your life having been in a post-Cordyceps world, the sound and reverberation of your rifle going off right by your ear didn’t keep it from ringing. An almost concussion-like haziness emphasized by the adrenaline coursing in your veins. From down below, you could just barely hear George pleading for his life. Something about how he had a woman he loved and wanted to go home to. Strange considering he had his dick in you on most days out.

The ringing in your ears started to quiet, just in time for you to hear a footstep behind you. A heavy one. Definitely belonged to a man. But not in time for you to spin around with your rifle before finding the man already pointing his rifle at you.

“Drop it,” he commanded gruffly. A deep, gravelly voice. He was sure of himself. Confident. His tattered jacket bunched up around his shoulders. He wasn’t as clean-looking as his partner currently detaining George. Graying, brown hair, a prominent scar over his nose, a scruffiness… and yet, he still looked too put together to have been living off the land for any amount of time. You should know. God knows what you looked like had you ever taken any time in front of a mirror. If the dirtiness of your hands were any indication, you were a little worse for wear. “I said, drop it,”

Your eyes flicked back up to his face and you slowly bent over and placed your rifle on the floor. No sooner than you’d completed the action, he had another order for you. Kick it here and get on your knees. So you did. Nudged your most prized possession away with your foot when another BANG! rang through the old hunting lodge. Your eyes flinched shut; the nanosecond of thought that this was it. You’re dead. But then… you still felt alive. And you squinted your eyes open to evaluate. Yep, definitely still alive. No bleeding holes coming from your body, and the man still in front of you waiting for you to comply with his last order. Which you did… awkwardly. A grimace stretched over your face when you knelt down and felt your pants sticking to your thighs; Michael’s spend dripping out of you.

The muzzle of the man’s rifle never left you, “got anything else on you?”

“Knife in my front pocket,”

“Slide it over,”

You did. Quickly. Hoping that your quickness and willingness to obey him would mean he’d let you go with your tail tucked between your legs.

“You infected?”

You glared at him, “do I look infected?”

He cocked his gun and held it up in line with your head. You trained your eyes on his index finger around the trigger. Just one twitch. That’s all it’d take.

“Joel,” both you and the man… Joel… looked away from each other, and fixed your eyes on the stairs where the second one – the one you’d disregarded in order to kill James – entered the loft. “Look at her gun,” both men looked at your rifle. “I don’t think she misses very often. If she was gonna kill us, we’d already be dead.”

He went to approach you, and this time Joel spoke up. A cautious step forward, “Tommy.”

But this Tommy… he took another couple steps in your direction and handed off his rifle to Joel when he went to stand in front of you. You kept your eyes on his face, tilting your head back to keep him in your line of vision. Even if he tried something, you weren’t sure what you’d do to stop him, but at least you’d see it coming.

“I don’t think you missed me. I don’t even think you were aiming at me,”

“I wasn’t,”

A victorious smile spread across his face and he twisted around to look back at Joel, “see.” Tommy looked back down at you and set his hands on his hips. “What’s your name?”

You flicked your eyes at Joel quickly before returning them to Tommy to answer his question.

“You’re with the other settlement?”

“I wouldn’t call them a settlement,” your eyes flicked over to Joel when he clicked his tongue on his teeth and rolled his eyes. “Nomads, at best,”

“And at worst?” Joel barked.

Your eyebrows lifted quickly in contemplation before… “a bunch’a assholes,”

Another wide grin broke out over Tommy’s face. “You got a family or a partner in that bunch of assholes?” He waited for a verbal response but you only shook your head. “We’ll take her back with us. She might be able to give us some answers about our friends we’ve been seeing on patrol.”

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

They made you walk while they sat easily atop their horses. Some kind of cruel twist of fate that your own gun was turned on you the whole time. Joel made sure of that. Based on the way the sun fell toward the horizon, you figured you’d all been an hour and a half walk south of their settlement. Which as you neared the large wooden gates, seemed to be more like a QZ than some random encampment. And judging by the way the two men bickered, you assumed they were brothers. Only siblings could piss each other off like that and not take it personally. How lucky, you thought, that after all this time, they still had each other.

When you did near the enormous gates, Tommy left you behind with Joel. A precarious position. His face remained stoic the entire time, muzzle of the gun pointed at you… didn’t even answer when you asked if his horse had a name. You thought about goading him into an argument for the fun of it. Maybe he named his horse Princess. Or Spike. But Tommy interrupted again, riding up with a handful of others and even a dog. It growled and snarled in your direction, and you weren’t sure why, but you glanced back up at Joel to see if his expression had changed. Maybe you wouldn’t be so scared if he didn’t look like there was something you should be nervous about.

To your surprise, he was already staring at you. Upon meeting your gaze, he nodded once and jut his chin in the direction of the dog. “S’gonna sniff you. See if you’re infected. If not, like you say, nothin’ll happen.”

“If I am?” You cocked your head back toward the snarling animal.

“It’ll probably just take your leg off or somethin’,”

“Any chance this dog fucks up?”

“Probably not,”

And it didn’t. Thankfully. Hopefully this meant they’d trust explicitly that you indeed weren’t infected. They seemed to trust their trained animal enough to let you inside their settlement. Jackson, they called it. You’d never heard of it. Never heard of any rumblings of a massive commune. And yet…. It was gorgeous. Nice buildings, string lights, stables, a bar, dining hall, and in the distance, what seemed to look like a large, sweeping neighborhood.

Tommy had joined up with a woman: Maria. They kissed and spoke fondly to each other, so you assumed they were partners. Both walked ahead of you, while Joel remained at your rear. You figured with your rifle still pointed at you. Everyone stopped what they were doing when you passed by. All staring to get a glimpse of the newcomer. Would you be joining them permanently? Would they kill you? You asked yourself the same questions.

Your feet had stopped moving but you didn’t notice until you felt the muzzle of your rifle press against your upper back. Joel jabbed the metal against your back again, growing antsier with the fact that your gaze had settled on a teenager in the distance. She was staring at you, too. A fact that seemed to make Joel even more aggravated. He mumbled his annoyance to you and you got moving again, walking up the boarded steps into the dining hall. 

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

They treated you better than you expected. Hell, better than your group would’ve treated someone they didn’t know. They set a big glass of water in front of you with a heaping plate of vegetables, chicken, and fresh bread. The water was one of the biggest surprises. You couldn’t remember the last time you didn’t have to boil water before drinking it. Maybe when you were still with your parents. That felt like a lifetime ago.

Tommy and Maria shared glances like they weren’t sure what you were going to tell them. Considering no one else joined you, you figured these three (or a combination) held a great deal of power in the settlement. Joel, however, looked pissed that this was even happening at all. That he hadn’t just shot you on sight back at the hunting lodge. It was pretty easy to ignore him. You’d spent the better half of your time on earth ignoring men just like him. But then the questions started coming and you figured all this kindness came at a price. They wanted to know everything. So you didn’t hold back. Maybe if you were open and frank with them, they’d let you stay here. They wouldn’t make you go back to those awful people. 

Told them that you’d been with that group for the last eight years. And in those eight years, they hadn’t really expanded their numbers by any considerable amount. That they hovered somewhere between forty-four and sixty-two people -- including the three that had been killed today – and that about two thirds of them were men. You even told them about how you’d become a sort of fun novelty for the men. That they brought you along on their scouts because you were better than anyone with a rifle. Once they got their rocks off by watching you down game a mile off, they got their rocks off again, fucking you up against anything sturdy enough to withstand the weight and pressure. 

Joel looked down at his lap at that. Avoided your eyes. You took it to mean that he knew what that was like. Maybe he did the same. 

You shrugged and pushed the remnants of food around on your plate. Eight years was a long time to endure that type of treatment. You told them as much.

“You don’t have loyalty to anyone in the other group?” Maria asked, probing. 

“She shot one of her own guys today. Doesn’t have loyalty to anyone,”

Everyone’s heads turned to Joel. He’d since leaned back in his chair, almost nonchalantly. The gun that had been pointed at you now lay on the opposite end of the table. You thought you saw indignance in his eyes. Disdain for you and the plight he perceived you to be on. Scorched earth. Loyal to no one but yourself. Maybe that was true. Maybe you’d evolved to become highly selective in where to lay your loyalty.

“He wasn’t my guy,” you spat in Joel’s direction. It might as well have been just the two of you in the room. “He was the guy that killed my parents. So fuck him,”

It was hard to tell what they thought of you. Tommy was the only one who smiled freely. Maria saved hers for Tommy. And Joel didn’t smile at all. There was no talk of a plan or a future. No conversation about what was to become of you. All they told you as you wandered from the main street and down one cul-de-sac road lined with houses was that they didn’t allow anyone to have weapons in town. All firearms stayed at the armory. 

That conversation ended as they stopped in front of a small one story cottage. It was dark and rickety, and for the life of you, you couldn’t fathom who you were to be put into the arms of. If the house was any indication, probably some horribly untidy mess of a man. Maybe it’d be the type of man you’d wished you’d have your gun around for. 

Maria, Tommy, and Joel led you inside that dark, rickety cottage. Unlocked the door and flicked the lights on as they entered the living room. You kept your eyes and ears alert. Your awareness might be the only upperhand you had in sensing danger here. But you heard nothing. You saw nothing. There wasn’t another soul in this house waiting to attack. It was just you and the three who’d brought you here. They didn’t offer an explanation. Joel just stood back and eyed your every move carefully while Maria handed you a little stack of clean clothes, a toothbrush and a tube toothpaste, and a small cardboard box that held something you’d never heard of before: a diva cup. 

You looked up to give her an apprehensive glance but found that she was already giving you one. It was a look you’d seen before. When you’d talked yourself into joining that other group all those years ago. It was the look the women had given you before they realized you were about to become their saving grace. She turned away from you and gave Tommy a peck on her way out; not even bothering to acknowledge Joel.

There was a part of you that admired her. For the amount of power she clearly wielded over not only these two men, but seemingly the entire commune. And the other part of you was scared of her. She reminded you of your mother. A strong, domineering type who knew how to control the men around her. You figured if the outbreak hadn’t happened and humans didn’t devolve before your very eyes, you might’ve become the same type of woman. The type who could keep her men in line with a look. The type whose men would’ve quivered at the look you’d shot them.

The front door shut behind Maria in the same moment Tommy was handing you a key. You took it in your hand and ran your thumb over the cold, smooth metal. It had been decades since you held one like it. Surely even before the outbreak, people just didn’t hand over keys to houses for nothing.

“You can stay in Jackson for a month on a little trial run–”

“Probation,” Joel interrupted.

Both you and Tommy flicked your eyes at him. While Tommy looked annoyed, you actually smiled. Somehow Joel’s bluntness was growing to be comforting.

“Jesus, Joel,”

He shrugged, “S’call it what it is. Probation to see if she’s a problem and we gotta send ‘er packin’,”

“Appreciate you both not shootin’ me,” you said, you voice sounding hoarse. You cleared your throat and shook your head absently; a small smile passing over your lips, “would’ve put a damper on my day.”

Tommy grinned though his brother looked unamused at your effort of levity. “Someone’ll come ‘round tomorrow morning around seven-thirty to bring you to the greenhouse. Teach you the workflow down there.” Then off your confused look, he smiled again, heading for the door, “if you’re gonna live in the community, you gotta help out.”

Joel turned his back on you to follow his brother, and you were quick on their heels, “what about my gun? I mean, does everyone have their own gun at the armory, or…”

“It’s a commune. We share,” Tommy said over his shoulder as he tugged the front door back open. He and Joel stepped through the threshold, but your voice stopped them.

“It’s just that… I’d rather not be here and have my gun, than be here and have someone else usin’ it. I appreciate what you’re doin’, and your helping me out, but… to me, staying in Jackson isn’t worth havin’ someone else use my weapon,”

“It’ll be safe,”

Tommy’s voice rang clear and sure, trying to reassure you of something. What, you weren’t certain. But he continued on his way, and only once he stepped off the small porch, did you realize that Joel had momentarily kept himself frozen in place. By your front door, staring you down. You started to shrink back beneath his gaze, unable to discern what it was trying to convey to you. Anger. Resentment. Disappointment. The door nearly concealed you entirely before Joel got his bearings again and descended the porch steps and jogged to keep pace with Tommy again.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

The whole thing was weird. All of it. Jackson was an anomaly and the more you tried to make yourself at home, the weirder it got. The house they’d just given you was definitely a pre-outbreak build. It was obvious. Some of the other houses on the block looked new. You imagined they’d smell new. Not your cottage. Scuffed up wood floors. Cracks in the paint and drywall. Even the wood-burning stove. And when you looked out the front window, out at the street, you saw children. Walking by themselves. Joking around. Not nearly on edge or high alert. In fact, you dared to say that they looked like they were having fun. 

You’d only been ten when the world came crashing down around you. Fun ripped out from right under your feet. The homestead you’d grown up on – climbing trees, playing hide and seek, shooting down Coke cans – once a safe place to be a kid, had quickly become something to be defended. As you found out many moons later, to the death.

At ten, there wasn’t anything to rebuild in the new world. You hadn’t had any worldly possessions to hang onto. When money became obsolete, it didn’t matter because you’d never had any. Perhaps in a bank somewhere, stuffed away in a savings account that no longer held any weight. Nor did you need the money to get by in life these days. You’d heard tales of the QZ’s from people who’d come from them. Escaped from them. They had a new type of currency. Not the kind you used to have. The green paper money with a bunch of old dudes on the front. The kind your family burned sometime in the winter of 2006 when the first freeze took over and you were sure you’d never get back to the old normal.

And that was what made Jackson the weirdest. It was the closest to ‘old normal’ you’d seen in over two decades. A whole town. Village. Commune, they’d called it. A formal education had stopped young, so the only awareness of anything commune related came from a book your father had about the Bolshevik’s October Revolution. And if you were being honest, it didn’t sound too good. But on top of that, how were you supposed to rebuild now? Maria had been kind enough to give you a few things, but there wasn’t wood for the wood-burning stove. And the electricity might’ve been working, but there wasn’t any food in the fridge. No sides of deer cut up and stored in a chest freezer. How were you supposed to get that in a commune? Did they have money? Did they barter? And either way, you had no money to give and nothing to barter. So how exactly were you supposed to get on in life?

Face up, staring at the ceiling, you laid in bed willing yourself to go to sleep. You’d gone to bed hungry before. More times than you could count. But usually those nights were accompanied by a dirt floor, extreme cold, the threat of being hunted. A million other things to keep your mind off of the fact that your stomach was growling. There wasn’t any of that in Jackson. Everything was quiet, almost eerily so. You were warm. And even though the mattress wasn’t the comfiest of things, it sure as hell beat the floor. With all these little luxuries, it was hard to ignore the hunger.

But even if you had been asleep, you’re sure you would’ve been woken by the footsteps on your old, rickety porch. None of the wood planks laid exactly right. All creaking with age and rot. Much like the world, you thought. Plus you couldn’t remember a night’s sleep that wasn’t disturbed by panic or anxiety, or just plain fear. Probably hadn’t had a peaceful night like that since before the outbreak. Now that creaking on your porch made you jump up and scurry into the corner of your bedroom. Into the shadows. Praying you’d had your rifle. Cursing the idea that you’d stay here without it. 

The creaking came and went in a steady procession. Four footsteps. A pause. Another four footsteps. On and on for a few minutes. Long enough for you to have gained your courage again. Long enough for you to have crawled to the front room and peek through the window. Long enough for you to see Joel Miller ambling back and forth on the porch, stacking pieces of wood, conveniently chopped to fit the size of your wood burning stove. What a stark difference from the Joel Miller who’d been pointing a gun at your head this morning. You went to the door and unlatched it, slowly pulling it open so as to not startle him. He came to an abrupt stop. An armful of wood. Staring at you.

He blinked a couple times in quick procession, gaining the wherewithal to move again. “M’sorry if I woke ya’,”

You shook your head, “I don’t sleep much.”

Joel nodded and set the armful of wood on top of the rest. He wiped his hands on the back of his jeans, almost sheepishly. “Winter comes up on us pretty quick here. Insulation in this place is for the birds. Figured you’d need some wood for the stove.”

“Oh,”

“I cleaned out the flue a couple months back so you shouldn’t smoke yourself out,”

Lips pursed together, you pondered the stack of wood nestled up against the cottage. “I don’t think I’m gonna stay. Doesn’t seem like this is the right place for me,”

Joel didn’t have a response for you, just looked down at his feet and kicked at a nonexistent something on the porch.

“That gun–my gun. My dad gave it to me in 2003. September 26th,”

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours. Pain riddled in his gaze as if he remembered that date all too well. And when it vanished, the coldness you’d first noticed in the hunting cabin returned.

“It’s all I have left. And as ridiculous as it sounds to be so attached to a rifle, I am. And I–”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” he interrupted. Just when you thought he’d continue on and show a little more softness, kindness… he kept speaking, “Look, I don’t care if you stay or go. Don’t need stragglers hangin’ ‘round. So I’d love to give you your gun back and dump ya’ out past the gate. But Tommy’s always been a little stupid. Takes chances on people,”

“What an idiot,” you smirked.

A smile flashed over Joel’s face. It was gone in a second. And he turned away from you, descending the porch steps. “He’ll bring you to the greenhouse. Teach’ya how things operate, and…” he took a deep breath. Something almost like fondness erupted in his tone, “you might not wanna stay, but don’t fuck things up there for the rest of us. We got families here. And we’ll need the resources to get through the winter.”

“You think I’d fuck things up on purpose?”

Joel looked over his shoulder and nodded, “yeah. ‘Cause I’ve been in your spot before and I did.”

He continued on and you stayed put on your porch, watching him until he was out of sight. Wondering where the house he was given was. If he was alone, or if he had some sort of partner living with him. But also figured you’d never get the chance to know. 

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

“We get most of our roughage and root vegetables in the colder months. There’s a constant harvest to keep up with the community’s needs, but some of these aren’t hearty enough to withstand the winter. Even inside the greenhouse,”

You nodded dutifully behind Wendy. At least you think that was the name Tommy mumbled as he was being dragged out of the greenhouse by Joel. Something about being late for patrol and not wanting to spend all day on some godforsaken cliffside. She’d just got done showing you the strawberry vines. The lifeless things that she assured you would spring to life when the warmer weather came back.

The work was easy enough. Boring. Nothing you hadn’t already done on your family’s land as a teenager. Only this was on a much smaller scale. Maybe most of these people had come from QZs. And maybe before that they came from big cities. Places where they never knew where their food came from. That it just somehow appeared in their groceries. Yet, by current standards… of canned things from yesteryear, the greenhouse was a bit of a spectacle. Something beautiful.

Wendy continued on her well-practiced lecture about potatoes as you got lost roaming the rows of plants. Up and down each long, leafed path. Fingers gliding over them, not taking the time to stop and acknowledge any plant in particular. Until, in the absence of your thought, your fingers brushed over something woolly. Pulling your hand back, you focused in. There, just beyond your fingertips, a tray of small white flowers. The petals, less like blossoms, but more like leaves. And woolly. Fuzzy. Unlike anything you’d ever seen.

“What’re these?” Eyes still locked onto your discovery, you hadn’t fully comprehended that you’d interrupted Wendy’s spiel.

And yet when she came upon you, there was no ill will or annoyance from her. Just her gentle hand on your shoulder. “It’s edelweiss,” she smiled and shrugged her shoulders when her answer had you giving her a questioning glance. “It’s usually up in the Alps. In the middle of nowhere. Jesse came back from patrol one day ‘bout a year ago with a handful of these plucked up from the root. No idea how they ended up in Wyoming.” Wendy brushed her fingers over the fuzzy leaves.

“How’d you know what they were?”

“Call it coincidence or divine intervention, my grandfather had an oil painting of them above his fireplace in the eighties. When he was stationed in Germany during the war, he’d heard all these stories about this little star-shaped flower. Soldiers would climb high up into the mountains to find them. They grow in the harshest places, sometimes even right on rocks. The journey to get them was hard. A lot of guys didn’t finish the trip, but if they did, they got to pin one of these to their uniforms. A symbol of true bravery,”

You admired the flowers again. Now even a smile crossed your face.

Wendy let out an exasperated sigh, “and I figured, hell… if they can survive on the top of the Alps and in this nightmare of an apocalypse, Jesse finding ‘em wasn’t no mistake. Maybe we’re lucky here in Jackson.”

[stevesbipanic]

Pierce My Heart

@steddiemicrofic prompt: pin, WC: 388, rating: G

"Ouch!" A dribble of blood trickled down Steve's finger, the pin of the needle had pricked him. Steve stuck the top of his finger in his mouth, the metallic taste of blood reminding him of darker days. The blood stopped quickly but he still got up to grab a small bandaid for the wound not wanting to risk getting any blood on the fabric he held, it had been a bitch getting it out in the first place. This was the fourth small stabbing of the afternoon.

"Stevie?" He heard from the door, shit when had Eddie gotten home? His shift wasn't supposed to end til...Steve glanced at the clock how was it four already.

"Um, in here!" He called trying to hide the garment behind him, a useless effort since as soon as Eddie saw him he wrapped his arms around him pulling him into a hug. "Hi, baby, I missed you," he said kissing Steve's cheek, "Hang on, what're you hiding?" Eddie made a grab at the ball of denim but Steve quickly held it out of his reach.

"Nothing!"

Eddie gave him an amused look, "Sunshine I know my vest when I see it, why have you got it, oh no don't tell me you were wearing it again and spilt stuff on it," he laughed, "Did you miss me that much, love?"

"No," Steve pouted not wanting to be teased about the time he was in fact wearing it because he missed Eddie and had spilt a whole milkshake on himself, that had been almost as hard to clean as the blood.

"Then what were you doing?"

Steve was caught, there was no way out of it, at least he was almost finished so he didn't feel too defeated showing his boyfriend what he'd risked his poor fingertips for. He held up the vest displaying the smattering of red thread on the left side, hidden between buttons and patches.

"Baby," Eddie said with awe in his voice, "You sewed this for me?" A small red heart with 1987 stitched haphazardly in the middle, the year they got their shit together.

"Pricked myself a few times but I wanted you to be able to take me with you when you go on tour next month, can't forget me, rockstar."

"Impossible, Stevie, you're my heart forever."

[eoieopda]

FINE I'M HERE TO REQUEST PART 3!!! In which Chan better really GET that promotion!!!!!!! Contract signed, payroll amended!!!!!

You can make it angsty if you like, AS LONG AS you promise there will be a happy ending (in this part or........ Another 👀)

the one with chan and the promotion (iii)

you needed a ride home after getting your wisdom teeth removed. chan just so happened to be free. now, being free is the last thing he wants.

part i. part ii.

pairing: bang chan x reader au: fuck buddies to lovers, hurt/comfort type: drabble (angst, fluff) rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my content. wc: 3.1k cw: mad!chan makes a brief appearance but otherwise remains the best boy; gn!reader (no gendered language used); reader may or may not show some degree of emotional availability (gasp!); due to the nature of their relationship, sex is referenced but not actually depicted; very briefly/incompletely edited, oops. a/n: i love you completely and am so fucking sorry it took four (4) months for me to finish this 😵‍💫 i have an epilogue i can offer in penance, if you want it! everyone else, please read the first two parts before reading this!

Chan may be an idiot, but at least he’s self-aware.

He knew it was a bad idea to get his hopes up; to expect that things would change quickly between you, if at all. Even though he saw the letdown coming from a kilometer away, he didn’t do a thing to brace himself for it. It’s his fault, he knows, for exaggerating his place in your life — but that doesn’t make the disappointment bruise any less when the week after your wisdom teeth removal flies by in radio silence.

The lack of conversation isn’t for lack of trying. As he scrolls through your half-vacant text thread now, Chan feels all his efforts staring back at him. All those attempted check-ins marked delivered but not well-received. Swings and misses.

Prior to sending each one of them, he spent minutes upon minutes agonizing over the tone — and the use of emojis — and the possible implications of the proposed emojis — and the fear that he’d just come off clingy, not invested. Reading the finished versions back now, he can recall with perfect accuracy the drafts he typed out and immediately, feverishly deleted. Considering the way they litter his brain, there may as well be a trail of crumpled-up notes in all that metadata.

Does it make Chan cringe to look back and watch himself flatline? Absolutely.

Does that stop him from salting his own wounds? Nope. It never has and likely never will.

Maybe, he figures, he’ll spot where he went wrong and find a way to un-dig this ditch he’s seemingly made.

[Sent 2024/7/23, 15:22] Just got home. Have you fallen back asleep already? Lol 

Naver says your swelling might be kind of bad tomorrow. Do you need ice packs? I have the gel kind that you can mold. Might be more comfortable than a bag of ice cubes 🤔 Lmk!

[Sent 2024/7/25, 08:03] Hi, Hamtori 🐹 How are your cheeks?

I made too much gamjaguk again. I can drop some off if

[Sent 2024/7/26, 17:49] Graduate to solid foods yet?

I hope the antibiotics aren’t making your stomach upset

DON’T LAUGH but I made you a super chill Spotify playlist with healing vibes to

Idk if you remember, but I promised to take you out for pork belly next week. If you’re up for it, are you free on

I miss y

[Sent 2024/7/29, 00:16] Hey

Or maybe, he thinks, he’ll just beat his head against his bedroom wall instead; and eventually, he’ll forget what it felt like to be yours for the day, rather than a night.

Four more days pass without a word from you. Under normal circumstances, one of you would’ve invited the other over at least twice in the eleven days since your dental appointment. No matter how infrequently the two of you chatted outside of your recurrent trysts, neither one of you has ever gone this long without summoning the other.

Something is wrong.

At this point, Chan sees two explanations for the way you’ve fallen completely off the grid: you’ve either succumbed to some tragic, post-op. complication and died, or he’s irreparably fucked something up with you without knowing how or when he misstepped. Neither one of those is an outcome he’s willing to accept. 

The voice in his head nags him so forcefully and consistently that his body eventually gives in. Undeterred by his better judgment, Chan lets it guide him up, out, and onward until he winds up on the sidewalk outside his building.

On the walk to your apartment, he mulls over the foreseeable consequences of the actions he’s already set in motion. It’s certifiably insane to pop in you like this, and once again, he only sees two options: you’ll slam the door in his face, or he’ll confirm once and for all that you’ve left this mortal coil. Bad on all counts, really, but anything is better than nothing.

His timing, as it turns out, couldn’t be better. Right as he lands at the front door, when he needs to think of a way to get in without buzzing you, a neighbor he’s seen once or twice before opens it to leave. Politely, they hold it open for him, likely mistaking him for someone with any right to be there — someone whose proximity to you actually makes sense. Chan thanks them with a nod of his head and a sheepish smile before slipping through the opening.

As the elevator ascends, his fingers move of their own accord, anxiously tapping out a rhythm on the stainless steel wall he leans against. Every worst-case scenario flashes through his mind. There’s a flash of something else there, too, though. Something even more nerve-wracking than all his catastrophizing; something that makes his stomach flip.

Hope.

“Oi, none of that,” he mutters to himself.

It doesn’t work. When Chan approaches the doors in the second before they open, he makes eye contact with his reflection and sees that easy, ill-advised smile creeping up on him.

As he exits that giant metal box, he shakes his head with an anxious laugh. If he’s this embarrassed by himself when he’s alone, the chances of him living through the way you’re about to look at him are…

Well…

Abysmal.

But that doesn’t stop him from powering his way down the hall towards your door. Coincidentally, neither does the fact that he doesn’t have a plan for what he’ll do when he reaches it.

Figuring knocking is as good a start as any, that’s precisely what Chan does, shifting his weight from one foot to the other to appear more nonchalant. 

Then, he waits.

And then, he waits some more.

After thirty seconds pass without a response, Chan knocks again, carefully balancing the weight of his fist against it so the sound of it isn’t too assertive — or too eager — or too desperate — or —

“Left about an hour ago,” a voice says from a few meters away.

Chan turns towards the sound. Several units down, an old woman’s head pokes out of an open doorway. He can’t tell if she’s intentionally frowning at him or if it’s the weight of her jowls pulling the corners of her mouth down. Either way, it feels bad.

Running an anxious hand over the back of his increasingly warm neck, he coughs, “Oh?”

The ajumma clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “You young people never put those cell phones down and yet you still wind up like this.” She works herself up further; her nostrils flare as she rambles, “In my day, it was rude to show up unannounced. We called ahead, and when we called ahead, people were there to answer the door.”

Chan isn’t above arguing with some personified wrinkle, but he likes to think you would be. Even though you’re not here to witness it, it feels important to be the person you might like him to be. 

So, he bites his tongue. 

He nods yet again with a polite smile.

He turns on his heels.

And when he shuffles back towards the elevator, there’s a hell of a lot less of a spring in his step.

Two days go by after Chan’s little fieldtrip. Just like the previous several, they slip away quietly. This time, however, he doesn’t check-in — doesn’t type out his thoughts just to immediately erase them; doesn’t stare at his phone and wait to prove it to himself that it won’t chime.

Lesson learned, really.

It was a bad idea to bet the house on maybes. He knew it on the front end and still chose optimism; now, it serves him right. Played stupid games and won stupid prizes, as you like to say. If only he could stop thinking about what you like to say and instead focus on the fact that you haven’t said anything at all.

Chan grits his teeth and tries hard to focus on the game lighting up his monitor. Whatever Yongbok talked him into playing doesn’t make him feel any better about fumbling you — in fact, it’s proving to be yet another thing he’s terrible at — but it’s sufficiently distracting to have his friends swearing each other up and down in their Discord voice channel.

Actually, he stands corrected. This is also terrible, albeit a different flavor of garbage than his hopeless mooning over you.

Maybe radio silence is better.

As soon as that thought crosses his mind, his phone buzzes against the surface of his desk — three long taps bookended by three short ones. 

Before Chan reaches for it, he lets the poetry of it all sink in. SOS, his phone declares whenever you text him. Originally, although he’ll never fucking tell you so, he chose that text tone because hearing from you salvaged his day, every time. Now, it reminds him that he’s in over his head with no life preserver in sight.

Not bad, he thinks. He should write that bit down in the notebook of lyrics he ruminates over but never puts to music, let alone shares.

The lack of action on his part prompts his phone to vibrate again for emphasis. 

SOS!

Beaming white light bores into his retinas when he finally opens his inbox, and Chan refuses to think about the million times you’ve told him to switch to dark mode or the infinitely-brighter shit he’s been roasting under since he started this game several hours back. All he thinks about instead is the first grey text in an ocean of blue:

[2024/8/04, 23:37] you up?

You tilt your head to the side, smiling coyly when you crack open the door and find Chan standing on your doorstep with his hood up and hands in his pockets. Outside the windows behind you, the downpour he just trudged through continues to dampen his mood.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you lilt, like nothing has changed at all.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?  

Chan lifts his chin slightly as some half-assed nod to let you know that his ears work, if nothing else. Either missing his stony expression or ignoring it, you simply open the door wider, beckoning him to follow you with a gentle wave of your free hand.

He wants so badly to smile back at you as easily as you smile at him — really, he does, but fuck, he can’t make his face do anything but harden.

Once he toes off his shoes, he expects you to lead him straight to your room — or your couch — or any of the other various surfaces the pair of you have misappropriated along the way. You don’t, though. With your lips pensively pursed, you shuffle a bit closer; and as soon as you can reach him properly, you raise both of your hands. One flattens against his now rain-soaked sweatshirt; the other goes for his zipper, tugging gently until there’s nothing left to hold him together.

Carefully, Chan eyes you; watches while you slip the fabric off his shoulders, as if it isn’t twice as heavy as it was when he put it on. Like it’s easy, you turn away, open the nearby closet, and toss that wet mess into the top-half of your standing washer-dryer.

“I think…” Your tiny, upward curve returns while your sentence peters out. Softly, you reach up and brush a damp curl off his forehead. “An umbrella would be a worthwhile investment.”

He should join in on the bit. He should banter right back. He should smile, too — for fuck’s sake — because you’re finally right here. You’re talking to him within touching distance, radiating warmth he wants to live in, and he should touch you the way you want to be touched — the way you summoned him here to touch you.

He should do a lot of things, none of which include snapping at you, and yet —

“Why the hell am I here?”

It catches you both off-guard. You, because Chan has never once spoken to you any other way but kindly. Him, because you don’t actually look all that surprised by the sentiment, even if the presentation isn’t what you expected.

Somehow, that’s the thing that stings the most; not the way your face falls at his gruffness but the inkling you must have had before you asked him over that things between you aren’t sitting right at all.

Chan doesn’t get a response, so he asks another way: “Did you notice all of those unanswered texts when you sent yours, or did you ignore them all over again?”

It dawns on you — and him too, if he’s being honest — that you’ve still got your hands resting delicately on his chest. You reel your arms back in and cross them, not defiantly but diminutively. You shrink right in front of him; and regret hits him like a fist to the side of his skull.

“I didn’t know what to do with them.” Your head lowers while you do your best to look anywhere else.

That’s —

“Bullshit. I’m sorry, but it’s really not hard to keep up a conversation, especially when someone is just asking how you’re feeling.” Instantly he feels terrible for snapping. Softening his tone slightly, he sighs, “I know you know how.”

You look up at him without tilting your head much at all. Peering over that brick wall of yours, he figures. “That’s the thing, though. I don’t know.”

The face he pulls must convey what he’s thinking: Are you fucking kidding me? But you’re quick to prevent him from jumping to any further-out conclusions, amending, “I don’t know how I feel.”

Chan opens his mouth to respond, then thinks better of it. It’s rare for you to open up to the extent you might be about to; and it’s a miracle that you might be willing to now, given the fact that he’s come at you blindly at 160 kilometers per hour.

“I don’t like needing people.” 

Your attention is drawn to your fidgeting fingers and the drawstring of the sweatpants they occupy themselves with. The overwhelming urge he feels to grab them, to hold them still, goes ignored and makes his own hands tense. He focuses hard on your face instead; the crease between your eyebrows while you plot out your next steps.

“I didn’t want to need you, but then I did need you — and you just… you came, no questions asked.” You laugh, either despite your visible discomfort or because of it. “Held my hand and all that, didn’t just drop me on the curb and say, hit me up when you’re down again.”

Chan feels as if he’s been punched, although it’s not offense he takes from your statement. Judging by that flicker of hurt in your eyes, the expectation you had wasn’t for him, personally. It was history. 

You shift where you stand from one foot to another, like that weight on your shoulders is changing. He doesn’t know if it’s getting heavier or lighter until you finally lift your chin to look at him squarely. 

“It scared the shit out of me, honestly — how easy you are to need — so, I did what I always do: I bailed.” Sighing, you finally seem to register how much anxiety you’re holding in your hands. You drop it, then drop them to your sides. “But I think I’ve figured it out.”

You smile slightly, and suddenly, he feels lighter. “I’ve been conflating them, but they’re completely different things, aren’t they?”

Chan arches an eyebrow. Truly, he’s at a loss. He can’t predict which direction you’re about to turn in. Seeming to sense this, you answer his unasked question, “Wanting to need you and wanting you.”

While this makes his brain pause, his body moves. Cautiously, he steps forward and watches you counter him until your back is flush against the wall behind you. 

“Can I have a definition, then, please?” He pleads, voice low, while his hands gently claim your hips. “Because I thought it was want behind the booty call that brought me here, and I don’t want to find myself on a completely different page again.”

You link your arms around his neck and eye him carefully. “It was,” you acknowledge with a small nod. “Different kind, though — a shallow one.”

Chan finds his mouth curving up at the corner, all on its own. His gaze drops from yours to your lips, then back again. It’d be so easy to kiss you now, but he can’t unless he gets some sort of confirmation. “We’re in the deep end now, then?”

“Moving that way, at least. I spook easily, though…” You’d probably love nothing more than to look away when you admit that bit out loud, but to your credit, you don’t. Instead, you run your fingernails softly through the hair at his nape. “I’m not entitled to any more of your patience, but would you be willing to take it one day at a time?”

Chan wishes that he’d at least pretended to consider this. He doubts you’ve ever had a vision of him as someone nonchalant — in fact, he’s the poster boy for chalance in whichever reality that word exists — but it would’ve been infinitely cooler of him not to respond immediately and wholeheartedly with a rushed sigh, “Fuckin’ right, I am,” before leaning in to kiss you absolutely stupid.

Whatever gratification he can’t find by licking into the mouth you open eagerly for him, he finds in the way you keen when he presses his body more fully against yours. The payoff is even better when he stops short, divorcing your respective lips entirely.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he announces, breathless. His grin widens; meanwhile, your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. “No! Not, like, never — I don’t have that kind of resolve — but not tonight.”

The sudden switch makes you dizzy. Thankfully, it makes you laugh, too. 

“Don’t tell me you just want to enjoy my company,” you warn. You attempt to say it earnestly, but a smile cracks you wide open. “I’m still too prone to bolt when I hear cute shit like that.”

Chan shakes his head. “No, I’m telling you to plant yourself on that couch —” He pulls his right hand off your left hip and gestures blindly over his shoulder. “I’m also telling you that I am getting takeout.”

You narrow your eyes in feigned suspicion. “I wonder what you could possibly be ordering.”

“Belated pork belly is better than no pork belly.” He narrows his eyes to mirror hours, then kisses you quickly, murmuring, “One for the road,” against your lips.

Then, he dashes off towards your front door. As he goes, he just barely catches you nagging him through your laughter:

“If you’re not going to wait for your sweatshirt, can you at least take an umbrella?”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

skz taglist. multi taglist. navigation.

due to tumblr being ass with tags lately, i’m going to be tagging people in the comments for the time being!

[raya-hunter01]

Not My Sister's Keeper Pt 1 & 2

Roman X OC(Kara)

Jey Uso X OC (Tia)

Rating: 18+

Warning: Smut; sex, fluff, couple arguing, Jealousy, infidelity, pregnancy

Roamn’s wife recently left medical school and returned home to save her marriage and travel with him on the road. Upon her return, she finds out things are not what they seem. Her sister is pregnant by her best friend Jey Uso, who is also Roman’s cousin, and her husband is acting suspicious.

What happens when a conversation overhead on a baby monitor blows her world apart?

This first chapter. I posted the ending of the chapter for the seven-sentence challenge.

Pensacola, Fl

Roman's House

Kara's POV

“What’s wrong baby?” I asked my husband Roman as he seemed to be zoning in and out.

“Nothin, I just heard you talking to Terry this morning and I know you miss your friends out there in Boston. I feel like I forced your hand, and I don’t want you to regret your decision to come home.

“Why would I do that, I missed you too and we both agreed on it.”  

“Kara, I’m gone so much, and I don’t want you to look back and regret coming back. I should have made it a priority to come out more to see you,” Roman said as I caressed his face.

“Babe, I could never regret coming back. I did this for us and our family that we’re building. That means more to me than medical school. I can go back when your schedule is lighter,” I reassured him as he sighed.

“I just hate you had to leave, but I promise within the next two years my schedule will be lighter, and we can get a house out there so you can finish school. You have my word, I promise,” Roman said making me smile at the thought of us getting a house in Boston so I could continue school.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” I whispered as our lips met in a passionate kiss.

The past year had been hard on us, previously I had been traveling with Roman on the road. I loved it and I even had a job that allowed me to work from home.  Still with the perfect schedule I longed for more, so I accepted a scholarship to continue my education in studying medicine at Harvard Medical school. 

At first, Roman was supportive and even stood up to my family about me moving to Boston but then the distance began to cause a heavy strain on our marriage.

We would argue more, he became distant almost resentful that I wasn’t on the road with him anymore or at least in Pensacola waiting for him to come home. 

I didn’t see why he just couldn’t be happy and come see me more. That last argument we had when I was in Boston was an eye opener, I was going to lose my husband if we couldn’t find a solution.

-----

Four months Earlier

Boston Massachusetts

Kara’s Condo

“We’re going to have to make a decision, because this isn’t working babe,” Roman said as I felt my heart drop as we calmed down from our weekly facetime sex session.

 “So, what are you saying? Like get a divorce? Are you seeing someone ele.”

“Kara, I would never, I’m just sayin’ this is getting to be too much.”

“Why can’t you just come out here more on your off days like we agreed. I mean we started off good then all of sudden visits became few and far in between,” I said as Roman frowned sitting up in bed pulling the comforter over his waist.

“I know what we agreed, but I got more stuff on my plate now baby. I can’t help that and then I have stuff to take care of things here in Pensacola when I’m off,” Roman said as I nodded in understanding wiping my tears as he looked at me sadly.

Ugh, Facetime was not the way I wanted to discuss this. We needed to talk in person.

“I swear I’m not saying this to make you cry, baby. Please don’t cry, I’m sorry, ok,” Roman pleaded as I tried to gather myself, sitting up and grabbing my phone.

“No, you have a right to say how you feel, and I understand it,” I whispered as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Kara, I’m just frustrated and miss you so fuckin’ much. We gotta work something out because I can’t take much more of this, especially coming home to an empty house” he whispered as I wiped my tears.

“I miss you too……. We’ll figure something out….I promise.”

The rest as they say is history, a few days later I left medical school behind and surprised Roman by joining him on the road and never went back to school.

Being back on the road with him and in our routine felt good. I knew I was where I belonged, and I felt safe wrapped up in his arms, but I also knew deep in my gut something was wrong, I just didn’t know what.

I couldn’t worry about that today though, it was an important day for Jey and my sister.

“We need to get dressed, babe,” I said stealing one last kiss as Roman caressed my stomach.

“A’ight but I’m ready for this to be over so we can come home and work on our own family,” he whispered in my neck as I blushed.

I truly did love this man and I couldn’t wait to have babies and more babies with him.

------

Tia’s Baby Shower

Kara’s POV

“How are you feeling, sis?”

“I’m feeling very loved,” Tia said rubbing her stomach as I smiled. “We do love you, especially Jey,” I said as Tia looked around nervously.

“Yea, I love my child’s father too,” she said rubbing her stomach, her use of the words felt almost like she was trying to hint about something.

I already knew Jey was the father so what was that about?

Looking at her it seems she in nervous but somewhat happy so I shrugged off her words.

“I can’t thank you enough for this, Kara. It really means a lot to me,” Tia said as I gave her a hug trying to overcome the tension behind us.

“Hey, stop thanking me, I just wanted to throw you my big sister a baby shower. I mean my niece is on the way,” I said as she laughed but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The dynamics of my family at times could be explosive at times, my parents though married seemed to be just tolerating each other.

For most of our lives my sister and I never got along, and my poor baby brother was always stuck in the middle of it.  

I think the relationship with Jey is a dig at me if I’m being honest. She knew I used to have a crush on him but we both agreed we didn’t want to cross the line and jeopardize our friendship.

Tia acted like she couldn’t stand Jey for all these years and then all of a sudden, she took an interest in him about ten months ago. Then a couple weeks later announces she’s pregnant with his baby.

 I think myy sister’s pregnancy was actually the boost I think we all needed to try to be a somewhat functioning family.

I would say today was a success as our family and friends got together to celebrate the pending arrival of my niece.

“Bae, I’m heading to Gram's to get her gifts,” Jey said sticking his head around the corner as Roman walked around him.

“Go ahead, Uce, I’ll help Tia put everything in the nursery,” he said as Tia avoided making eye contact with Jey and was looking at my husband with a smile.

“Oh, that would be nice, my sister is so lucky to have you,” she said as Roman looked nervous, rubbing the back of his neck.

What the hell is going on?

“Uh, well it’s my pleasure to help. I mean we are family after all.”

Trying to shake off the awkwardness, I decided to change the subject. “I guess ya’ll can start and I’ll put my pots back in the car, then help ya’ll,” I said as Roman shook his head.

“Nah, I got it, you did enough today. This will only take a second. You can go ahead, and head home, I’ll will meet you there,” he said giving me a hug as I smiled.

Roman was always so caring and loving. His soft lips against mine made me excited for what was to come later.

“I’ll see you at home,” I whispered against his lip he nodded.

“I Can’t wait to get home and take this dress off-”

 Tia cleared her throat as I blushed. “Sorry, I’ll see you in the morning, Tia.”

“I’ll call you later, and thanks for lending Roman to do this heavy lifting,” she joked as I saw Roman was seemingly in another world, avoiding her gaze.

Roman’s POV

“Always Ms. Perfect, I know I’m better than her,” I heard Tia mumble under her breath.

I felt my anger rising as Tia slick threw shots at Kara under her breath. Matter of fact, she had been throwing shots all day.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” I yelled as soon as Kara left, causing Tia to smirk.

“What are you talking about, I don’t have a problem, baby,” she chuckled as I snarled.

 “First off, I ain’t your baby and you know what you been doing all day to Kara.

“Oh, God forbid anyone upsets Kara. Oh, you so concerned about her now, but you damn sure wasn'’t when you were fuckin’ me,” she hissed stalking off upstairs as I growled snatching a few gifts off the table and following her.

“Look, I fucked up, and we slept together a few times. Stop trying to make it seem like it was some big love affair. I love Kara and that will never change I said as we walked into the nursery.

“A fuck up is one time, we slept together I know at least six times stop trying to lessen the blow of your actions and own it. I came on to you, and you took everything I had to give,’ Tia said smirking at my uneasiness.

“Look, I love my wife-”

“Yet, you were fucking me…. Her sister, and your cousin’s girlfriend.

“Ok, now that’s bullshit in itself, now you wanna act high and mighty. You only got with Jey to cover yo’ ass; he thinks he got you pregnant off of a one-night stand.”

“I wanted and still want to be with you, but you want her!  What was I supposed to do!” Tia yelled, frustrating me even more.

“Not bring other people into this shit and play with their feelings!”

“I ain’t playin’ with his feelings, I do love Jey,” she said as I scoffed at the bullshit she was spewing.

“Don’t do that shit Roman, we both agreed it was best if he and I raised the baby. You want to be with Kara, right?”

“No, you decided that shit, all by yourself and Jey doesn’t deserve this no more than Kara does!” I shouted trying to get my point across.

“So, what are you sayin? You got a conscious now!” Tia hissed as I growled.

“I’m sayin’ that I’m over this shit, and I’m telling Kara!”

“You really ready to risk losing everything now?!  We both Know Kara will leave you if she finds out.

“I have to tell her-”

“Look, I’m trying to compromise here. Just give me stipend and be a loving uncle to this baby. I promise you can see her whenever you like or say the word and we can be a family together.”

“I’m not her uncle, I’m her father, and even if I lose everything, we aren’t going to be together, Tia. We can co-parent,” I said laying it all out on the line.

“I’ve accepted that, why do you think I’m with Jey. Now you wanna fuck that up for me,” Tia whispered as I felt even more guilty.

We shouldn’t even be discussing this shit now, but it was like we couldn’t stop. It had been a long time since we had been able to talk alone besides on the phone when Kara or Jey weren’t around.

----

Kara’s POV

“Damn, how the hell did I leave my purse?” I muttered walking back inside my sister’s living room, retrieving it.

“You know Kara means the world to me,” I heard Roman say as I smiled picking up the baby monitor, listening to him talk to my sister as they put away some of her baby shower gifts in the nursery; “And I love Jey, that’s why neither one of them can find out you’re the father of this baby.

The silence after Tia's statement defining.

"F-Father," I gasped in shock trying to catch my breath as I waited to hear Roman deny Tia's claim, but it didn't come...Just silence.

I couldn’t breathe, it was as if those words seemed to be stuck on repeat in my mind and it wouldn't stop. “You’re the father of this baby.”

My eyes widened in horror as I lost my footing, collapsing onto the floor, looking at the baby monitor's red lights flashing.

Roman was the father of my sister’s baby.

“Jey is going to find out sooner or later and so is Kara. They ain’t dumb!” Roman hissed as I felt like I wanted to vomit, my breathing shallow as I tried to process what was happening.

“Aye, Tia, I’m back!” I heard Jey yell as I snapped out of the daze I was stuck in and ran out the back door, trying to avoid him.

Jey’s POV

"Tia, I said i'm back!" I shouted looking around the living room, seeing alot of the gifts still around the living room.

“I see that you are,” Tia said appearing at the top of the stairs, as I frowned at her nervousness.

“Why you look so nervous?" I asked sitting down her gift from my grandmother.

 “Roman, Jey’s back!” she yelled, ignoring my question as I heard her voice echo.

“What the hell was that?” I asked as Tia smiled, coming downstairs.

“It’s one of the baby monitors, mama turned it on earlier to show us how it worked. The other one is in the nursery, that’s the echo you heard.” she said as I nodded in understanding.

“Oh, that’s cool we need that for when we need some alone time so we can still hear lil mama in her room,” I said as she laughed.

“You are so silly,” she whispered as I looked around for Kara.  “Kara still here? I need to talk to her about something, I saw her car out front,” I said as Tia shook her head.

 “No, Roman sent her home, matter fact she should be there by now,” Tia said walking over to look out the front door.

“Bae, I’m telling you, I saw her car just a second ago.”

“Are you sure it was her car, it’s not there now,” Tia said as I frowned. “Many times, I done rode in that car, I know my best friend’s car Tia,” I said annoyed at her assumption that I didn’t know what I saw.

“Maybe she had forgot something,” Tia said as I tried to shake the feeling, she was hiding something as Roman finally joined us downstairs.

“Since you back Jey, I’mma head out. Kara is waiting for me at home,” Roman said as I smiled.

“Uce, ya’ll probably will get home at the same time. I just saw her car parked out front,” I said as Roman’s smile dropped.

“Huh, Kara left bout thirty minutes ago,” Roman said looking at his watch as I shrugged my shoulders.

Nah, try five minutes ago, give or take," I said as Tia looked worried.

“Was her car where she parked earlier?” Roman asked as I shook my head.

“No, she was parked out by the street.”

Roman seemed to go white as a ghost and Tia began pacing.

“Uh, I’ll leave ya’ll alone, I need to get home,” Roman said as I followed him to the door. He seemed to be antsy and dare, I say scared.

“Let me me walk you out, Uce.”

“Nah, I’ll see you later fam, I got it,” Roman said walking to his truck as I closed the door.

Damn what had him spooked?

Kara’s POV

I knew I couldn’t go home, if I did, I would kill him…I really would kill him. I parked down the street from my parents and then made my way to their guest house. I didn’t want anyone to see me, not right now.

I was falling apart and needed time to think, this couldn’t be happening it seemed like the minute I closed the door the dam broke as I screamed breaking down in tears sliding down the wall.

“Why him?” I cried overwhelmed by the betrayal of my husband and my sister. The darkness surrounding me, only visible light was from my phone as Roman and Tia had been blowing my phone up.

Not knowing or caring which one it was I accepted the call just wanting the ringing to stop.

“Sis, is that you? Roman has been trying to call you, he’s worried, you weren’t home when he got-.”

 Ending the call without saying a word, I thew the phone hard as I could against the mirror on my parents’ wall. Almost feeling a sense of satisfaction as it shattered into tiny pieces just like my heart had .

“Sis?” I laughed at the gall wiping my tears… “You ain’t no sister of mine,” I whispered, my heart straining against my chest as I tried to control my breathing.

 Every look, nervous movements and awkward exchanges between them played over and over in my mind.

“Sweetie, are you ok? I saw you come back her and I heard a crash,” my mom said coming into the guesthouse, turning on the lights as I scurried to the corner pulling my knees to my chest whipping my tears.

“I’m fine mama, can you please leave,” I whispered as she gasped at my current state.

“Bill! Get in here!” my mother yelled as I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk about it; I knew if I did the tears would come harder.

“Mama, I just want to be alone, please,” I sniffed as she came over to me. “Who hurt you baby?” she whispered kneeling down, taking me in her arms as I sobbed my heart out.

“What the hell is going on?!” my father bellowed coming in seeing my mother and I on the floor, locked in a comforting embrace and the glass on the floor.

“Don’t freak her out, calm down Bill, we don’t even know what’s wrong.”

“Well, something fuckin’ happened Rebecca, and I want to know what it is. She in here breaking mirrors and hysterical,” he said as mother sighed pulling out her phone.

“Maybe Tia can tell me, let me call her-”

“Don’t! Don’t ever call her asking her nothing about me!” I screamed hysterically as my mother looked at me in shock.

I jerked away, her touch scorching my skin. Hurrying to my feet, trying to make my exit, but my dad stood in the way.

“This is not like you sweetie. What happened?” my mom asked, rubbing my shoulders as my father and her tried to calm me down.

“Kara, what is going on baby, did something happen between you and your sister?”

“Dad, please just drop it, ok,” I pleaded retrieving my phone, and wiping my tears.

“Let’s give her a little space to breathe Bill,” my mom whispered as I felt myself losing it slowly but surely.

Hearing a car pull in the driveway I went back into flight or fight mode. “Dad, please move, I need to go,” I pleaded as he stood steadfast, unmovable.

“Baby I can’t let you drive like this, let’s just sit down and talk” he suggested as I shook my head.

“I don’t feel like talking daddy,” I said as my mom sighed.

“Dad?! Mom?! We’re here to pick up the crib!” I heard Tia shout my blood ran cold.

The crib we slept in as kids….That crib?

“We’re in here baby,” my mom called out as I cringed as Tia and Jey in came in the guesthouse.

“Aye, you ok Kara?” Jey asked taking in my appearance. I didn’t even care how I looked right now; my eyes were focused on Tia who looked scared to death.

“Maybe we should come back Jey,” she whispered trying to get a feel of what was going on.

“No, I’m good, come in,” I said as she sighed in relief, thinking her secret was still safe.

“Mom, dad, can you leave? I need to talk Tia,” I said as my dad looked between us unsure of my request but threw his hands up.

“Fine, let’s go up to the main house Rebecca and let the girls talk.”

“I think we should stay Bill; something is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong mama,” Tia said as I nodded my head in agreement.

 “It’s right as rain,” I added as my dad sighed.

“Least she’s willing to talk to Tia, let’s let them talk,” he said ushering my mom out of the room.

“What did you do Tia?” my mom asked as Tia lowered her head in shame as dad closed the door behind them.

“Do you need me to leave Kara?” Jey asked as I shook my head no.

“No, it involves you just as much as it does me,” I whispered as he caressed my shoulder.

“What happened baby girl?” he asked as I looked at Tia trying to see if she would confess but she just stood there as if nothing was wrong.

Jey had to know, I know it wasn’t my place, but he needed to know.

“Girl, you had Roman worried and so was I when he told me you weren’t home. I’m so glad you were here and safe. We thought something had happened to you,” she said as I chuckled at her weak attempt to change the subject.

“Oh, I’m fine….I just needed some time to process some stuff. The problem with that is I only ended up having more questions and I know you know the answers,” I whispered as Jey looked at me confused.

“Questions about what Kara?” Jey asked, looking between Tia and I, picking up on undeniable tension.

“Jey, can you leave Kara and I alone to ta-”

“Jey, stay because I know you’re going to want to know the answers to these questions too.”

"Jey, please leave us,” Tia whispered.

"When were you going to tell me that not only has you been FUCKING my husband, but you're carrying his baby?" I asked calmly as Tia gripped the counter trying to steady herself.

You could hear a pin drop as Jey looked at Tia for any sign of truth to my words.

“Wh…W..What are you talking about Kara?” Tia stuttered as I scoffed at the deer caught in the headlights look on her face.

“Tia, what is Kara talking about?” Jey asked, my heart truly went out to my best friend. He deserved the world, but he always chose the wrong ones to love.

“I don’t know Jey, she isn’t thinking clearly,” Tia said as I rolled my eyes.

“Tia! Words of advice, when you are confessing your dirt and playing God with someone else’s life, make sure the baby monitors aren’t on, projecting your conversations throughout the fuckin’ house, dumb ass!” I hissed as she covered her mouth in shock.

“Ok, let’s calm down lau pele, talk to me, because you ain’t makin’  no sense right now,” Jey said gently pulling me to him.

“I’m sorry Jey, but that isn’t your baby,” I whispered as Tia began sobbing.

“Jey, I can explain-”

“Logan is my daughter, what you sayin to me’?”  he asked, looking between Tia and I, his eyes full of tears.

“Tell him…For once in your miserable life, tell the truth,” I said truly done with the lies.

“Jey, Just listen-”

“Is she mine?” Jey whispered walking closer to Tia as she began to figet wrapping her arms around herself.

“Jey, please, baby-”

“Is she mine, damn it!" Jey screamed as I jumped at the anger and hurt in his voice.

"No!...She’s Roman’s” she whimpered as Jey trembled with anger.

“I am so sorry,” I whispered as he pinched his nose trying to stop his tears from falling but to no avail and began pacing.

“It ain’t yo’ fault Kara…. I shoulda' known betta right? He asked, my heart breaking for him.

“I…..I didn’t mean for it to happen, Kara was gone, Roman and I were spending more time together on the road and it just happened.”

“So, in other words when I was gone, you made a move on him,” I said as she sighed.

“Look you left him, and he needed somebody.”

“How could you do that to Kara?” Jey said as Tia wiped her tears.

“Cause she’s willing…Willing to bed flop with anything that moves and I fuckin’ hate you for it Tia,” I cried wanting to give her this work but I knew I couldn’t.

“I tried to make it right-”

“Oh, that’s right, you slept with me and then told me I got you pregnant,” Jey said as I cringed at how he described it, but it was true.

“Where did you do it?” I asked as Tia subconsciously rubbed her belly.

“Don’t do this Kara?” Tia whispered as I scoffed.

“In my house?.....In my bed?” I asked with a whimper as she shook her head.

“No! As much as things haven’t always been good between us, I would never do that,” she cried as I tried to piece together their intimate moments.

“His bus?” I whispered as she nodded. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, now we were getting somewhere.

“The first night of the UK tour when I couldn’t reach him, he was with you wasn’t he?” I asked as she dropped her head in shame.

“That night you left the show early proclaiming you were sick,” Jey added as she nodded.

“Oh my god I’m going to be sick,” I whispered.

“I swear it’s over, Roman loves you and only you. That’s why we did this!” Tia cried as Jey exploded flipping the couch and storming outta the house.

“Jey! Don’t leave!" Tia cried as I grabbed my keys preparing to leave as well. I had heard and seen enough.

“Actions have consequences Tia. That was one of them, a good man walking out of your life….A new life about to be born," I said pointing at her stomach.

"Kara-"

"Your dead to me,” I whispered, heading for the door as she jumped in front of me.

“Kara, just listen-”

“Don’t call…Don’t text…Don’t come by my home… I never want to see you again,” I said as she gasped, falling against me and grunting in pain.

"Get off of me Tia!" I shouted as she held onto me to steady herself, but I didn't push her away.

 “Kara, my water just broke” she cried as I looked down seeing at the small puddle at her feet.

Are you serious right now? This cannot be happening.....

Taglist:

@reci24 @southerngirl41 @vebner37 @jeyusos-girl

@melaninsugababy @romanreignkisser @bebesobrielo

@arination99 @2-muchsauce @bakugoumarianawrites

@empressdede @alyyaanna @christinabae @harmshake @anonandwannakeepitthatway @venusesworld @jeyusosgirl  @theninthwonder @mya2real  @justazzi @whatdoeseverybodywant @reignsboy19 wooahmiri alichesmi pytbgeezy @ superpietom 

@truefant4sy @yana3sworld amandairene88

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Six

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour in a semi-public place. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.7k

A/N : I think I've finally sorted the tagging issue.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE

MASTER LIST

Chapter Six

It felt like you were in a daze, like the night before had just been a fever dream. You’d almost been willing to write it off as a dream before you saw a note in your kitchen from Billy, telling you that the leftovers from dinner had been put in the refrigerator for you. There was no telling if he’d brought them through himself or if he’d had the maid do it, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless. 

After your usual morning routine, you headed to the library to finally return Billy’s copy of Dorian Gray, exchanging it for Jane Eyre, another book that you’d never been allowed to read growing up.

By the time Billy emerged at sunset, you’d finished the leftovers and you were sitting on the sofa, with your nose buried in the book and your stuffed beagle on your lap. You’d even put tonight's blood in his thermal travel mug, hoping to keep it warm for him.

“Good evening,” he said as he joined you on the sofa, eyeing his travel mug before turning his attention to you and smiling all the more when he noticed the stuffed toy. “I hope I’m not interrupting the two of you.”

“Not at all, me and Bill were just reading.”

“Bill?” He laughed. “You can’t call him Bill.”

“But he’s Bill the Beagle,” you told him, biting your lip and trying your damnedest to stifle your own laughter. “It’s too late to change it, he’s used to it now.”

The both of you sat for a moment, trying to fight back the laughter but it didn’t last. You cracked first and, soon enough, the pair of you were laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Just the sound of his laughter had you smiling. It was nice, precious even. It was only then that you realised that you didn’t hear him laugh very often, at least, not properly. He seemed happy, honestly happy with no hint of smugness.

“Is this for me?” He asked, reaching for the mug.

You nodded, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious at how much thought went into the gesture. “I just thought…”

“Thank you,” he offered, obviously sensing your discomfort and not wanting to force you to finish the thought. After taking a slow drink, his attention turned to the book on your lap. “So, what are you reading now?”

“Jane Eyre,” you answered and caught a questioning look from him. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just very... apt.” 

“Is it?

“I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you,” he answered. Then, a beat later, he changed the subject. “I’d like to ask you something; I’m throwing a party here next month, and I’d very much like you to come. It’ll mean taking you for a new dress, of course, but -”

“A new dress?” You repeated, barely keeping up with all the information he was throwing your way. “But I already have so many.”

“I want you to have something special, something you picked for yourself. And it means an evening out of the penthouse,” Billy explained. You didn’t need to answer, he could tell just from the look on your face that you wanted to. “We can go on Wednesday.”

“Okay,” you smiled.

“Great, now that that’s settle, what do you want to do tonight?”

You fell silent, wondering if it was a trick question, if there was an expected answer. It’d be a lie to say that some part of you wasn’t hoping for a repeat of the night before, but you couldn’t say that.

“We could watch something?” You offered and Billy almost seemed taken aback by the simplicity of the suggestion. “Just - you know, because we talked a lot last night and I haven’t exactly done anything interesting today...”

“If that’s what you want to do,” he shrugged.

“We don’t have to, if you’d rather...” you trailed off, cheeks starting to warm.

Billy reached for you, fingers ghosting your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “No pressure or expectations, remember?” He told you softly. “If you want to watch a movie, we can watch a movie, okay?”

The only response you could give was a meek nod before quickly excusing yourself. When you returned a couple of minutes later, you had a blanket and a bowl of popcorn, explaining to Billy that they were crucial for a TV night. He nodded while fighting back a laugh and you realised that, while you’d been out of the room, he’d been and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses. 

“Why don’t you find us something to watch?”  Billy asked, handing you the remote.

And then began five minutes of mindless scrolling through Netflix, watching trailers, and trying to find something that you’d both enjoy.

“What about this one?” You asked, lingering on Black Sails, a show that caught your attention because it was about pirates and you’d been interested in pirates ever since you’d  secretly read Treasure Island as a child. “It’s a series but... well, we’ve got all year, right? Maybe we could watch TV together more often?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, the smile on his lips growing, like you were offering him far more than the occasional night in front of the TV.

“Okay, let’s watch some pirates,” he agreed, filing the two wine glasses and handing you one of them.

When you’d chosen the show, you’d thought that you’d be able to watch and talk but, within five minutes, you were hooked. 

It wasn’t long before Billy was awkwardly reaching across, trying to steal your popcorn, prompting you to edge closer and closer until you were pressed against his side. You were so caught up in the show that you barely noticed Billy draping his arm around you or the way your head had ended up resting on his shoulder. 

One episode finished and another started, then another. You made little comments to each other, but after the popcorn and wine were gone, you were mostly silent. There was more sex and nudity than you’d expected and you felt your cheeks warm every time. If Billy noticed, he was nice enough not to say anything about it. But, aside from that, you were enjoying it; you were enjoying the whole night. It was nice. And Billy seemed to be enjoying it too.

“Oh, now I see why you’re watching this,” Billy joked when a particularly muscled and shirtless pirate appeared on screen. You pulled a face. “What? He not your type?”

“I don’t have a type,” you confessed, playfully nudging him with your elbow. 

Billy retaliated by nudging you back and things seemed to escalate from there. You gave him a shove and he pushed back, his hand discovering a ticklish spot on your side and, once Billy realised you were ticklish, it was game over. You squealed as he started to tickle you, laughing and pushing against him but, somehow, you ended up on your back with him above you. The tickling continued for a moment, but it soon turned into kissing.

“What is it about you?” he asked softly. “How do you make me want like this?” 

Before you could answer his lips were on yours again, the kiss more eager than the last. He pressed closer, his hips between your thighs, and you soon felt the increasingly familiar press of his erection against you. A soft sound slipped from your lips and into his, your heart hammering in your chest.

“The things I want to do to you,” he muttered, lips pulling from yours to your neck, kissing and sucking, leaving little marks in your skin. “The ways I want you,” he continued. “I’d ruin you. I’d make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

It sounded insane but that didn’t stop you from wanting it, craving it.

Your hips pushed up against his while your fingertips pressed against his spine, holding him against you. A loud moan spilled from your lips when he pressed back, causing your body to tremble, your back arching against him of its own accord.

His head lifted from your neck, his dark eyes looked down at you, his jaw tense. 

“I want to make you mine,” but this time it wasn’t Billy’s voice, it was something closer to the way he’d sounded that night in the kitchen when he’d been hungry.

Every fibre of your being suddenly tensed, your heart stuttered and your breath caught. Your eyes were wide as he leaned to roughly press his lips to yours, his tongue dominating the kiss. His hips pressed down against yours again, grinding his clothed cock against you.

“I want to make you scream my name.” He growled before sinking against your lips again.

The whimper that escaped you next wasn’t one of pleasure, it was shock and, if you were honest, a little bit of fear. But that little sound seemed to be enough to snap Billy out of it.

His lips pulled from yours suddenly, and he buried his face against your neck. He was still and silent for a few seconds. All you could hear was your own panted breaths and the echo of your pounding heart in your ears.

The shock lingered but the fear was quick to dissipate. He’d stopped. You hadn’t even had to ask him to. He’d stopped the moment he realised that you were uncomfortable, even though you could still feel how unfulfilled he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered against your neck, then again; “I’m sorry.”

Your mind was racing, between this and the night in the kitchen, you didn’t know what to think. He’d been hungry that night - at least, that was the excuse you’d given for his behaviour, but now it was starting to seem like it might be something else entirely.

“Are you -” you dared to quietly ask, “- okay?”

“No,” he answered and that one broken syllable shattered your heart.

Without hesitation or pause to think, you started to run your fingers through his hair, wanting to soothe whatever it was inside of him that was hurting. You heard him take an uncomfortable breath, but you didn’t stop. 

After a few minutes, he finally started to relax a little.

“It’s okay,” you muttered. “You didn’t hurt me.”

His head lifted slowly and the look on his face caused your stomach to knot.

“I could have,” he told you, looking almost sick at the thought.

Finally, he moved, pulling away from you and sitting up, his head in his hands. You followed suit, sitting beside him, giving him a moment of silence to think.

But that silence quickly felt deafening and you felt worse for the part you’d played. You hadn’t expected the things he’d said and they’d unsettled you a little, but that was all. You weren’t used to men being so forward and borderline aggressive about their desires. But he’d stopped. He hadn’t done any of the things he said. He hadn’t hurt you. He certainly hadn’t forced you into anything.

“You could hurt me right now,” you stated. “You could’ve hurt me last night, or that night in the kitchen, but you didn’t. And I don’t think you will. I get that I’m fragile and weak, and that worries you, but -”

“I don’t think you’re fragile or weak,” he told you, lifting his head and fixing his gaze on you. “You’re not either of those things.”

It was your turn to drop your gaze, cheeks warming as you shook your head.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, and you did as he asked. “You being here is proof that you’re not

weak. Taking this job, being stuck here with me for a year, there’s nothing weak about any of that.”

Your head shook again. “You don’t understand. You were right, I am running away. I’m here because I wasn’t strong enough to do anything else.”

“Everything you’ve done since you got here - standing up to me, the night you helped me, that was reckless and dangerous. It was brave.” He told you, not giving you a chance to argue. “So, no, it’s not because I think you’re fragile and weak. It’s me, I...” he sighed, “I told you, control is an issue for me.”

Cautiously, you reached for him, taking his hand between yours and holding it tight. 

“I didn’t even have to ask you to stop, Billy,” you told him softly. “You stopped yourself before you took things too far. You were in control. And I - I don’t know, it’s not like I was scared, I’m just not used to things being that... intense.” You watched him swallow awkwardly and decided to cut him off before he could speak. “Why don’t we rewind this episode and finish watching?”

He gave an uncertain grumble and you reached for the remote, winding back the last fifteen minutes of the show, back to the last thing you remembered. Sitting back, you grabbed Bill the Beagle and pulled your blanket back up over your legs, and when Billy finally sat back, you snuggled into his side again. And, eventually, he wrapped his arm around you again.

The rest of the night passed without incident. Your eyes started to close and, for a few minutes, you even drifted off. Billy woke you with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“Bedtime, sleepyhead,” he muttered softly, and you reluctantly agreed, stifling a yawn as you got to your feet. “I should see you briefly tomorrow, but I’m needed in the office pretty early.”

Nodding, you headed for your rooms, saying goodnight before leaving him.

True to his word, the next day you saw him at sunset for a few minutes on his way out. On Tuesday, he was almost late leaving because he pulled you into a hot and heavy makeout session in the kitchen that seemed to suggest he was frustrated about not getting to see you. But then Wednesday rolled around, and it was time for Billy to take you dress shopping.

The moment you stepped into the elevator with him, he took your hand in his and kept hold of it all the way down to the parking garage below the building, leading you to his car and opening the door for you. You’d never been in a Rolls Royce before, and you caught Billy smiling as you looked around the car in wonder as your fastened your seatbelt.

It wasn’t a long drive to the dress shop - a large boutique affair, filled with bespoke pieces as well as off-the-rack gowns and dresses. And, while you’d been in fancy dress stores before, you found yourself taken aback. Usually at times like this, you’d have your mother at your side, and she always had an idea of what you were supposed to wear; what colours were acceptable and how much skin a decent woman should show.

“Mr Russo, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” one of the assistants said as she approached.

You watched as she approached Billy and he kissed her cheeks in, what you could only describe as, a Parisian fashion. He introduced you and she took a step back, looking you up and down. Next to her you felt more child than woman - she was obviously a vampire, with perfect skin and hair that fell in natural tight ringlets, framing her face. She was another example of the stunning women who seemed to gravitate around Billy.

But it was her looking at you in an appraising way that really caught you off guard.

“Your pictures really didn’t do you justice,” she remarked and you quickly looked at Billy for clarification. 

“Hannah picked your wardrobe,” he explained.

“Oh.” Suddenly you found yourself looking down, thinking about the outfit you’d put together - jeans, a blouse and boots - wondering what the person who’d chosen all the items thought of how you’d decided to wear them.

“Why don’t you have a look around, see what speaks to you?” Hannah offered.

Billy gave a wave of his hand, indicating for you to do just that and, slowly you started to move towards the racks of dresses. It wasn’t long before you were looking at the sorts of dresses your mother might have picked for you; a-line dresses that showed a hint of your waist and with necklines high enough to cover any and all cleavage. You could practically hear her voice in your head telling you how no respectable man would ever want you if we went around showing too much skin.

While you looked, a bottle of champagne was opened and two glasses were filled; one for you and one for Billy. He kept hold of your glass while you looked around.

You pulled one dress out and looked at it front and back. It was like every other dress you’d had since you’d started to grow into your figure. It felt safe but boring, like it wasn’t really you but what you thought was expected of you. But you weren’t that person anymore - at least, you were trying not to be.

“If you don’t mind me saying, with your figure, I’d suggest something a little more fitted, something with some slink.” Hannah offered.

“Slink?” You repeated, looking at Billy, wondering what he thought.

“I think you’d look lovely in a slinky dress.”

“Can you help me choose?” You asked Hannah. “I don’t know where to even start.”

Rather than the expected look of judgement, Hannah just smiled. “Of course. Why don’t you and Mr Russo go sit down and I’ll put together a collection for you to try.”

“That would be brilliant, thank you Hannah,” Billy answered for you, handing you a glass.

Fifteen minutes later, you were in a fitting room the size of a small bedroom, looking through a whole rail of dresses. You started with a black dress, but hated it the moment it was on, then you half pulled on a short red dress but decided that you couldn’t stand the colour. Then you started to rummage through the rail again.

Your attention was quickly drawn to a  silver number, and finally you understood what Hannah had meant by slink. It had thin spaghetti straps and a neckline that plunged to a couple of inches above your belly button, and a slit running up one side from ankle almost right to your hip. Even the back of the dress hung low. 

You pulled it on and looked at yourself awkwardly in the mirror. Because of the way the dress was cut, you had to remove your bra to get a real idea of how the dress was supposed to look. You stood on tiptoes and turned this way and that, not sure what to think.

“How’s it going?” Billy called from outside.

You stayed silent for a few moments before sighing. “I don’t know,” you called back.

“Need a second opinion?”

You poked your head around the door, the awkward discomfort on your face drawing a sympathetic smile from Billy. He waited a beat before getting to his feet, you felt your cheeks warming as he approached you. You remained hidden behind the door, not sure you wanted him to see.

“I look ridiculous,” you pouted.

“Are you gonna let me see?” He asked, a hint of laughter in his tone. You shook your head and he gently pressed against the door with his hand. “Come on, let me see.”

For a moment more, you held the door in place before finally stepping back and letting the door swing open so he could see you. When he didn’t immediately say something, you took another step back.

“You hate it.”

“What? No, I’m speechless,” he told you, stepping forwards, closing the gap between you. “You look amazing.”

“I feel like a kid playing dress up.”

He kicked the door shut behind him as he stepped into the fitting room, his gaze roving up and down your body. Clearing the distance between you, he placed his hands on your hips, turning you to face towards the mirror.

“Look,” he instructed in a low voice, spoken into your ear, and you did as you were told, looking at your reflection. “You only feel like a kid because that’s how you’ve let people see you. But that’s not what I see. I see a sexy, elegant woman. I see curves and tits that get me hard, and it kills me that you don’t realise how amazing you are.”

His lips pressed to your neck before you could respond and your breath caught, watching your reflections. 

Whether it was his words or the way he was touching you, he made you feel more confident, like you really could wear the dress and not be seen as ridiculous. You pressed against him and felt his cock against your hip, and that felt like all the proof you needed that he meant what he was saying.

His hands began to move, one pressing against your stomach while the other moved to rest over your racing heart. You took a breath, filled with a sort of wanting that only he seemed to bring out in you. Not giving yourself a moment to second guess, you reached behind him, palming his erection through the fabric of his dark jeans.

“Can I -” you started quietly, voice little more than a whisper, cheeks starting to heat. Billy stared at you in the mirror, expectant but patient, letting you find the nerve to finish. “Can I touch you?”

He smirked at you through the mirror as he undid the fastenings of his jeans and pulled his cock out. Your eyes widened, watching everything through the mirror because you were too embarrassed to look down. Billy took your hand in his and wrapped it around his shaft, and you started to stroke him slowly. And, when your gaze dropped, you found Billy’s fingers beneath your chin, urging your head up.

“Don’t be shy,” he muttered in your ear, his breath catching as your thumb brushed over the tip of his cock. “See how amazing you look right now, taking what you want?”

You bit your lip, watching his reflection, seeing the way his jaw went slack as his breathing got heavier in your ear. Once he was certain you weren’t going to look away, his hand moved from your chin to your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of the dress. 

“You look so fucking good in this dress,” he groaned, returning his lips to your neck, “so confident and sexy. You’ve got no idea what I want to do to you right now.”

His hand moved, slipping one of the thin straps down your arm, causing the front of the dress to fall, exposing your breast to him. Your hand faltered for a moment, cheeks burning hotter.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he husked in your ear, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. There was a seriousness about him that sent a shiver down your spine despite the smile on his lips.

Your hand started moving quicker as his cold hand moved to grope you again. And, finally, you started to see it; when you looked at your reflection, you didn’t see the shy, embarrassed girl, you saw the woman who had Billy Russo, desperate and groaning, in the palm of her hand. You felt almost powerful, filled with a kind of confidence you’d never been allowed to feel before, and it was all thanks to Billy.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he grunted, face pressed against your neck. Your hand moved quicker as his body started to tense. “Oh, shit...”

You felt him twitch in your hand and watched him come undone. It was a beautiful sight, even if you did go straight back to feeling embarrassed once it was over.

“Are you going to try any of the others?” He asked, pulling the strap back onto your shoulder and straightening the dress, before tucking himself back into his jeans.

“I don’t think I’ll like any of them as much as I like this one.”

“I don’t think I will either,” Billy agreed, smirking at your reflection. “Why don’t you get changed and we’ll have Hannah help you find some shoes.”

You nodded and Billy pressed one more kiss to your neck before pulling away from you. He left to speak to Hannah and, for a moment, you couldn’t even move. You kept your eyes on the mirror and the woman that was staring back at you; was that really you? Could you be the confident woman who took what you wanted? Eventually your gaze dropped, realising that Billy had managed to get cum on the mirror.

That got you moving.

You quickly, but carefully, dropped the dress and started to pull your clothes back on when, suddenly, the door opened and someone stepped in.

“Sorry, I -” you started to speak but stopped the moment she lifted her fingers to her lips.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” she explained in a hushed whisper. “My name is Agent Madani, I’m with Homeland Security, and I believe you’re in danger.”

“What? I -” you took a step back, head shaking. 

“Are you being kept against your will?”

“No, I - it’s my job, I -” you didn’t get to finish.

“Your parents believe that you’ve been kidnapped,” she sounded almost confused at the revelation you were there of your own free will.

“No, I left home. It was my choice,” you told her. “They don’t know I’m here, do they?” Your voice quickly turned frantic, trying to make sense of what was happening. Surely your parents wouldn’t have been able to get Homeland to look for you.

“No, they don’t know yet -”

“Yet? They can’t know at all,” you pleaded. “Please.”

“Your parents aren’t why I’m here,” she continued quietly. “Has Russo said anything to you about the other women who’ve worked for him?”

“No, I just know that they quit because they didn’t want to work for him anymore,” you tried to explain, your mind racing.

“Three of them are missing. All presumed dead,” she told you. “Each went to work for Russo and haven’t been seen since.”

“Billy wouldn’t, he’s not -” you stopped abruptly, noticing her eyes finding the mess Billy had left on the mirror and obviously putting the pieces together. When she looked back up, you could barely hold her gaze.

“Have you seen anything suspicious? Has he tried to feed from you without permission?” She asked. “Is he forcing you to sleep with him?”

“No - no, nothing like that. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you told her, so confused by everything she was trying to tell you.

“You need to be careful. He can’t know that we’ve had this conversation. He’s dangerous -” a noise outside the fitting room seemed to spook her, “- I’ll be in touch again soon. Don't worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And, then, just as quickly as she’d appeared, she left. 

Your mind was reeling over everything she’d said. It seemed insane, ridiculous. Billy had been nothing but kind to you, nothing but careful and considerate. You couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone. There had to be some other explanation.

You must have been taking too long because, soon enough, Billy appeared at the door again. 

“Are you alright? You’re not having second thoughts about the dress are you?” He asked with that soft smile that caused butterflies in your stomach.

“N-no, sorry... I guess I just got distracted,” you told him, deciding not to mention Madani to him, not knowing how he’d take it.

“Come on,” he offered you his hand, “Hannah’s picked out some shoes for you to look at.”

There was something about him in that moment, something about the way he was smiling at you that made you want to believe the best in him. After all, you’d met monsters before, and Billy Russo just didn’t seem to fit the bill. 

Grabbing the dress, you took his hand and let him lead you across the store to look at shoes. Agent Madani was nowhere to be seen and, for that evening at least, you decided to try and forget all about it. Tomorrow you’d be having lunch with Karen, maybe you’d be able to find out something then. But, in that moment, you were content to hold his hands and look at shoes, trying to forget the stain on an otherwise amazing evening. 

End Note : Dun-dun-duuuuuunnnnnnnn. I have nothing to say because I don't want to potentially spoil what I've got planned. But, yeah, I decided that reader and Billy should watch Black Sails together because it's been showing up on my dash a lot and it's an a+ show if you haven't seen it already.

As always, thanks so much for reading (and also thank you so much for all the new followers) I've really loved all the feedback from this fic and for my last fic, and you've all just been wonderful.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt. (I think I've found a way to get tagging to work properly again, please let me know if it doesn't tag you.)

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

@vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17

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@countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl

@rosey1981 @benbarnesprettygurl

[heavyhitterheaux]

Riders Up

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

Synopsis: It's the 150th Kentucky Derby, and knowing how important this event is to Jack, you make a point to make it extra special for him.

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

The week leading up to the Kentucky Derby which is the first installment of the Triple Crown and the actual Derby day was always hectic in the Harlow household. This year was no different.

Jack had changed his outfit at least four times when you finally made an executive decision for him otherwise, the two of you would have missed the derby all together. Because of you having to help him, it now put you behind in doing your make-up and hair. Your dress was red this year and you and Taylor had decided to wear similar dresses. 

This was the first year that the triplets would be going with you and Jack and you were definitely nervous to have them around that many people. They were only ten months old and were now to the phase of getting into anything that they could get their tiny hands on. At first, you and Jack had decided not to bring them, but when Maggie and Brian volunteered to go to watch them specifically, you both quickly agreed. Jack bought out a suite that was near the finish line that's exclusive to family and friends and that made you a little less worried.

Since moving to Louisville at the age of fourteen, you hadn't missed one yet, but this year was going to be extra special. This had actually been in the works close to three years and you couldn’t wait to tell Jack when all of you got to Churchill Downs. It had been hard keeping a secret from him since you literally told him everything, but you knew that the look on his face was going to be worth it. 

You combined your love of animals with Jack's love of going to the Kentucky Derby and purchased a horse who had been training to compete in The Triple Crown races. It was an expensive and lengthy process, and you were hoping all the time and effort put into it would pay off later in the day once the finish line was crossed. And of course since racehorses have very unique names, there was only one that came to mind that made the most sense.

Private Garden.

Your thoughts were then interrupted by Jack for the millionth time that morning, although you didn’t mind. 

“Baby! Does this look okay?” Jack asked as he slipped on his suit jacket and walked over towards you. This had been going on for the last hour and a half as you were currently sitting in your robe at your vanity while finishing up your makeup.

“Why do you keep asking me if you look okay? Are you meeting up with a girl I don't know about? Who are you trying to impress? At this rate, we'll be late because of you and not me with all these outfit changes. I didn't realize that we were at a fashion show.” You playfully asked and all he did was frown before sucking his teeth.

“Stop playing!”

“I was just asking!” You said while holding up your hands in defense. Jack was still pouting so you stood up and made a motion for him to bend down.

You softly kissed him and as you pulled away, you smiled at him before pinching his cheek. 

“My man looks so good that if we didn't have anywhere to be right now, we would be working on baby number four.” You whispered against his lips as you kissed him again.

“I mean, we have time….”

“No, Jackman. I still need to get dressed myself so cut it out.”

“I did get a private suite with a private bathroom.”

All you did was stare at him before rolling your eyes and then untying your robe and dropping it in front of him.

“Are you SERIOUS right now? You tell me no and then take off your robe in front of me?”

“I have to get dressed.” You shrugged before going to the hanger and taking off the red dress that you specifically got for today.

“You owe me later.”

“Hmm, we'll see who owes who. Now go downstairs and wait for me because you cannot be trusted.”

“Just let me put the tip in.”

“NO, JACKMAN.”

Maggie and Brian had gotten the triplets last night so the two of you didn't have to worry about getting them ready as well. Axel would have on an outfit similar to Jack’s since he had packed multiple not knowing which one that he was going to end up choosing while Ivy and Autumn would both be wearing red like you were. When Jack was satisfied with his outfit, he sent a pic to Maggie to let her know which one to pick out for Axel. 

Jack would have taken up too much time anyway if you had to get the triplets ready too with his four outfit changes and everyone would have been late.

When the two of you had finally arrived at Churchill Downs, pictures were taken along the red carpet before Jack had led both of you to the suite that he had purchased to meet up with everyone else. The triplets of course were being passed around and Autumn was loving the attention while Ivy was in her own little world and Axel looked completely over it and was soon reaching out his chubby hands towards Jack who quickly took him from Shloob. 

“Your twin definitely missed you.” You said towards Jack as you pinched Axel’s cheek and he smiled at you before laying his head down on Jack’s shoulder.

“Only because he got to him first.”

“Clay! Don’t start!” Jack replied as he rolled his eyes at Clay who was sipping on a mint julep.

“I didn’t say anything but the truth.”

“The two of you don’t even let up during Derby week, my goodness.” You quietly said as you rubbed your temples while listening to the both of them. 

They continued to go back and forth while you went to sit next to Taylor and Maggie who also had mint juleps in their hands.

“Mama Maggie, are you sure that you don’t want your oldest back?” You asked while glancing over at him and Clay.

“Oh, I’m sure. 100% sure actually. He’s all yours now even though I know it probably feels like you have four children instead of three.”

“MOM! I HEARD THAT!” Jack exclaimed while looking over at the three of you as she held up her hands in defense.

“You’re the reason why I started drinking.”

“I thought that was Clay.” Jack said while pointing at him and Clay immediately rolled his eyes.

“Babe, I highly doubt that it was Clay, you did nothing but stress her out for eighteen years.”

“Oh, he still does at 26. Absolutely nothing has changed and I highly doubt that it ever will.”

“Now, when you asked me to babysit did you mean the triplets or Jack and Urban?” Taylor asked and all Jack did was look at her in disbelief as Urban was stuffing his face and coming over towards all of you.

Urban noticed all of you staring at him and instantly got a confused look on his face.

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

“I was definitely talking about the two of them.”

Time was winding down and it would soon be time for the race to start. You felt it was the perfect time to tell Jack about his surprise. 

“Baby, come here for a second.” You said as you tugged on Jack’s hand and he began to follow you.

“Everything okay?” He asked while looking at you concerned.

“Yes, I just have something to show you.”

The two of you arrived at the stables and Jack looked around confused.

“Baby, we are not buying another horse so don't get any ideas.”

“Now, why is that the first idea that pops in your head!?” You exclaimed while turning up your nose at him. 

“Because I know you! And your track record for spending money on animals speaks for itself. We already have too many that we know what to do with”

You rolled your eyes before going up to pet Private Garden and waved Jack over to do the same.

“Isn't she pretty?” You asked him, but he was still eyeing you.

“Y/N, what did you do? Bet all of our life savings on a horse?” He asked before beginning to pet her. 

“No, only some of it.”

“WHAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN ONLY SOME OF IT?”

“So, I did a thing.”

“Oh goodness. Nothing good comes out of your mouth after you say that.” Jack responded as he shook his head.

“You are so dramatic. This is your horse.”

“Huh?”

“This is Private Garden and I bought her and had her work with some of the best trainers in the world so that she could compete in The Triple Crown. So, surprise baby! Happy Derby Day! Riders Up!”

“I have something you can ride, but, wait, seriously? Are you serious right now?!”

“I’m ignoring that first part. Yes, silly! I know how important this is for you and I figured that I could start something in the hopes that the triplets continue it one day. That’s why I stopped you earlier from betting on any horses and I thought it was funny that no one else said anything to me either about her name.”

“I can’t believe that you did this for me.”

“Baby, I would do anything for you. You already know that.” You answered as you reached up to kiss him.

“Wait a minute, you bought ANOTHER horse? We have two already!”

“You’re missing the point here. OUR horse is running in the Kentucky Derby so you need to change that attitude.”

“HOW MUCH DID YOU SPEND?”

“Um, enough…..”

“BABY!”

“Welp, I think I heard Taylor calling me. Gotta go see what she might need.” You said before starting to make your way back to the suite, but you knew you couldn’t run in your heels and decided on a brisk walk.

“NO, GET BACK HERE!”

Liked by y/ninsta, urbanwyatt, claybornharlow, quiiso, 2forwoyne, privategarden, and 1,284,903 others

jackharlow: my wife is full of surprises. I got the ultimate Derby gift when she told me about our newest horse (y/ninsta NO MORE ANIMALS) named Private Garden who was going to compete in The Triple Crown and sure enough she got first place. Definitely something that I'll never forget. Riders UP! Next stop is Preakness. 🌹🌹🌹

y/ninsta: love you long time!! happy you loved your gift! and we can never have too many pets!

urbanwyatt: WE IN THEREEEEEE

claybornharlow: having 3 horses is crazy lol

quiiso: The best horse definitely won today! She's sweeping all 3 races!

taylorrooks: let me know if you need a babysitter for preakness lmao

y/ninsta: I'll pay you double for Jack and Urban

jackharlow: 🙄🙄🙄

urbandjack26: y/n loves this man bad 🥺

allthingsy/n: and wife of the year goes to y/ninsta!!

[luimagines]

You Realize You Like Him Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Part 3 will include Legend, Sky and Four.

Content under the cut!

Legend

“And then I told him that he could fly from the top of Hyrule Castle for all I cared, I wasn’t going to buy something that only have a 40% success rate.” Legend finished his story.

You nodded along. You understood a solid...5% of what he was saying. But that’s ok. You like to hear him talk. He was nice enough and you liked his company. 

There was this energy that drew you to him. You’re not sure what it was. Sure he was cute but that couldn’t have been it.

Then again, he always had something to help save the day. He was fast on his feet and incredibly clever. He had enough experience under his belt to put most of the group to shame. There seemed that there wasn’t anything that he couldn’t do.

You respected him greatly.

Legend snorted and patted your shoulder. “I’m telling you, I know the ins and outs of most, if not, all sleezy merchants. If you want the best deal, you come with me and I’ll find it for you.”

You smiled. “Thanks Link. I might have to take you up on that.”

Legend faltered for a moment and blushed. “Hey... It’s not much. It doesn’t cost my anything.”

You chuckled at his reaction, feeling those little butterflies in your tummy. You smiled wider and felt yourself fluster a little. This was it. This is what caught you off guard time and time again. When he got soft or shy, you simply... followed suit.

It was infuriating to say the least. You wanted him to think you were cool, collected, suave. Hell, you would accept gravitas if you could reach it. 

For you to also lose your cool just because Legend was adorable was not the move for you. And Yet!

Someone called Legend for his opinion from the front of the group and Legend smiled at you again, soft and sweet and winked. He ran to catch up and ask what they needed.

It was the final nail in the coffin.

You bite your lip, feeling your blush grow over your face. Well this was hardly fair at all. You felt almost giddy with some unnamed excitement. Was this weird? Were you being weird?

You could almost feel the exact moment where your eyes turned into hearts- all the more thankful that he was no where near you at this point to see your descent. You liked him. You already knew that.

But to think you would feel like losing it over his stupid little wink and grin!! UGH!! This cannot be!! And yet!!! Here you are!!!

You covered your face with your hands, quickly putting your hood over yourself before anyone can get the impression that you were actually losing your mind. Which you were. 

You took a deep breath, then another, then another. That’s it. Breathe in. Breathe out.

So what if he was handsome and charming and smart and clever and cool? It doesn’t mean anything!

It meant everything.

Sky

Arguably, it didn’t take you long to realize that you were starting to fall for him.

You were only traveling with the group for a few months when you found yourself getting butterflies in your tummy whenever he would walk next to you or when you were staring. Period. You were staring. That should have been a dead giveaway.

But no, you were still trying to hold onto denial.

You were trying to keep pleasant but polite conversation with the young man. For some reason, you found unable to hold eye contact and you couldn’t seem to stop from blushing despite the fact that literally nothing was happening.

Still, you were giggly and happy and overall overjoyed so spend the time with him, even though you would have thought that he would have gotten annoyed with you at this point for being so out of it as you were.

That being said, when he put his hand on your shoulder, you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep it together.

You couldn’t deny it any longer. That’s not a normal reaction. You were at least crushing on him. You had to admit at least that much.

He said some more things that you could no longer focus on before he patted your shoulder as a sign of good will before he walked on, no doubt going to talk to someone else of the group.

Once he was out of sight and hopefully out of earshot, you slowly sunk down and squealed to yourself. It was going to be a one time thing, you would have allowed yourself his much. Then you would get a grip and pretend it never happened and never do it again.

Somehow, the universe had other plans for you.

You had entered a new town and had to do some quick shopping to restock the supplies of the group. Which was all fine and dandy to be honest.

Until you ran into Sky.

Now you were blushing and flustered and giggling like a fool- even if he wasn’t even saying anything funny. The butterflies were back tenfold and they refused to leave.

Sky decided to stay by your side for the remainder of the day and help you out with the of the shopping. He even carried the bags for you. 

Your mind wanted to romanticize the entire thing and make it seem like it was a date when the more rational part of your brain wanted it to remain strictly business.

You had left for a moment to buy some things from the tailor shop for Legend and returned to Sky, who was holding onto some roasted food on a stick. He smiled, dare you say, bashfully. “I thought you’d be hungry.”

Your jaw dropped but you took the food anyway. “How did you know?”

“Because given the amount of things you’ve already bought and the fact that you started the second we split up, I was beginning to doubt that you had even bothered to feed yourself.” He answered quietly, scratching the back of his neck. “Is it good?”

You take a bite. “Delicious!”

“Good.” Sky smiles and takes the new bag from your hand. “Let’s continue then.”

The words suddenly sits on the edge of your tongue and you swallow it down with the next bite before it can escape. Could you love him? Could you plan to fall?

He certainly doesn’t make it difficult to do so.

Four

Honestly, you can say without a shadow of a doubt that Four was one of your favorite people ever.

He was so smart. And kind. And the best kind of sarcastic.

You loved to go toe to toe with his wit and he never failed to make you laugh no matter how stupid the joke was or how low hanging the fruit was.

...He would hit you if he heard you say that that one.

There’s was just something effortless about hanging out with him. Conversation flowed easy and there never seemed to be anything you couldn’t talk about. Even when you weren’t talking, the silence wasn’t awkward and there no need to try and one up one another. It was just casual and pleasant coexistence.

But then you started noticing... the little you did. At first, as usual, it wasn’t something that you paid attention to much because you had already established that you cared about each other and cared about each other’s opinions and the relationship between you had.

But you wanted... more of his attention. You wanted more of his time and his energy. You found yourself looking over at him more often and wanting to get his opinion on everything even if it was next to nothing.

It wasn’t until Zelda invited you and the group to a royal ball of sorts where you realized that you were subconsciously dressing up for Four instead of just trying to look your best for the princess’s sake.

You were thinking if he’d like the color, the cut, the jewelry they gave you to wear with your outfit. You had a passing thought that Four could make something better than this if they ever gave him the chance.

It wasn’t until you nearly blurted the question out loud to yourself that you caught on to your thoughts.

It realization hit you like a charging horse.

Just why did you care so much about what Four thought about this outfit? About you? About if he would think you looked good or not? It’s not like he’s the type of person to judge you for your fashion choices. If you wanted that, you’d ask Legend of Wild for their opinion.

But you still wanted him to pay attention to you like this.

You bit your lip harshly.

It... can’t be that? Right? 

No.

No, no, no- that would be silly.

You run your hands down your clothes and look back at the mirror. You think for a moment about your thought and break down in an instant. You’re a flustered blushing mess.

You think that Four would look very dapper tonight in his clothes for the party. And the thought gets your heart racing.

Would he want to dance with you?

Would you talk the night away?

...Would he even want to hang out with you tonight? He’s entitled to be around his other friends, of course. You don’t feel as if you have any right to demand anything of him.

...But you want it. You want it really badly. But why?

Are you crushing?

For a moment you  think you hear someone knocking at the door and you got to open it. It’s Four- looking just as dapper as you thought he would. You grin.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be!”

He’s so handsome!

....wait...

[lilibrownlabonita]

Last nigth- Old Logan Howlett x reader

Summary: Logan needs to take three would-be bridesmaids and a bride to a bachelorette party.

Warning: oral (woman receiving), vaginal penetration, infidelity, casual sex and no commitment (notice for those excited, like me).

Rating: +18

Work count: probably more than 13k characters.

A/n: I'm rusty since I haven't written in months, and I used the translator, since English is not my native language, sorry for any spelling mistakes.

That night was cold and it froze Logan's tired body. It's the last race, he mentally repeated to himself, one more trip and he could go home.

The car stopped in front of a large house and then four young women appeared, well dressed and made up, among them a bride, or at least one wearing a wedding dress. Logan snorted, wondering who had come up with the idea of getting married on such a cold night, but that was none of his business, on the bright side, they had paid him well. The four young women fell silent and decided on a destination. Logan nodded without saying anything and started driving, the passengers generally not wanting to talk to him.

During the journey, he listened to the little plans they had made for the evening, and it wasn't an evening wedding as he had initially thought, it was a bachelorette party. How times have changed, he thought. He watched the four of them laugh and start to drink the sparkling wine they had brought in their bags, at least they had asked if they could drink it in their car before opening the bottles. What he hadn't expected was that two sparkling wines could intoxicate four people so quickly. He allowed himself to laugh as he saw, through the rear-view mirror, the bride babbling and giggling with complete nonchalance.

They were only a few minutes away from their chosen destination, a nightclub that apparently only welcomed women. As Logan told them they were nearing the venue, he heard one of the supposed fiancée's friends question how they were going to get home, as they were probably too drunk to find a driver. He looked in the rearview mirror again and saw that bride looking back at him.

"Can you wait for us for a few hours? We can pay for the ride back to the same place we left from and also for the wait." The bride said as she stared at him through the rearview mirror.

He didn't want to keep driving for the rest of the night and needed to get some rest. They might have been drunk, but they didn't seem to be as much of a problem as the drunken men he encountered in the early hours of the morning when he needed to drive longer to reach the day's goal.

"All right, I'll wait outside, when you've finished I'll take you back."

He parked the car in front of the nightclub and watched as the four women got out, laughing and tripping over their own feet. The bride got out of the car last with the help of one of her friends and probably her godmother. When he realized that they had entered the nightclub, he snuggled into the back seat, closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Over time, his body could no longer cope with long hours without sleep, he felt more and more tired and took every minute to rest.

Minutes passed and Logan couldn't sleep, he sat up and wiped his hands across his face. Maybe he should have a smoke. With a cheap cigar in his hand, he got out of the car and lit it.

Logan could see the movement inside the nightclub through the glass windows, bright colored lights, loud music probably composed by Britney Spears, half-naked men on a small stage and women dancing around. He wasn't supposed to, it wasn't part of his job to be the bouncer, but he looked for the bride with his gaze and couldn't find her.

Several more minutes passed and the bride came out of the nightclub, her long dress swaying with every step, her small veil just covering her hair, which was loose and decorated with a few small flowers, maybe clips or something, Logan thought.

"Is your party over?"

"No, I just wanted to get some fresh air." The bride said, approaching the car where Logan was leaning against.

"I can put out my cigar if you like."

"You don't have to do that, actually, I'd like to have a smoke, do you have another one?"

She didn't seem to be the type who liked cigars, not that Logan thought women shouldn't smoke, he'd had his share of cigarettes for a lifetime, he wasn't anyone to tell her what she could or couldn't do, but it surprised him that someone like her smoked.

"Are you sure? You don't look like you could stand a bit of sparkling wine, I don't want to make you sick with a cigar."

"Don't be silly, it's just a cigar, by the way, I'm not resistant to alcohol because I'm not used to drinking."

"Got it."

Silence fell between them, Logan didn't seem convinced, the woman stared at him, but he didn't seem to care.

"Please...?"

"I don't have another cigar." He lied.

"Well, then I can smoke some of yours."

"You're not going to smoke my cigar."

"Why?"

Logan snorted and stared at her.

"Are you always so grumpy?"

"I'm not a grouch."

"Well, you seem to be, you're also very quiet."

"Passengers don't usually want to talk."

"But I do."

"Why?"

"I don't have much to do right now, my bridesmaids are having fun and I don't want to get in the way, all I can do is stay here."

"You can go back to your bachelorette party and stay there."

"I don't want to go back into that club, I don't like the noise."

"Then why did you decide to have a bachelorette party?"

"It wasn't my idea, my friends thought it would be fun and I just agreed."

Again, they both fell silent.

A strong wind hit them and the bride tried to cover herself with her arms, her long dress swayed and she grimaced as she felt the cold.

Logan stretched out his hand and offered her his cigar, he didn't look at her.

"Have a smoke, it'll warm you up."

Without question, she took the cigar and puffed. Looking around, she wondered why she had agreed to be there.

"When will it be?"

"What?"

"Your wedding, when is it happening?"

"In a few days, two nights to be exact."

She approached and tried to return the cigar, but he denied it.

"No, throw it away, get in the car if you want, the wind might give you the flu."

The bride threw the cigar on the ground and stomped on it with her golden heels, opened the car door and got in.

"Aren't you getting in with me?" She asked when she saw Logan closing the door.

"No, I'm fine out here."

"You're lying, you're probably more likely to get sick than I am."

Logan glared at her through the glass.

"Why?"

"Because you're old."

"No, I'm not." He knew he was, but he didn't want her to think he was that old.

"I didn't mean to offend you, I just don't want you to get tired in the cold."

Grumpy, or at least pretending to be grumpy, Logan got into the car and sat down next to her.

"Do you think your friends will stay long?"

"Why? Do you want to get rid of me?"

"No, I just thought they'd notice you were gone and go back to the car."

"They're having too much fun to notice my absence."

Logan shut up and felt the fiancée's gaze on him. He tried to ignore her presence, tried to ignore the scent emanating from her body and pleasing his nostrils.

"Are you married?"

His eyes widened, married? Logan had never imagined himself married, least of all now.

"Why are you asking?"

"Curiosity."

"I'm not married."

"You didn't get married because you didn't want to or because you couldn't?"

"Maybe I'm too old for that."

"You're old, but you're handsome, I think someone would want to marry you."

He didn't know what to say, except to stay silent and wonder if he'd heard wrong or if she'd really called him handsome, cheeky girl, he thought.

"Sorry, did I make you shy?" She smiled.

He rolled his eyes at her and snorted, smiling that she was toying with him.

"Do you think I'm lying?"

"No." He lied.

"I can prove that I'm not lying if I want to." He's so petty, she told herself.

"You don't have to prove anything to me."

"But I want to."

"Well, how do you intend to do that?" He stared at her.

"Kiss me." She didn't know exactly why she wanted to kiss that stranger, maybe it was his bitter, sad face that attracted her, but either way, she certainly didn't care about the consequences, it was her bachelorette party.

If he was smoking, he'd probably choke on the smoke.

"What?" He stared at her.

"I said I want you to kiss me."

"No, not at all."

"Don't you think I'm pretty?" She said, resting her head on the bench and blinking her eyes at him.

"It's not that."

"So, what? Is it because I'm getting married?" She asked and saw him turning to her, so that was it, she thought.

"No, it's not that."

"Well, anyway, my fiancé doesn't care what I do if wants to know."

"Then why are you getting married?"

"Long story."

Maybe she didn't trust him enough to tell him her story with her future husband, but it didn't matter, he wanted to kiss that woman in her wedding dress, he needed to feel good, it had been a long time since he had felt someone else's skin against his, always having to look after Charles and his friend, there was no time left for himself.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?"

"Do you always look for unknown men to kiss?"

"Only when they're old and beautiful." She smiled, her red lipstick decorating her lips well, making them look so kissable.

"Besides, it's my bachelorette party, I think I deserve a kiss." She was right, so young, probably getting married and maintaining a married life for years just to please her family.

Logan didn't say anything, he just slowly approached the fiancée, her breath hitched against his skin and he finally pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was slow, but Logan didn't complain. It was nice to feel that time had stopped and that he didn't need to rush.

It took a few seconds for them to pull away, they both stared at each other, suddenly that chill disappeared, maybe it was because they were inside the car and all the car windows were locked or maybe it was because that kiss made them sweat and gasp.

"Do you want to kiss me again?" She asked as the two of them looked at each other as if they had been in love for years, as if he were her fiancé and this were their honeymoon. Of course not, but she liked to think and imagine that yes, that sad stranger was her future husband.

Logan just nodded and kissed her again. This time, he was more daring, more intense, he held her by the back of the neck so that she wouldn't run away from him, so that she would kiss him harder. Their tongues touched several times, and occasionally they let out little moans, as if they were having sex, even though they were both still fully clothed. That's it, Logan thought, they were still dressed.

"Let's stop here."

"Why?" she asked, blushing and with her red mouth stained by smeared lipstick, Logan didn't look at her.

"I don't want to cross the line."

The bride realized what he meant, smiled and moved closer to him, touched the stranger's tired, stiff shoulders and whispered in his ear.

"I want to fuck you in this car."

"You don't know what you're saying, you're drunk." He said, his voice thick and hoarse due to his dry throat, perhaps he was missing that woman's saliva.

"I'm not drunk, I've had nothing but those sparkling wines and I'm sure the little alcohol has already gone from my digestive system."

"You don't even know my name, you don't know me and you're getting married, I don't want you to regret what you're doing."

"I won't regret it, anyway, you don't have to care about that. Why don't you tell me your name and we'll kiss again?" He finally looked at her again, stared at her for a few seconds and sighed.

"Logan."

She smiled.

Soon he was on top of that fiancée again, his mouth pressed against hers, his rough, large hands gripping her waist tightly, as if at any moment she would escape.

In the midst of the kisses, she slowly pushed off her suit, then her shirt, and finally, with difficulty, her tank top. Logan mentally thanked the lack of lighting in the car, he didn't want to answer any questions about his bruises and cuts.

Need coursed through Logan's old veins, and despite his age, he still had a sharp nose. The smell of that fiancée's wet pussy was driving him crazy, his throat was dry again, he wanted to taste her wetness, before his cock burned with the amount of hot blood that centered on his cock. He stood up and helped her wrap her dress around her waist. The voluminous dress irritated him, but he couldn't deny how beautiful it looked on her. When Logan knelt down, he saw the sheen of moisture running down her thighs, a pity that the lack of lighting didn't let him see all of that pussy, and his vision wasn't the best.

He approached her thighs and kissed them, feeling her lubrication on his lips, he moaned and licked, every drop that ran down her crotch was consumed by Logan's tongue, when he was satisfied with his work he tried to catch the fiancée's gaze and faced her, his tongue slowly came out of his mouth and licked her wet pussy, he heard her moan and close her eyes tightly, her thighs tightened around his head, Logan moved his tongue up and down, trying to feel her pussy on his tongue, moaning and grunting he closed his lips around her small clit and sucked, the woman screamed and held Logan's grey tufts tightly pushing him against her pussy, he tried to memorize the image of that woman in his head, he knew he would hardly find anyone as beautiful as her now, he licked her again and kept the image of her biting her lower lip, his tongue positioned itself against her small wet hole and she looked at him and nodded repeatedly, Logan began to penetrate her pussy with his tongue, in, out, in, out, the bride whimpered and squirmed as she came.

She could see his gray beard wet as he stood up and approached to kiss her lips again. His nails lightly scratched the skin of her large back, and he hurried to undo his belt.

He didn't bother taking off his pants, just unzipped them and pulled his thick cock out of his underwear. Logan looked at her as he rubbed the tip of his cock against her wet pussy. Seeing her eyebrows draw together and her eyes close, he smiled and positioned his member against her wet hole. He felt that little hole sucking him in and moaned loudly as he pushed his entire length inside.

"Fuck, baby, you're going to kill me." He said as he felt his cock being squeezed hard by her.

The bride moaned and pushed her hips against Logan's, trying to feel him more deeply. He understood what she was trying to do and began to slowly thrust his hips against her, his cock entering her pussy and coming out wetter and wetter, the gray hairs on Logan's groin stained with her lubrication, a few seconds later he couldn't stand being so slow.

Logan's mind clouded over as he tried to concentrate on the speed of her hips, moving further and further away from consciousness and closer to the sensation that coursed through the veins of his cock and up into his brain. His breathing became shaky and the muffled smell of sex in the limousine made him lose control. His hips thrust harder against her pussy, soon the impact was no longer enough, he thrust his hips faster, she scratched him and moaned in his ear.

"Logan, Logan, Logan." She whimpered, spreading her legs as wide as she could.

Logan's eyes rolled back and closed, the only thing he could feel were nails in his back, his cock going in and out of that wet, hot hole, in, out, in, out, in... out..., the loud moans in his ear and the need to come inside that womb coursing through his veins. He knew he was close to cumming, and he felt that pussy squeezing him tighter and tighter, she was close too.

"Come for me, baby, squeeze my cock and come around it." He said, looking at her, who had a red face and mascara smeared around her eyes. The veil was still firmly in place in her hair, even though he was thrusting his cock hard enough to rock her body with every thrust.

"Come on, baby, get my cock wet, squeeze me hard... I'm close." Logan's voice sounded thicker and needier, the bride found it so exciting, an old man who was almost crying to have his cock squeezed.

"Will you come inside me? Please?" She moaned, she knew it would drive him crazy.

"Fuck yes, I'm going to come in that pussy, I'm going to fill you up, squeeze me tight, I know you want my cum, baby." He felt that at any moment his cock was going to explode inside that hot wetness, his balls were heavy and he needed to come inside her or he would go crazy, Logan pushed his member against her until he felt his balls slap against his fiancée's cute ass, he felt like he could die at any moment.

The two of them looked at each other and saw the lust in their eyes, they kissed and continued thrusting their hips against each other. The bride's legs trembled and wrapped around him, her pussy clenched around Logan's member and he felt her cum spreading over his member. Logan penetrated her with difficulty and emptied himself inside her, grunting in her ear.

Neither of them moved or said anything, they just snuggled with Logan inside, just a few minutes they both thought, they needed to get some rest.

Unfortunately, neither of them planned to sleep, but they both woke up to laughter outside the limousine, heels tapping with every step the three bridesmaids took and whispers about the bride's whereabouts.

During the journey home, neither the bride nor the driver looked at each other or said anything, nor did they comment on the smudged make-up or the suit that had only a white tank top underneath instead of a shirt. Luckily, the three bridesmaids were too drunk to notice the details.

When the car stopped in front of that house again, the bride and her friends got out of the car. The payment was made by one of the drunk women who also gave Logan a fat tip, he thanked her and drove away from the place. He knew it was nothing more than a bachelorette party, he was too old and had too complicated a life to offer that bride another ride.

[discokicks]

WHISKEY, TANGO, FOXTROT - ROY KENT.

PART FOUR OF ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!) summary: it's your first game of the season at chelsea and rebecca’s got some press for you to do. however, thanks to rupert, the reporters will have some questions you’re not exactly ready for. the same could be said for 2012 roy kent, who’s abusing his new avoidance power to the fullest extent. but, as the two of you continue to work and get closer, you realize that there might just be something else there.

word count & rating: 15.4k (holy fuck this is why it took 6 months), R (language per usual) chapter warnings: swearing, references to sex, minor allusions to sexual harassment, mentions of alcohol, the beginnings of sexual tension (slow and steady wins the race), rupert is a dick, roy kent has got around and everyone knows it, keeley and rebecca are wine drinking pr besties, men are trash (but we know this) author's note: long time no see and happy olympics season! it felt fitting to post this now, so I got motivated to get my ass into gear and write. there's A LOT to this one, so buckle up. and make sure you stay until the end bc baby we're cooking with gas now. this took a lot out of me, so i hope you enjoy! love u tons! -mags

LONDON OLYMPICS, LATE JULY, 2012.

You’re up 1-0 when you retreat into the locker room at halftime during your third game of the Olympic Tournament against North Korea.

Despite the fact that you’re winning, it was a terrible showing from each of you, except for Mel, who’d been your lone scorer of the night. She’d had a breakaway and had managed to single-handedly beat three defenders for a pretty impressive goal. You’d practically jumped into her arms during the celebration, glad that someone was able to break the sleepy curse that had seemed to be placed on your team.

Your captain Katie O’Connor stands tall at the front of the room, ready to rip you guys a new one. She was the more… passionate of your three captains, potentially coming off as abrasive when things weren’t going your way or if she felt that things could be better. It was only because she cared so much. You all did.

“We should be beating them by four at this point,” she says, pointing out the door. A mumbling of agreements goes through your team, knowing that it’s the truth. “We’re playing like it’s fucking high school out there. It’s the fucking Olympics, act like we belong here, for fuck’s sake.”

The amount of ‘fucks’ that Katie drops instantly has you thinking of someone else. God damn it, he was probably watching, wasn’t he? You could only imagine the things he was thinking, or saying, for that matter. 

You know you shouldn’t care as much as you do, but… as much as you hate to admit it, you want to impress him. Or at least make it look like these training sessions have been worth it. There was something about him that made you want to prove yourself. It wasn’t that he demanded you to do so or that he’d value you less if you didn’t, but you wanted to. Unfortunately, you cared about his opinion. How tragic was that?

Curiosity gets the best of you. Before your coach can come into the locker room, you fish through your bag and take a peek at your phone, just to see if he, or anyone else, has said anything.

Sure enough, you see that you’ve got two texts from Roy Kent that were sent five minutes ago, right when you finished the half.

What a fucking atrocious half. I fucking dare you to hit the post one more time.

A scowl pulls at your lips, but you know it’s true. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t already thought yourself. He had an extraordinary talent for knowing how to be exactly the brand of jackass that pissed you off, though. It only became more apparent as you read the next message.

You could learn a thing or two about footwork from Rivera.

You scoff, glancing over at Mel, who, while she sat next to you, was staring blankly at the wall, undoubtedly in her own little world. Before she notices you looking, you’ve turned back to your phone and to his messages. “Asshole,” you mutter, but type out your response.

maybe i’ll get her to coach me then. she isn’t as much of a dick to me.

The response comes before you can put away your phone. Not your coach, he says, then sends another message. Relax out there. You’re somehow playing nervous and stiff at the same time. You’re a fucking anomaly. But before you can frown too hard at that, he says, You know how to see the field. So take a breath and fucking see it.

You throw your phone back in your bag with a huff, mind reeling as you attempt to think back to what the field looked like before the half. The last three possessions had you following Mel as she took the ball up the field. The defense had started favoring her side due to her dominance throughout the game, leaving… 

…Katie on the left side. And while they hadn’t left her open—

“Did you call me an asshole a second ago?” Mel asks from beside you, having broken out of her own trance. You flinch at the sound of her voice, instinctively flipping your phone over and against the bench you’re sitting on. 

She courteously spares you the weird look you know she’s holding back. “No,” you reply. You motion to your phone. “Roy’s texting me.”

Mel nods in understanding. “Gotcha. What’s Coach Kent have to say?”

“He’s being an asshole,” you repeat. “He says we’re ‘atrocious.’ Making fun of how much I’m hitting the post.” You turn to her. “He’s got good things to say about your footwork, though.”

Mel grins. “I knew I liked him.”

You scowl again at that. “He’s also telling me I need to see the field better.” Mel raises her brows at the look on your face, cueing you to go on. “I think Katie’s been open-ish for the last three possessions. They’re favoring your side.”

The two of you look back to your teammate once more as you consider this. “We could keep trying to draw the defense out,” Mel offers. “We scare them a little bit, hit her when she’s coming up.”

“She can beat that fullback in a heartbeat,” you agree.

“It’s worth a shot,” she says. “We can’t play any shittier than we already are.”

You nod at Mel with faux enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit.”

And that’s exactly what you decide. Mel jumps to her feet and explains your plan to Katie and the team, drawing up the X’s and O’s on the locker room whiteboard. You glance around the room cautiously, forcing yourself not to read into your teammates' expressions too deeply. 

But it’s hard. Especially when you’re an overthinker.

It’s a title you’ve resigned yourself to, much to Roy’s pleasure. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, it was the truth. And while you were still working to get out of that lifelong mindset, it didn't seem to be getting any easier. 

But your over-analyzing leads you to a result you like: all of your teammates seem to be on board with your ideas. You can’t deny that that feels good.

You especially can’t deny it when your coach walks into the locker room to see Mel’s play on the baker and says, “Well, you ladies are way ahead of me.” Because that’s exactly what she was going to draw up.

That feeling has you giddily awaiting the moment you can grab your phone before you head back out to the field to send a text to your newfound trainer. 

i’ll have a shot on net in the first ten minutes, you type to him, confidence radiating through the text. and it’s not gonna hit the post this time.

Your message reaches Roy when he returns to his phone at the beginning of the second half. He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him as he settles back into his couch, shaking his head when he glances up at the massive TV in his sitting room, the broadcast showing a close-up of you with a new sort of fire in your eyes. It’s a look that illuminates his dim and quiet flat, one that he can’t seem to part with until they cut away from you.

Within four minutes and fifty-five seconds, you draw the defense over to you and Mel, who wails the ball over to Katie’s side of the field. Katie has possession of it for five seconds before she catches her defender off-guard and sends it in between her legs to you. 

Five minutes in, you live up to your promise and send the ball into the corner of the net, the crowd roaring as Katie shakes you back and forth in excitement and Mel jumps on your back. One of the cameramen runs up to you to catch your celebration, and you stare down the lens with a satisfied smile and point in a way that tells Roy that you’re looking directly at him. 

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning even if he wanted to. With yet another shake of his head, Roy reaches out for the phone he’d thrown onto the couch cushion next to him.

I told you. Fucking anomaly you are, you stupid fucking Yank, he writes. Stay pissed off. It’s a good look on you, Fourteen.

When Roy sends that text, he keeps his phone closer to him this time, and somehow, his dim and quiet flat feels just a bit lighter, even if for a brief moment.

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

Before you can leave the Richmond facilities post-Saturday afternoon practice, you’re suddenly called into Rebecca Walton’s office.

It’s a day before your first game of the season and after your rather animated talk with Roy in the Boot Room yesterday, you’re feeling a bit lighter. You slept better last night (though you don’t see yourself hitting REM any time soon) and don’t feel like you’re being dragged down by the massive weight of… well, everything. It’s a feeling you’re taking in stride and one you’re welcoming with open arms. 

Practices before game days were typically a bit easier-going, and you and your fellow coaches had decided to make sure the team was up to date and understood the best plays to run against Chelsea tomorrow. They knew who to stop, what defenses to watch out for, and what trick plays to expect. While you hadn’t lent your voice to the conversation as much as you probably should have, especially after being yelled at for it yesterday, you spoke more than usual. While that still wasn’t a lot, it was enough. And that made you feel good, above all else.

That feeling goes away the second you walk into your boss’s office to see her and an incredibly familiar face staring at you from the couch area. Your lips part the second you see her, hand unsubtly slamming against the doorframe, not just to stabilize yourself, but to keep you from dramatically heel-turning out of the room, to never return.

By the way that Keeley Jones is looking at you, you can tell she’s just about on the same page. You suppose she’s got the better end of this deal, simply because your arrival doesn’t seem to be a surprise for her. At least she had a warning about the foreboding awkwardness of this situation. Your boss didn’t exactly grant you that luxury.

Then again, you figure Rebecca had no real way of knowing just how strange this might be for you. She didn’t know the extent of your history with Roy, and the only person who may was sitting right next to her, probably having shared more of that history than either of you cared to admit.

However, what you’re not expecting from Keeley, is the way she gapes at you, then turns to Rebecca to whisper, “Fucking hell, you didn’t say she was hotter in person.”

The shock and confusion flowing through your body makes you blink slowly at them to readjust, and you lean back on your back foot. You manage to stammer out, “I-I’m sorry to interrupt, I can come back--”

“No, no,” Rebecca says, beckoning you in after she finishes rolling her eyes at Keeley, “come on in and join us! We just opened a bottle.”

Join them? You glance at the open bottle of wine on the coffee table, then back to them. Is this why you were called here? To indulge in some post-work girl talk with your boss and Roy’s first real, and only public girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend, you remembered, but still.

You’re sure the discomfort you feel is broadcasted on your face, and that becomes especially apparent when Keeley offers you a small, kind smile. However, the action is sweet and it makes your over-anxious mind ease slightly. If she’s not going to be weird about it, you certainly aren’t either.

Besides, you have no idea what she actually knows about you and Roy. He would be the type to tell her nothing. He was the type to tell her nothing.

However, something about Keeley’s demeanor tells you that’s probably not the case.

When you realize that you’ve been standing like a freak in the doorway for just a moment too long, you snap out of your haze and return the smile, nodding gratefully as you enter Rebecca’s office.

“We were just discussing the game tomorrow,” Rebecca tells you as she reaches for the spare wine glass on the table. She eyes you with a wry grin. “I’d ask if you drank, but that bar cart I saw in your apartment gave you away.”

A surprised laugh escapes you at the rather forward comment, but it helps you relax slightly as you make your way to them. “Yeah, well. It was probably looking pretty sparse when you saw it.” You reach your hand out to Keeley, continuing to smile softly as you introduce yourself.

“Keeley Jones,” she says to you, though there’s a mutual understanding that this is just a formality. You both know who the other is. “Bad week, yeah?” she asks.

You reach for the wine glass Rebecca offers you and send a look of confirmation to Keeley. “You have no idea.” Your smile stretches as you look over at Rebecca and sit down. “These last couple of days have made up for it, though.”

Rebecca returns it. “That’s wonderful to hear.”

“I can imagine it’s been a little different than West Ham,” Keeley says. “We know what Rupert likes to pull. All that shit he’s been saying about you leaving?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how people aren’t seeing through him.”

The smile you wear falters slightly. “I, uh… haven’t really been keeping up with any of that,” you tell her. “Figured it wouldn’t be great to hear anything that anybody’s saying about me, y’know?”

“Totally get that,” she replies kindly. However, she hesitates. “...But you… haven’t seen anything that’s been going around?”

“Um…” you trail off, shifting in your chair. “No? Why? Is it really that bad?”

Rebecca and Keeley exchange a look. “It’s just—” Rebecca cuts herself off, looking back at you. “Remember how I said you wouldn’t have to do any press if you didn’t want to?”

Any remnants of the demeanor you had when you sat down completely drain from your expression. “Oh, my God. It is that bad, isn’t it?”

Keeley shakes her head, holding out her hands. “No, no, it’s really not. It could be so much worse,” she assures. “I mean, it is that bad with those weird little shits online who always have a problem with successful women in sports, but what else is new—”

“This is the worst of it,” Rebecca interjects, putting a hand on her friend's arm. She passes you a tablet as Keeley goes quiet and you take it cautiously. 

It’s a video of Rupert at a press conference, one you presume was taken this morning. The season kicked off tomorrow and Ted, Rebecca, and the rest of the team had been stuck doing interviews all day, something of which you weren’t sad to have missed out on.

You press the play button in the center of the screen to watch Rupert point at someone off-camera. “Yes,” he says. “Daniel, what have you got?”

Daniel, presumably, asks, “I was just curious how the team’s feeling with that coaching shake-up so close to Opening Day?” You hear a murmur go through the audience of reporters. “Losing someone like that and then watching her get picked up by Richmond must be tough on you guys, no?”

Rupert seems to take this in and sit with it, nodding slowly. “I won’t lie to you, Daniel,” he says after a moment. “I wasn’t happy with the note that we ended on. She had concerns toward the end of her tenure about her role on the team and with certain aspects of AFC culture. She knows just how talented I think she is, and how excited we were to have her working with us. And we had a wonderful couple of months working with her. But, unfortunately…” He shakes his head scornfully, like all of this was genuinely upsetting him. “...there were just some differences we couldn’t get past. The team was remarkably sad to see her go, but I don’t believe it’ll affect our performance this season.” 

He lets his answer hang there for a moment, but tragically, he’s not done. “Perhaps Richmond was willing to offer her some things that we weren’t able to. Perhaps their values align more with what she wanted out of her AFC career.” And then, with a nonchalant shrug, he adds, “Perhaps she just wanted to coach with her old friend Roy Kent.” Your lips part at that, brow furrowing in disbelief as the reporters chuckle. “Who knows? I wish her the best and I wish Richmond good luck. I hope they’re a better fit for her.”

The clip cuts off there and you glance up at Rebecca and Keeley who are both bracing for impact. “What the fuck?” 

If either of them find your words unprofessional, they do nothing to indicate it. However, there’s something about them that tells you they’re more than comfortable with that kind of language in the workplace. “Yeah,” Keeley says. “So, like I said. It could be so much worse.”

“He was the one who was unhappy with how it ended?” you quote. “He’s upset about the differences we couldn’t work past? How about you address my concerns with AFC culture and get upset with your—”

You cut yourself off before you can say too much, focusing your attention on the plant in the corner of Rebecca’s office to stabilize yourself. What a fucking asshole. What a self-serving, lying, fucking asshole. He’s not worth the tears. Don’t give him that satisfaction.

You understand why you were called in now, why Rebecca prefaced the video with that question. You’d neglected to personally get ahead of Rupert and make a real statement on your choice to part with West Ham and sign with Richmond. Now you were paying that price— the price of being afraid.

“What—” Your voice cracks as you attempt to speak, and you clear your throat. “What type of press do I have to do?”

Rebecca’s sigh is empathetic. “We think it’d be smart to send you out with Ted tomorrow after the game. Make a statement, answer a few questions,” she says. “That is, if you’re open to it.”

Your brow raises skeptically. “I can say no to that?”

Rebecca chuckles. “You can say no to anything,” she tells you. “Roy refuses to do any sort of press and he’s managed to be completely fine. Labeled as a bitter, old recluse, but he doesn’t seem to care.” Typical. But then, she adds, “We do think it’s your best move, though.”

You know it’s your best move. You know it’s what you should have done at the beginning of all of this. You know that there’s nothing that you want to do less. But somehow, having that small, offhanded-out Rebecca offered makes it all sit a bit easier with you.

“I think so too,” you finally agree, sighing shakily. Rebecca and Keeley grin at you encouragingly, watching as you reach out to take a hearty sip of your wine. “So, what’s the plan?” You look over at Keeley. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”

Keeley’s face lights up. “Exactly why I’m here,” she replies. “We’re gonna PR this shit so fucking hard nobody is going to know what hit them.”

Her enthusiasm makes the corners of your mouth rise despite everything else. “Can’t say I’m great in front of a crowd,” you warn.

“It’s rare to find people who are,” Keeley responds easily, flicking her hand like she’s brushing off your comment. “That’s why we’re going to make this as simple as possible.”

You nod. “Okay. Hit me.”

“Okay, three things you’re going to want to address,” she begins, tapping on her fingers. “The first is clarifying the ‘note that you ended on’ and those differences with the team. You don’t need to get into specifics if you don’t want to—”

“I really do not,” you tell her.

“Got it,” she says, and the look on her face tells you she really does get it. “Don’t get into specifics. Just say that you’re also upset things didn’t work out, but that it was nothing personal. Truly just leadership differences, like was first said. Even if it wasn’t.”

Your eyes narrow in question. “So, just lie?”

“Welcome to PR, babe,” she replies, and her grin gets more genuine when she sees you chuckle. “Alright, second; we’ve gotta say something about why you chose Richmond. Something that goes beyond our stale press release statement.”

“I didn’t think it was stale,” you offer.

“Aw, thank you!” The smile drops from her face. “But it was. All press releases are. They’re just words on a page, which is so fucking boring. And they get no feeling across. Which is what we need from you,” she says with a point. “You just need to actually say what we’ve already said.”

Once again, you nod. “So, you need it once more, with feeling?”

Keeley blinks back at you, then glances at Rebecca. “My god, I fucking love her.”

The smile that pulls at your lips is involuntary and smaller than the encouraging one that appears on Rebecca’s. “I told you that you would,” she says softly to her, but it’s just loud enough for you to hear. She then turns to you once more. “He brought up AFC culture and our values, but don’t even touch that.”

“'Values' is a loaded word,” Keeley says. “He used it for a reason, but if we’re looking to ignore all this, we shouldn’t be using those types of words.”

“Right,” continues Rebecca. “We’re not looking for a fight here. You don’t want to engage, we don’t want to engage. I think we can all agree we’re looking for this to be over and done with and forgotten about, yes?”

“Yes,” you confirm.

“So, just agree with his comments. Leave it neutral. Non-confrontational,” Rebecca says. “Make it easy. Even if you’re not disappointed to have left the club, say that you are. If you want to touch on ‘culture’ reference AFC culture as a whole. The culture shock of transitioning from womens to mens sports.”

Neutral, you think. Non-confrontational. Easy. You can do that.

After a moment, you nod in confirmation at Rebecca. Then, you refocus on Keeley. “What’s the third thing we need to address?”

Keeley folds her hands awkwardly. “That would be… uh, your friendship with Roy.”

Your face goes hot almost instantaneously. “Oh,” you say softly. You scratch the inside of your wrist, finding it increasingly hard to keep Keeley’s gaze, especially as she continues to sit in that tension with you. “Do I have to? Address that, I mean? We were just friends. A ton of people in the football world are friends with each other. I don’t…” The lie sours your tongue and you glance over at Rebecca, hoping for her to throw some kind of life preserver to you over here. “I didn’t think anyone knew about that. It wasn’t like we were Matt Damon and Ben Affleck or whatever. Our friendship wasn’t mainstream news.”

“Some intern at The Sun found some photos of you two after the 2012 Olympics at a club,” Rebecca explains. Your entire body flushes as you remember that night. “They resurfaced and became relevant after your move to Richmond.”

“Okay, but, if it’s the night I think they’re referring to, we were out with our teams,” you attempt to reason. “There’s no reason other than media speculation that people would think we were… what was implied.”

Keeley points at you. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to say if you’re asked about it.” Then, with a good-humored shrug, she says, “If you want to be petty, you can talk about how this speculation wouldn’t be happening if you were a man.”

Rebecca looks at her friend. “That’s actually not bad. Because it wouldn’t be.”

“None of this would be,” you say to the two women in front of you. The tone you’ve taken is scornful, and while they may not know all the reasons why… they get it.

Keeley reaches forward to grab the bottle of wine at in the center of the coffee table and tilts it to offer it to you. You nod almost immediately, mustering up a small smile as she pours. “So, our plan is to send you in with Ted after tomorrow’s game. They’ll probably, mainly, have questions for you because that’s the drama right now, so I’ve written up something that we can practice and workshop.”

“Ted’s won the press over and is practically on a first-name basis with all of them,” Rebecca continues. “So, he’ll be a lifeline if you need him at any time.”

Keeley nods at the glass she just poured for you. “So, drink up. Because we’re going to run through this shit and roleplay.” She pauses for a moment, catching herself. “The press conference, I mean. Not the sexy kind.”

“Probably better for HR reasons,” you reply.

As that joke slips out of your mouth, you can feel your comfort level with them rising. Something about them is just so… welcoming. You’re in a room with your boss and Roy’s ex-girlfriend. You should be guarded. You should be censoring yourself. But as you continue to sit here, you can’t see yourself doing so.

Perhaps Richmond was willing to offer her some things that we weren’t able to. Perhaps you were right, you fucking prick.

Keeley snorts softly and nods in agreement and you notice the smile that grows on Rebecca’s face. “I’ve heard the HR is rather easily swayed, so we might be able to get away with it,” Keeley responds, grinning as she sees you laugh.

Rebecca claps her hands together. “So. Non-sexy press conference roleplay?”

They both turn to you, and after a hearty gulp of your wine, you sigh. “Let’s get to it.”

LONDON OLYMPICS, LATE JULY, 2012.

You finish the game against North Korea with another win under your belt and return to utter chaos when you get back to the dorms.

While you were the only scorer of the last half, everyone stepped up their game in the ways that they had to. Things still weren’t perfect and there was plenty for all of you to work on going forward, but you were proud of the way your team had turned things around. 

When you return, it’s just past midnight, and all you want to do is go to bed. The game had drained you completely dry, and there was nothing more appealing than the idea of tucking into your horrendously uncomfortable dorm bed. Luckily, unlike last time, Mel’s on the same page as you.

She’d fallen asleep on your shoulder on the bus ride back for about an hour and spent the other three complaining that you weren’t paying attention to her. And why weren’t you paying attention?

Because Roy fucking Kent wouldn’t stop texting you. After you’d read over the text he’d sent to you during the second half (and ignored the weird feeling in your stomach and heat on your cheeks at him calling you an anomaly, God, why did that word land with you so well?), you’d returned to gloat. Hit the post again, he’d said. You hadn’t.

Things had gotten carried away from there. What had started as a slightly antagonistic and taunting back and forth had devolved into a conversation about the sleeping accommodations in the dorms (big-time footballer in his posh london flat doesn’t even have the decency to drop off a mattress topper and some extra pillows? you’d complained to him), then to about which countries you wanted to visit (Australia. For no other reason than to meet a quokka, he’d told you), then to what the fuck a quokka is and why he knew about them (that’s the stupidest looking animal i’ve seen in my life. i want 10 of them, you’d said), to whatever you’d landed on next.

You’d put your phone in your pocket the second you’d pulled back into the Village, helping the team unload everyone’s stuff. Everyone seemed completely dead, something of which you celebrated, simply because it meant there was no team bonding preventing you from going to sleep as soon as possible. The only thing that was doing that for you was Mel’s incessant questions about Roy.

“I really think you’re lying to me about this being a weird sex thing,” she says, readjusting her grip on the bag slung over her shoulder. “Because there’s no other reason that you two should be talking as much as you are.”

You make a face at her. “It’s not a weird sex thing,” you say for what feels like the seventeenth time that night. “We’re just friends. Or, you know, whatever the closest thing to a friend Roy has is.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Mel replies. Her voice echoes through the quiet night air surrounding the dorm’s courtyard. “Roy doesn’t do friends. He hasn’t for as long as I’ve known him.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know him.”

“I don’t. And I say that’s because he won’t let me get to know him. Because he doesn’t do friends.” She shrugs. “I mean, ask Jack or anyone who’s played with him. They’ll say the same.”

When you approach the doors of your dorm building, you make a teasingly innocent face at Mel. “Maybe I’m just different.”

“Right,” she says dryly. “Or he wants to fuck you.”

“Why are you trying to ruin this for me?” you whine as you open the door. “I’m actually, like, kind of having fun with him and this training thing we’re doing. He’s a good guy.” 

Mel shoots you a blank-faced stare. “You were calling him an asshole less than six hours ago.”

“Because he is. But he’s a good guy too,” you respond. “He’s like… I don’t know. Like Ron Swanson or Harrison Ford. Total curmudgeon but in a fun way.”

Mel’s lips purse. “Well, now I can’t stop picturing him with the Ron Swanson mustache.”

You grin, sidestepping fellow Olympians who hang around in the lobby of the dorm. “Have fun sleeping tonight.”

A heavy, exaggerated, long sigh leaves her as you approach the elevator. “Just be careful,” she says, putting her hands up in surrender as you look at her incredulously. “Even if you are just friends. And even if you’re not. As your actual friend, I have to tell you to be careful. All men suck, but athletes tend to suck ten times more.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reply in a sing-song fashion. The elevator doors open and you and Mel step in. “I appreciate you, though.”

“You better,” Mel scoffs. “I’m getting gray hairs thinking you’re doing weird sex shit with Chelsea’s Finest on a random pitch in the middle of London.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, my God, can these things close any slow--”

“Hold the door!” shouts a voice from the lobby. On instinct, you reach out to stop the doors that were finally closing, feeling Mel’s elbow in your side. The voice gets louder as it gets closer. “Thank you. Did not feel like waiting for this thing again.”

Into the elevator walks (quite possibly) the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got the quintessential surfer look to him, but in a way that works. He’s blonde (while you’re definitely more into dark hair, you can’t deny just how good he looks), at least six-three, and is built like a lean brick house. His curls fall into his eyes that squint into a smile as he looks at you and Mel.

“Oh,” he says as he walks in. “Congratulations on the win today.”

You and Mel stare at him in awe, snapping out of it as you realize that you’re gawking. “Thank you,” you manage to get out. You try to place his accent and what sport he could possibly specialize in, but your brain malfunctions. “I would say the same to you but I’m… uh--”

Luckily, he seems to catch on and saves you from your misery. “I’m Luca,” he says, holding out his hand for you and Mel to shake. “France. Swim team.”

“Nice to meet you, Luke,” Mel says, finally recovering from her trance. “You have any events today?”

“We did,” he says, though he seems to be talking more to you than to Mel. “Placed silver, so we can’t complain.” When you two congratulate him, he nearly brushes you off. “I have heard your team is looking like you’re going to go all the way this year. It is fun to watch.”

“We’re having a good run,” you respond, and he nods at you with that same breathtaking smile. “We’ll see what happens though.”

“Yeah, you are good.” Luca pauses for a moment, then shrugs coyly. “You’re American, so you are not as good as France, but you are up there.”

You see Mel’s head tilt out of the corner of your eye. “Easy now,” she warns with a light-hearted smile. “We beat them by two in our first match.”

Luca throws his hands up, grin turning teasing. “Just telling the truth. I must support my own.”

“Well,” you say, brow furrowed. “We’ll see when we get to the finals.”

“Oui. I believe that we will,” he responds. You notice that he’s leaned in closer than you had previously anticipated and the realization makes your face heat. “We should put a wager on it.”

“You want me to bet on my own team?” you ask rather bluntly, hearing Mel cough to cover a laugh.

“I suppose, yes,” Luca answers. The elevator stops at his floor and his eyes flick to the number on the small screen. “If France wins in your little tournament, you must purchase me a drink when these games are over. But if you win…” He trails off with a shrug as the doors open. “I’ll buy you one. It is only fair, no?”

You blink at him, trying to make sense of this entire situation. Is he flirting with you? Setting a friendly bet to get a drink? Just trying to be a jerk by referring to your Olympic Games as a ‘little tournament’? Then again, he was French, so many that’s just the way he spoke.

Yet another nudge from Mel finally has you answering. “I’m the one playing,” you say slowly, cautiously trying to read him. “I feel like I should have a better prize for winning.”

Luca seems to consider this but shrugs once more. “Those are my terms. Even I cannot make exceptions for beautiful women. Do you accept?”

Okay, so maybe he is flirting with you. This beautiful, French, god of a man is potentially flirting with you. You wish he’d upped the stakes by asking you to dinner or something to offer something more direct, but this is what you’re getting. As he exits the elevator, he puts a hand on the door while he awaits your answer. 

But, you don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s like, you don’t know if you’ll want him as a prize if you win, or as a consolation if you lose. But, you figure, it’s just fun. And he’s hot. So why not.

“I’ll consider it,” you decide, mirroring that grin of his.

Luca nods at you, motioning to the hallway behind him. “The deal expires soon. And now you know where to find me.” The smile returns. “So find me if you’re interested.”

And with that, your movie-star-looking, strange Frenchman saunters off down the hall, leaving you with a million questions and an American soccer player who’s gaping at you.

“That was the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life,” Mel says, staring at the now-closed doors. “I’m not even into that and… And he… And you said you’d consider getting a drink with him?”

“He made a bet with me,” you argue. “He didn’t ask me out. And even if he did, I didn’t say no.”

Mel looks at you like you’re both insane and the dumbest person alive. “I think we need to get you checked for a fucking concussion, because… what?”

“He didn’t!” you insist, suddenly doubting your own instincts. “Did he?”

The elevator stops and Mel makes a break for the doors. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

You watch helplessly as Mel walks toward your dorm, muttering things about you under her breath that you can barely hear. The second you step off the elevator to follow, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. 

Get some sleep, Fourteen. You’ve earned it. I’ll see you on Wednesday.

You find yourself smiling down at your phone, and for a moment, all thoughts of missed signs and Mel’s words go quiet. you too, you reply. big game tomorrow. and you know i’ll be harassing you like you did to me, so you better bring your a-game.

Before you can open your door to tuck in for the night, you get a response. I’m counting on it.

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

Returning to Chelsea is like having one foot stuck in a dream and the other in a nightmare.

On one hand, it’s nostalgic. It’s loud and boisterous and you can’t escape the blue even if you tried. The field’s in the same pristine condition as you remember and the liveliness of it all engulfs you completely. It makes you think about everything that happened here and how easy it used to be.

But, on the other hand… it makes you think about everything. Those aforementioned easier times were a precursor to your downfall, and it all started here. It was the catalyst. Somehow, this place that had been in your life for an inordinately short period of time still had the same effect on you as it did eight years ago. And when you stare out at the field, you can't help but wonder what if.

As those memories start to creep into your head, you suddenly begin to feel very hot and incredibly overwhelmed. The tunnel you’re standing in is quickly going from something familiar to something more liminal. You swear it’s getting smaller too.

But on a day like today, you know you really can’t be panicking about the past. Your team’s on the field and your coaches are waiting for you to join them. There were more pressing things that were worthy of a panic attack.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and turn to the light emanating from the field at the end of the tunnel. You’d never talked yourself out of a panic attack at the prospect of more important panic, but at this point, you’d take what you could get. Focus on the clamminess of your hands. Focus on how bright the field is and how much it’s hurting your eyes. Focus on running through the new plays you now know like the back of your hand. 

As you walk down the tunnel and go through your maniacal little sense check, you decide to focus on something that you hear. And what you hear snaps you out of whatever state you’re in and makes it all quiet down a little bit. Because as you realize what it is you’re hearing, a very different feeling of… something takes over. 

“—HERE! HE’S THERE! HE’S EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE, ROY KENT! ROY KENT! HE’S—”

It’s nostalgia. It’s dread. It’s pride. It’s irritation. It’s… so many fucking things all at once and you can’t possibly stop yourself from smiling at it. The twinge you feel pulling in your stomach stays with you as you suppress that urge. Damn it.

Despite his final years being spent at Richmond and despite his new coaching status, they still adore him. You’d jokingly called him a “Chelsea Legend” more times than you could count, but it was true. It’s what he was. Not that you’d ever say that out loud.

By the time you make it to the field, Roy’s standing up from the coaches’ bench to show his thanks to the stadium. The cheer is resounding, the song continuing amongst it and you swear under your breath as that feeling lingers. 

It doesn’t go away as he turns to sit back down and meets your gaze instead. And, in typical Roy fashion, while he refused to show any emotion when thanking the city that supported him for years, a fraction of a smile makes its way onto his face when he sees you. 

(God, you hate yourself for noticing.) 

Looking away, you take another steadying breath and make your way to him and the rest of your team. The Richmond pullover you’re sporting rubs against your neck uncomfortably, but before you can fix it, you realize something: the cheers are getting louder. Confused, you look up at the jumbotron, knowing that that type of volume couldn’t possibly be for you. 

Lo and behold, it’s so not for you. It’s for Zava in the owner’s box, who’s staring at the camera like a professional wrestler, egging the crowd on. Right. Of course. Fucking Zava. You take a seat next to Roy as you stare up at the screen. 

“You think we have a chance?” you ask him, and you see him turn to you from the corner of your eye. “I’ve heard Rupert’s been putting in work there.”

Roy huffs. “Fucking twat puts in work everywhere but the things that matter,” he mutters, looking back to Zava. Your brows shoot up in agreement. “Let’s hope Zava’s not stupid enough to fucking fall for it.”

“Rupert knows how to stroke an ego,” you reply, glancing over to Jamie, who was warming up on the field, unsubtly making a very conscious effort to not look up at the screen. “He knows how to get what he wants. Speaking from experience.”

Roy scowls, and it’s a bit deeper than you were expecting. But, before you can dwell on that, he’s moving on. “You alright?” he asks. 

You know it’s meant to be casual on his part, but there’s an undertone of concern that you try to ignore. “Yeah,” you say through a sigh, hesitantly meeting his stare as you feel it boring into your cheek. You sigh again. “I’m good.” There’s a bit more conviction behind your voice this time, and it seems to satisfy him enough. “I’m nervous, but y’know. It’s a game. I’m always nervous before games.”

“I know,” he replies. “I’ve been waiting for you to throw up.”

It’s your turn to scowl now. “I only do that for big games. This is basically summer league.”

(While your sarcasm was flat, it didn’t go unnoticed. This was, in fact, a big game. Perhaps one of the biggest of your life. You’d thrown up twice today. But he didn’t need to know that.)

Roy looks unconvinced, but you’re thankful when he doesn’t press you further. “You know what to do today,” he tells you, and the assurance in his voice is palpable. 

You do know what to do today. You’ve got to prove why you were hired. Be the coach you know you can be. Get over that crippling anxiety that’s eating you alive. But instead of getting back into that, you say, “I know.”

“Fucking shook on it, too. Means you have to do it.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes and slump back into your chair. “Yeah, Roy, I know. I made that rule up. I got it.” With another sigh, you say quietly, “Just let me get there.”

His eyes remain on you. You think he’s going to say something else, but before he can, Ted whistles, calling everyone to attention. As the team rounds up, you and Roy stand.

Instead of saying whatever he was about to, he offers you a nod. 

You got this, he tells you silently. 

And despite the weird, horrendous, painful nether space your relationship currently exists in, the action does make you breathe a little easier. 

You send him one back in thanks.

What doesn’t make you breathe easier, however, is the score at the end of the half. What makes it even worse, is the unprofessional, pedantic Kent Rule that Roy has placed on the team that doesn’t allow anyone to speak in front of Trent Crimm.

Roy’s arms cross over his chest as soon as the writer enters the room, your players quieting down in suit. Your head tips back in annoyance, bracing for whatever’s about to come.

But nothing happens. The team remains quiet and wildly awkward and Trent aptly reads the room. Before he can leave, however, Ted’s calling for him to stay and is asking for Roy to chat.

Roy sends you a glance, then follows his head coach to the back of the room. While the players continue their talks in hushed tones, Beard inches over to where you stand. 

“Did I see a playbook in your bag earlier?” he asks quietly, making you flinch in surprise. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were listening in to their conversation.”

You shoot Beard a look. “I was not,” you say, even though you so totally were. “And yeah? I, uh, take that with me everywhere.”

Beard nods. “Are they your plays?”

“Most of them,” you reply, shifting uncomfortably. You hadn’t talked about that book with anyone since you coached your college girls, and anyone you had shown it to over at West Ham hadn’t given it the time of day. “Why?”

“I want to see them,” he says, shrugging at your surprised expression. “If you want to show them to someone, that is.”

A small smile pulls at your parted lips, and you nod back at him. “That’d be—”

“CRIMM!”

Roy’s voice startles you again, and this time, it gets Beard too. You both turn to see Roy walking back toward the showers, Trent hesitantly following in tow. Ted offers a small smile to both you and Beard as he returns.

“That’d be great,” you whisper to Beard, finishing your sentence. “Thank you.”

The next few minutes are just as awkward as the previous ones. No one knows exactly what to do, or how the conversation behind you is going to play out. You know how hard it is for Roy to let go of things. Forgiveness was never something he excelled at, especially when it came to more personal topics. Not that you were any better at it.

You look around the locker room, watching each of your players whisper animatedly amongst each other. You were down by one and there were no signs of giving up. Each of them knew they were still in this. Even more so, you hadn’t heard any unkind or unsupportive words spoken since you got into the room. 

Your mind takes you back to the second summer scrimmage you coached at West Ham. You were also down by one at the half, and the atmosphere couldn't have been more different. Blame was being shoved down everyone’s throat, clinging wherever it would stick. Nathan Shelley had reprimanded three players within a minute and all of this was for a scrimmage. Nothing about that game mattered or counted. This, of course, was remedied the second you started winning, and the locker room was a wildly different place when you ended up winning by three.

While West Ham seemed to like each other, there was no sense of camaraderie there. It was nice, but nothing was kind. Richmond seemed like a family. You were starting to see that now. 

It wasn’t something you were able to embrace right now, but there was a growing piece of you that was… hopeful that you’d be able to at some point.

At that realization, you feel your body relax for a moment. Only for it to tense back up again as you’re scared for a third time, by Roy and Trent coming back to the group. As soon as he gives the green light to the team that Trent’s safe, the locker room erupts into relieved chaos.

Jamie starts shouting about the passing lanes. Sam yells out something about Chelsea’s lack of defense. More and more voices begin to speak up to offer their insight, and while they’re all on the right path, nobody’s said the right thing yet.

You can feel the words rising in your throat. Your mind continues to spin. Every thought you’d held on to, every tip you wanted to say, every nerve you had about saying the wrong thing was bubbling within you and you could feel yourself about to burst. 

No more being quiet. No more being afraid. No more being passive.

I know that you know them on the field. But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.

You can feel your hands begin to shake back and forth in anticipation of whatever it is you’re about to say. However, you don’t realize that someone’s been watching you until they step beside you.

“C’mon,” they chide, making you jump, “Fucking say it.”

You don’t have to look to know that it’s Roy, but you still turn your head. His eyes fall from yours, to your hands, then back to your face. He’s familiar enough with your tells to know what’s going on. One part of you is grateful to have that. The other part wants to kill him.

The expression you wear reads hesitance, and you’ve only got about three minutes before the team needs to head back out.

As he continues to stare at you, you can hear his voice in your head. This is your job. You signed up for this. You’re a coach. So fucking coach. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath and ball up your fists to stop the shaking. Fucking say it.

So, amidst the noise and the yelling and the bickering, you do.

“EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The silence that takes over the locker room is immediate and deafening. Every single person stares at you in shock, jaws agape and eyes wide as if they couldn’t imagine looking anywhere else. 

Every person but one. And if you were to turn and shake the sudden anxiety of having all attention on you, you’d see him smiling softly to himself, something like pride gracing his typically stoic expression.

It takes a moment before you realize they’re all waiting for you to say something. You glance over at Ted, who, while still a bit taken aback, nods at you encouragingly. 

You’ve got the floor, Coach. Let’s do it.

“You’re all right,” you begin, motioning to each of them as you speak. “Yes, Jamie, they’re blocking the passing lanes. It’s a straight-up wall once you get into the midfield. And yeah, Sam they’re not marking you guys. Because they don’t have to. You’re all just…” You search for the word, throwing a hand up when you land on, “...running around aimlessly out there because you’re trying to see what’s going to work. But you know what will?” 

They all just continue to stare at you. Whether or not it’s because nobody has an answer or because they can’t believe you’re actually talking like this, you don’t care. Because you answer for them. “You make them mark you. Force them to break down that wall. Draw them out, and then pass through the cracks,” you tell them, offering a small grin as you continue. “I know you guys. And I know it hasn’t seemed like it because I’ve been… quieter. But I know the type of team you are, and each of you are so, incredibly good at what you do. You’re way better than what you’re doing out there. Like, way better.”

Your team remains quiet, but you know they’ve snapped out of their surprised trance because they’re smiling at you. And they look on board. Your grin grows as you notice. “So, let’s go out there and start this season off right, huh?”

That gets them up and out of their seats. The boys erupt in a cheer, clapping as they gather around in a circle, each of them putting their hands in the middle. Dani’s voice echoes through the locker room as he yells, “For Coach’s first game!”

Another round of cheers follows before Ted looks over at you. “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he tells you, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you. “Alright. I second everything she said. Now get out there and show them what you’re made of. Okay, four on three!”

Hands go up after their chant, and the team runs out of the room with a type of energy that you’re not sure you’ve seen before. You hang back for a moment to take a breath.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you turn to see Ted smiling at you. “Nice to hear your voice, Ace,” he says, squeezing it softly. “I hope we’ll hear it some more.”

You send him a thankful smile, nodding in affirmation. “You will.”

Ted squeezes your shoulder once more, heading out behind the team. Beard nods in your direction, looking vaguely impressed in the way that only he can, before following suit. 

That leaves you and Roy in the locker room, and somehow, for the first time, you feel like you can completely relax. A shuddering breath leaves your lips, chest heaving down as you do so. You hear Roy huff when he moves to stand next to you. 

“Well,” he says. “That was one fucking way to do it.”

“I have no idea what I said,” you tell him. “I blacked out after I yelled at everyone to shut up.”

You get a huff of a laugh out of Roy for that one. “You did fine.” He doesn’t miss your dubious look. “I’m serious. You did well.”

“Yeah?” you ask.

Roy nods, expression turning a bit more earnest. “Yeah, Fourteen. You did well.”

The nickname makes a lump form in your throat, and it takes everything in you to ignore it. It’d been a while since you’d heard that one like this. It settles like cement in your stomach and you wish you could shake the feeling. He keeps his gaze on yours until you blink away, focusing on anything but him.

“Thanks,” you manage. Again, because he’s being nice, you suppose you can be too. “And, uh… thanks for pushing me. To do that, I mean.”

Roy nods, albeit a bit uncomfortably. “You needed it.”

“Yeah,” you say again. You hold his stare for one more second before returning his nod, the tension in the air easing within the moment. “Let’s go win a game, Coach.”

You don’t see the way Roy hides a smile as you turn to exit, the reflexive words of ‘not your coach’ on his tongue. But, he bites them back because, well… he is a coach. And so are you.

And as strange as all of this has been for the last week, it hasn't actually felt real to him until now. You’re here. You’re here and working with him and you’re not going anywhere.

The idea of it doesn’t make Roy panic as much as he thought it would.

(Though, unfortunately, that idea is what gets Roy to freak out. But he figures he’s got a bit of time to work that one out.)

LONDON OLYMPICS, EARLY AUGUST, 2012.

“You ever date a swimmer?”

It’s a question you pose to Roy seemingly out of the blue in the middle of one of your many footwork drills of the night. It was all he’d wanted to focus on for tonight’s training session, especially with your quarter-final game against New Zealand on Friday. While the idea of practicing again tomorrow was still up in the air, Roy had insisted on this practice being solely about fixing up what he viewed as your one weakness.

Roy looks up from your feet in confusion. “What?”

“Have you ever dated a swimmer?” you repeat, enunciating your words in a mildly obnoxious manner. “Perhaps a French person? But any swimmer will do.”

He’s still staring at you like you have three heads. “The fuck are you on about?”

You throw your hands up in a shrug. “I’m just asking. I find it hard to believe that amongst the slew of hook-ups I’ve read about, you haven’t slept with a swimmer.”

Those furrowed brows raise in interest at your statement. “Oh, you’ve read about those?”

Your eyes roll. “So not the point of what I was saying. Answer my question.”

“Foxtrot,” he says, watching you look at him in surprise. “Now shut the fuck up and finish your drills.”

“You really want to use our newly-established one Foxtrot of the hour on a simple topic like this?” you question.

Apparently, he doesn’t. “No, I haven’t dated a swimmer,” he finally tells you, exasperated. He glances down at your feet. “Stay on your toes. That fucking left foot of yours is always fucking flat.” Still staring at your feet and ignoring the way you roll your eyes, he inquires, “Why the fuck are you asking? And why do they have to be French?”

“I think I got asked out by one yesterday,” you say. Roy’s gaze meets yours with a speed that nearly makes you stumble in the middle of your drill. “But I can’t tell if he was being a weird little jerk or if he’s just French.”

While his lips twitch up at the last part of your statement, he seems more stuck on the first. “You think you were asked out?”

“Okay, it was strange,” you reply, sounding a tad defensive and slightly breathless. “He was kind of like, negging me? Which, you know, I’m now used to because I started hanging out with you.” Roy shoots you a look, but you carry on anyway. “But he was all, ‘oh yeah, you’re good. But not as good as the French team.’ And then he was like, ‘how about this, if France beats you guys, you have to buy me a drink. But if you win, I’ll buy you one.’ So, I’m kind of confused.” You stop your footwork as Roy’s stopwatch goes off and you take a moment to catch your breath. “And I’m honest enough to admit that I was only entertaining it because he was hot, but I truly can’t tell if he’s flirting with me and asking me out because he thinks we’ll win, or if he’s trying to get free drinks out of me because he thinks we’ll lose.”

“He was asking you out,” Roy says bluntly, continuing to look unimpressed. “He did a fucking horrendous job of it, but yeah. He’s interested.”

You nod, absorbing this for a second before throwing your hands up. “Why do guys do that?” 

“Do what?” he asks. “Ask girls out?”

Your expression quickly matches his. “Yes, exactly. I’d love for you to explain what happens when a man loves a woman, Roy,” you deadpan, biting back a smile as you see one grow on his lips. “No, dickhead. Why do guys think that… that’s the way to ask someone out? Like, I love a little banter as much as the next girl, but you gotta be good at it. And if you’re not good at it…” You shrug. “I don’t know. If you’re bad at flirting, you’re bad at flirting. That’s okay. That just means you’ve just gotta be direct with how you’re feeling.”

There’s a brief moment where Roy seems to consider this, but shakes his head soon after. “Some don’t know how.”

“Well, they should take classes from you or something,” you reply. “Because you’re the most direct guy I know.”

Roy’s scowl deepens. “Thanks.”

“That’s a compliment,” you say, pointing at him. His expression doesn’t change. “I’m serious. I appreciate it. You’re never afraid to tell me shit. It’s admirable.” A wry grin spreads across your face. “Flirting with you must be a three-sentence interaction.”

He casts his eyes up to the night sky. “Fuck’s sake, you’re on one tonight.”

“No, I’m curious. How do you do it?” you press with raised brows. “You told me when we met that if you were trying to ‘chat me up,’ I’d know it. So, c’mon. How does the magic happen?”

Though you were sure that it was impossible, Roy somehow looks even less impressed. “Foxtrot,” he all but snaps at you, making a low noise at the way you crush your lips together to hold back a laugh. “And I’m fucking serious about it this time. Using my one for the hour, or whatever the fuck.”

“Fine, fine,” you say, honoring your established rule with a surrender. “You don’t want to waste your succinct flirting charms on me, I get it. I won’t push you.”

Roy scoffs under his breath, fidgeting with his stopwatch. “They wouldn’t be.”

The words make you pause. “What?”

The stopwatch in his hand beeps as he finishes fiddling with the buttons. “You said they’d be wasted on you.” His eyes flick up to catch yours. “I can guarantee it wouldn’t be a waste.”

He speaks so casually that you almost don’t know what to do. You can’t tell what he means. Would his efforts not be a waste because he… likes you? That he wouldn’t even try if he wasn’t interested? Or is he just so confident in his abilities that he thinks he could get you that easily? That he could turn it on within minutes and make you rethink your entire, weird little friendship that you’ve started over this week? Because, to your knowledge, Roy hasn’t shown any sort of sign that he’s interested in you.

Or has he? Was Mel right again? Have you been reading this situation wrong? Was his bickering and negging his strange way of trying to flirt with you? Getting in your ear during drills? Texting you during games? Calling you an anomaly?

You nearly shake the thought out of your head. He’s Roy Kent. He’s quite literally known for being stoic, for his confrontational personality, and for his hotheaded tendencies. You’ve seen all of those traits since you started training together and nothing’s tipped you off that it could be anything more than friendly. Or whatever his version of friendly is.

You’ve also seen the kinds of women he dates. They’re actresses, singers, models, heiresses-- rich London elite. The shitty little one-bedroom you’ve got back home cries out in shame in the back of your mind. The Team USA Nike campaign that you were barely a part of for the World Cup taunts you. Actress, singer, model, and heiress you were not.

You’re not sure if he sees the look of confusion on your face, but you turn away before you can confirm anything. “Right,” you say, drawing the word out slightly. You kick the ball you’d almost forgotten about toward him. “Anyway. I’m bored of these drills. I need to do something else or I’ll go insane.”

Roy receives your pass, placing his foot on top of the ball with a quirked brow. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he attempts to gauge your reaction, momentarily throwing you off. “When have you ever had a say about what goes on in these sessions?”

“Well, never. But I think that says more about your coaching style than it does about anything else, despot.”

Roy rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that night. He’s found that it’s something he tends to do frequently when you’re around. “I told you that footwork’s the only thing we’re working on tonight.”

“Yeah, but I’m bored,” you repeat. “Don’t you have like… I don’t know. Games we can play?”

“Games?” he parrots. He almost sounds offended. “What, are you five years old?”

You completely ignore his comment and gasp, pointing at him. “Let’s play knockout.”

“Again, I ask, are you fucking five years old?”

You look at him, pouting as you slouch over. “C’mon,” you practically whine. “It’s totally a footwork drill. But it’s fun. And it’s better than you just standing there menacingly with a stopwatch like you’re Frankie Dunn.”

Roy looks at you, then hesitates. “You’re a terrible fucking negotiator.”

That moment of hesitation lets you know that you’ve almost got him. While you may be a terrible negotiator, you’re something else: observant. The thing you’ve learned about Roy is that he physically can’t back down from a challenge. You know that there’s something ironic in that, but you figure that’s why you two have worked together so well so far.

So, your eyes narrow and you allow yourself to step forward to do just that; challenge him. “And you’ve got South Korea in a couple days. From what I saw last night, you need the practice.”

Roy’s head tilts, the beginnings of a dangerous smile twisting the corners of his lips. “Is that right?”

“I recall a lost possession toward the end of the first half that easily could have been avoided,” you say, sticking your leg out to kick the ball out from beneath his foot. The faux passive tone you’ve taken on nearly dissolves at the way his eyes darken. “For the amount that Chelsea's Finest goes on and on about footwork, you’d think he’d be better at it.”

Something between you two shifts the second those words leave your mouth. You’re not sure if it’s the way he’s looking at you (or continues to look at you, God, you don’t think he’s blinked yet) or if it’s your new proximity, but things feel completely different from when you started. The stare you’re holding is charged. It’s not just a challenge anymore— there’s something else there. It makes your mind whirl.

Roy’s voice is low when he asks, “What would you have done differently?”

It’s not what you were expecting, but it offers you a reason to look away from his piercing gaze, take a breath, and shrug. “I don’t know,” you say. “Crossed my mark up a little. Probably would have sent it up the field. Your striker was practically begging to be passed to.” You glance back up at him, with a smile that borders on teasing. “Definitely wouldn’t have hit my mark as hard as you did when you lost the ball.”

“He fucking dove,” is his response, sounding only slightly annoyed. But, when he sees you chuckle, he comes back to, “Who was open upfield?”

His question is genuine, like he’s actually interested in hearing your answer. “I don’t know. Didn’t recognize him. I think he’s a rookie,” you reply with yet another shrug. “But if you led him a little bit, he would have been open.” Roy’s brow draws as he hums something affirmative. When you realize he’s actually thinking about the play, considering what you’re saying, you can’t help but throw in, “Plays like that happen when you’re thinking ahead, Coach.”

Your tone has Roy glaring down at you, and you can feel the look sear through you. “And the goal that happened immediately after that was all instinct.”

“Maybe,” you say noncomittally. "But it could have been better if you all had thought ahead."

That tension between you shifts again, but this time, it’s in a way you’re really not expecting. When Roy looks back at you, there’s something disbelieving in his eyes. As if he can’t figure you out. But it’s also something almost… fond. “You really watched the game last night.”

It’s a question that comes out sounding like a statement. You’re not sure why he looks so surprised or why the emotional state of this conversation keeps going back and forth, but you say the only thing you can think to: the truth.

“You watch mine,” you reply as if the answer was obvious. “And believe it or not, I like watching you play.” Roy blinks at you, obviously not expecting that. For good measure, you add, “Being on the field actually gives you a reason to be a dick, so.”

That same searing stare returns, and it fixates on you long enough to make you itch. You don’t break it, but you rock back and forth on your heels, thinking for a second, maybe you said the wrong thing. Maybe it was a little too real, or a little too friendly.

But before you can sweat it too much, Roy dips his head. “Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell, fine. One round of knockout, you fucking child.”

“Seriously?” you ask, not even trying to hide the excitement in your voice.

“Yeah. Get the ball. Let’s go.”

You beam at him, running to go grab the ball you’d kicked away from him previously. When you turn back, you find he’s moving to get his own. “If I’d known you’re this easily swayed by flattery, I would have started being way nicer to you earlier.”

“Don’t push it,” he calls out. Despite the fact he’s not facing you, you can picture the look on his face. “And don’t be fucking nice to me. I want to see you pissed.”

“But we’re playing knockout,” you say, as he turns and kicks his football in your direction. “How can I be pissed?”

Roy smirks. “I’m sure I can find a way.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can too. But why do you want me pissed?”

“Because you play better when you’ve got something to prove,” he tells you. Then, he shrugs. “That, and… well, I wasn’t lying.” 

You scrunch your brow. “About what?”

“It’s a good fucking look on you,” he says, meeting your gaze once more. “I might have to piss you off more often.”

Oh. Right, right, right. Totally. Ignoring the way that that makes your cheeks go warm, you reply, “Well, like you said. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

That’s when Roy smiles at you. It’s accompanied by a chuckle and while it’s not a full grin, it’s something warm and mildly sweet. However, for the first time, you’re stuck by how good he looks. You’d always thought he was good-looking, but you’d never been attracted to him. But for some reason, right here, right now, some switch has flipped. 

The realization churns your stomach and makes you physically look away from him. “C’mon, let’s play,” you say, hoping your forced nonchalance hides anything you’re currently feeling. “I like watching you lose.”

Roy huffs, sounding just a bit incredulous. “Whatever you say.”

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

You walk away from the Chelsea pitch with a tie. And frankly, you’ll take it.

You’ve never seen a team more excited about a draw. They’re rowdy as they gather back into the locker room, and you feel a hint of a grin rising as you watch them from the hall. The petty part of your brain again has you comparing what this would have been like if you still worked at West Ham. Shelley would have berated your players (and likely his coaching staff) about how pathetic a draw was. West Ham was the superior team of the league, after all. Their record had to show for it.

It’s then that a sudden realization comes crashing down on you. Fuck. West Ham. PR. You have to do press with Ted.

As if he could hear his name rattling around in your mind, your head coach steps in beside you. He nudges your elbow with his. “You alright there, Ace?”

You nod quickly, like that’ll hide the panic you know is written across your face. “Yeah, Coach. I’m alright.”

When he folds his hands behind his back, you know he isn’t buying what you’re selling. “You still okay to do this with me?” he asks, motioning to the press room down the hall.

“I’ve done press before,” you reply, though your mildly defensive tone tells him that you’re not certain if you’re assuring him or yourself. At the way he dips his head, you sigh in defeat. “I’ve done this before. Just… never at this level. Or for these reasons.”

Ted nods in understanding. “You know you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I know,” you say, because you do.

“And I’ll be there beside you the whole time. I can take over whenever you need me to.” He nudges you again. “I ain’t too bad with all this press stuff. And I’m more than happy to make a fool of myself if it gets too tough. Really give ‘em something to talk about.”

That gets you to look up at him wearily. “I’m scared to know what that means.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t think we’ll get there,” he says, earning a chuckle from you in response. A beat passes before he looks at you again. “You ready?”

A long, sharp sigh exits your body. When you inhale, you turn back to him. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, nodding toward the room. “Let’s go quiet ‘em all down.”

You surprise yourself with an involuntary smile, but it gives you the confidence to follow him.

The press room is abuzz as you approach it and they get even more lively when you enter. You can hear your name being said from every direction and the chaos makes your hands shake. You’ve done this before, you tell yourself. You used to be good at these. It’s part of being a coach. You wanted this. You know how to do this.

Ted, who’s been leading the way, steps out to allow you to go up the stairs first. You clasp your hands together as you walk up, praying that this isn’t the moment your feet choose to fail you and make you trip. Luckily, you avoid disaster and make your way to the further of the two chairs on stage.

You look out into the sea of reporters, eye each of the cameras, and continue to play with your fingers as if it’s the answer to calming your nerves. You don’t realize things have gotten started until you hear Ted’s voice.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he greets the room, and you can’t help but envy how easily the words come out. “Afternoon everyone. What have you got for us today?” All hands in the room immediately go up, each reporter’s eyes shifting from you, to Ted, then back to you. Everyone’s got the same question on their minds. Everyone, except the guy that Ted picks, apparently. “Yeah, Alec. What do you got for us?”

Alec The Reporter stands. “How are we feeling about starting the season with a draw, Coach?”

Thank you, Alec, for starting with the easy question. “Well, I mean, I think we both would have liked a win,” Ted replies, looking over at you. You try your best at a smile and nod along. “But we’re proud of our boys. They turned it around after that first half, due mostly to the insight of our new coach over here. So, I think we’re feeling good about this start.” 

Alec sits down, satisfied with the answer. Before Ted calls on the next reporter, he glances at you. You nod once. You’re ready.

Ted points at a blonde woman toward the back of the room. “Sarah, how are we doing?”

Sarah The Reporter stands now. “Very well, thank you.” Her attention is immediately on you. “Coach,” she says, addressing you. “How was your first game with Richmond?”

Easing it into it, are we? You clear your throat and keep that smile plastered on your face. You can practically hear Roy yelling from the locker room for you to loosen up. “Not echo Coach Lasso, but I’m feeling good. Definitely would have liked a win, but it’s not a loss.”

You don’t think you could have given a more generic, neutral answer if you had tried. Maybe simply answering with ‘good’ would have been worse, but you doubt it. Sarah’s not done with you. “I was more referencing the dynamics of the team in your first game. The culture, if you will.”

Then come right out and say that then, don’t be weird and coy. You fight back a scowl and in doing so, your grin cracks slightly. The phrasing isn’t lost on you. Dynamics. Culture. They’re all words Rupert used just days ago. Stick to the script. Talking points. Don’t let them bait you.

“The Richmond culture’s definitely different,” you reply, perhaps putting too much emphasis on the word. To save yourself, you add, “But I think that’s to be expected when coaching Men's sports. Bit of a different world over here.” You offer a shrug, hoping your smile returns to what it was. “I’m very grateful to the Richmond team and staff for welcoming me with open arms into the warm environment they’ve created.”

You hope Rebecca and Keeley are somewhere cheering you on. That was sweet, neutral, and non-confrontational. Everything you wanted to be. Everything you should be in this line of questioning.

Ted nods at Sarah, cueing her to sit down. He points to a reporter in the front. “Marcus, yeah.”

It’s Marcus The Reporter’s turn to stand. And he comes out swinging. “No use in beating around the bush,” he says, eyes on you. “Do you have any response to Rupert Mannion’s comments about you and your tenure at West Ham?”

This is it. You feel Ted’s foot nudge yours encouragingly as you nod at Marcus and take a breath. Just as rehearsed. You got this.

“There’s not much to say that Mr. Mannion hasn’t already,” you answer slowly. “Unfortunately, some things like that just don’t work out. I too was not happy with the note that we ended on and wish it could have worked out our differences. But that’s all it was. Differences. There aren’t any hard feelings or any sort of bad blood between us. West Ham is a great team that I was honored to be a part of for the time that I was allowed. I’m sure they’ll have a fantastic season and can’t wait to meet them in a couple of weeks.”

You nearly let out a sigh of relief when you finish, thankful that that’s fucking done. The lies don’t sit right on your tongue and feel as though they’re rotting your teeth, but you don’t care. You got it all out, didn’t slip up or trip up, and can hopefully put this to bed.

However, unfortunately for you, Marcus doesn’t seem to be satisfied. Because he’s got a follow-up question you’re not at all prepared for. “And what of Tom MacDonald’s recent comments?”

The world stops. It comes to a complete, emergency-braked fucking halt and you feel as though someone’s punched you in the stomach. You feel like you’ve been ambushed, but you know that if you could have been prepared for this, you would have been. This must have happened today. Perhaps, even moments before this. You can feel Ted’s eyes on the side of your face almost immediately.

He… made comments? He spoke about you?

You can feel your throat constricting, but manage to get a couple words out in a relatively neutral-sounding tone. “I’m not sure what comments you’re referring to.”

“In his post-game interview about a half-hour ago,” Marcus says, glancing down at his notes to read. “He said, quote, ‘My best wishes are to Miss USA and her new Richmond team. I hope she finds her place with them, as I don’t think she ever really found hers here. But, you know, I guess you can’t really know until you really try to get to know the lads in the locker room and in the Coaches' Offices, huh?’”

Your breath’s been stolen from you. You can feel your nose and eyes start to burn as you stare Marcus down, steeling the look on your face. Refusing to show any type of emotion or reaction to that, you gather yourself.

What a fucking prick. What an absolute, horrendously evil, fucking asshole he is. You can imagine the look on his face when he said that. The smarmy fucking smile that accompanied it, the casual nonchalance of which he spewed that last part out with. You want to burn him. You want to destroy his life, his career, everything. The audacity he was to even bring up the locker room and the… 

You feel physically ill. You could throw up on the spot, but there’s something in you that’s keeping you from doing so. As the silence in the room festers, you feel Ted’s foot tap against yours again.

Do you need me to make a fool of myself? His eyes ask as you meet them. 

Quickly, you shake your head. You can do this. You’ve done this before. You used to be good at these. Don’t let him get to you like this. Don’t let either of them win.

You know you won’t come forward with what happened. You can’t. But you weren’t going to sit on your hands anymore. You wouldn’t be neutral anymore. Neutral. That was the word of the day. 

Fuck the word.

You allow another moment of silence to pass before you blink and refocus on Marcus. “I…” you begin, collecting yourself. You can feel the anger rise within you and you know it shows in your eyes. You’ve never been able to hide that. “I do, actually.”

(Somewhere in the Chelsea facilities, Rebecca Walton and Roy Kent are glued to different TVs broadcasting your conference. Rebecca’s unsure if she should be praying that you’ll tear West Ham apart or writhing in fear at the idea of what’s about to come out of your mouth. Roy, however, clocked the look in your eye immediately and can’t remember the last time he’s smiled this big.)

“As I said previously,” you start, straightening your back with a new, harder, more confident tone, “I’m also disappointed with the way that things ended between me and my former team. I also wish things could have been different and that I could have found my place. However, Mr. Mannion was correct when he assumed that I experienced a bit of a culture shock when I joined the club. However, I can’t blame anyone or anything for that but my own expectations for what I assumed AFC Football was going to be.” You offer a smaller, slightly more pleasant grin to the reporters and cameras. “But I can confirm that Richmond has met all of those aforementioned expectations within my first week. I’m excited to continue my journey with them and can’t wait to see where we go this season.”

Hands immediately fly up in response to your answer, follow-up questions galore. You glance over at Ted for a moment (who looks like he’s unsure whether he should be proud of you or sweating this), then suddenly find that a group of people are being ushered into the press room. You eyes lock with the man in the center, and he stares right back at you with an intensity you’re not sure you’ve seen before. Zava.

“And on that note,” you say, quieting everyone down. Relief washes over you now that you have an excuse to leave the room, “I think we’ve run out of time for questions concerning me. We’ve got something much more important to cover.”

When they all see that you’re referring to Zava, the room erupts into even more chaos. You couldn’t possibly be out of your chair faster, ready to make a break for it, and run to the bathroom. Ted’s on your heels as you exit, running in front of you to stop you as you make it to the hall.

“Woah, woah, slow down there,” he says with a soft laugh. “Runnin’ out of there faster than Tom Cruise in— well, any of the Mission Impossible movies, I guess.” You don’t meet his eye, or offer him any sort of pity laugh, something he catches immediately. “You alright, Ace?”

“Yeah,” you say shortly. God, you don’t want to cry in front of your head coach. “I’m good.”

He sees right through you. God, why is everyone at Richmond so fucking in touch with other people’s emotions? “Is there something you want to talk about? Maybe something I should know about—”

“No.” It’s a conversation ender and Ted steps back from you. You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting nothing less than to deal with this right now. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” With a deep breath, you move away from him. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you for your help in there, Coach. And thank you for a wonderful first week.”

You even don’t hear what Ted has to say in response to that before you’re beelining for the bathroom and locking yourself in a stall, finally allowing the tears that had been welling in your eyes to fall.

Zava announces that he'll be joining Richmond and thirty minutes, later you find yourself in a 'Coaches Group Chat' reading a message from Ted.

After you'd collected yourself, you had the full intention of pretending like everything was normal. You refused to let him win or get the better of your emotions, or fucking... whatever. So, the second you received that text, you immediately signed yourself up for whatever Ted wanted you to do. 

Coaches’ Celebration at Crown and Anchor, the text from him reads. Be there or be square.

However, apparently, you’re the only one who’s concerned with being square, because none of your fellow coaches have shown up yet. There’s a group of three guys sitting at a table in the corner, yelling things at the screen every few minutes. You see a couple who are throwing darts at the end of the bar. There’s a lone man with a pint at the hightop by the door, texting away on his phone. But Ted, Beard, and Roy were nowhere to be found.

The bartop’s nearly abandoned, so you choose a seat in the middle, making sure to reserve three extras. When the woman behind the bar turns to serve you, you can tell she immediately recognizes you, and the smile she offers is warm.

“Good showing today,” she tells you. Then, she shrugs. “Would have liked a win.”

A surprised laugh escapes you. “You and me both.”

“What’ll it be?” she asks.

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the door. “Um, I’m meeting people here. I—”

“Oh. Right. That’s tonight,” she says, with a knowing look in her eye. Your brow scrunches. “When he gets here, call me over. My name’s Mae.”

Before you can question that cryptic fucking sentence or correct her and let her know that you’re meeting people (plural) here, the pub door opens. Roy walks through, nodding once he sees you.

He grabs the stool to your left. “Nice press conference today,” he says in greeting, taking a seat. 

The teasing note in his voice makes you scowl. “Shut up. I was nervous.”

“I liked the part where you called Rupert a lying prick who needs to keep his mouth shut.”

“That’s not even close to what I said.”

Roy chuckles. “You might as well have. That was a media-trained ‘fuck you’ if I’ve ever seen one.”

God, you could really use that drink now. “I wasn’t even trained for that one,” you admit sheepishly. ”I literally don’t know where that came from. I was like, possessed by some bitchy politician or something.”

“She’d have my vote.”

“She shouldn’t. She’d start a global thermonuclear war because someone implied that she was difficult to work with.” You make a face at Roy as he chuckles. “Besides, I don’t think a Roy Kent endorsement would do her any favors.”

“Probably not,” Roy agrees. “Only person I’ve ever endorsed was you, and look where we are.”

You roll your eyes, casting them to the door. “Oh, my God. Okay, where are Ted and Beard?”

“They’re not coming,” a voice says as they round the bar. Mae stands before you once more, wiping her hands on a rag. 

You and Roy stare at her. “What do you mean they’re not coming?” you ask.

“I mean, they’re not coming,” Mae repeats matter-of-factly. Confusion takes over your expression. “They lured you two here and I’ve been given a ridiculous amount of money to keep you here until the two of you…” She glances down at her phone. “Fix your issues and…” Mae squints at the text she’s reading from. “...’Have whatever conversation you’ve been tiptoeing around.’”

By the time Mae looks up, you’re gaping at her and Roy’s already out of his seat. 

“You’re kidding,” you say faintly, praying that she’ll answer yes.

You have no such luck. “I’m not.”

“Fuck this,” Roy mutters. “I’m not getting fucking trapped at a fucking pub with you on a Sunday night because our stupid fucking team doesn’t understand fucking boundaries.”

You throw a thumb over your shoulder in the direction he’s looking to leave. “I second that. No offense, you seem lovely,” you tell Mae, “but I’m not staying here.”

“Unfortunately, you are,” Mae responds, nodding to the man who was sitting alone at the hightop, who stands up to block the door. He’s got to be the tallest man you’ve ever seen, and he’s built. You have no idea where he came from, but the sight of him alone gives you pause.

Roy’s on that same wavelength because he stops in his tracks, glaring at him. “This is fucking insane,” he says, looking back over to Mae.

“I agree,” she says, then nods to the window. “Take it up with them.”

You follow Mae’s line of sight to see Ted and Beard, sharing a pair of binoculars to stare at the two of you When they realize they’ve been spotted, Beard slowly removes the binoculars from his eyes and glares at Roy. Ted at least offers the dignity of a pity wave.

“Whatever they’re paying you,” you begin. “Roy will double it.”

Roy narrows his eyes. “I will?”

“Yes. You will.”

“Why the fuck am I the one paying? We’ve got the same fucking salary now.”

You whip around in your seat to glare at him, exasperation in your voice as you say, “Oh, my God, you played in the AFC for twenty years. I was in women’s sports for thirteen. We’re not even close to the same tax bracket.”

Roy considers this for approximately two seconds, then turns back to Mae. “Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll fucking double it.”

Mae shrugs, clearly not budging. “I’m a woman of my word, Mr. Kent,” she replies. Then, she motions to the clock on the wall. “I’ve promised to keep you here for at least an hour. What you do after that is none of my business.”

As Mae walks away, you stare at the bartop, truly unable to accept that this is happening in your present reality. There’s no way you’re doing this— no way that Roy’s doing this. This is fucking ridiculous, it’s wildly unprofessional, and—

—And Roy’s sitting down. You slowly raise your head to watch him pull out the barstool, slump into the chair, and put his face in his hands as if he can’t believe he’s actually going through with this. 

He’s giving in. He’s not putting up a fight. He’s obeying the wishes of his friends, he’s resigned to the cause, he’s… he’s putting himself in a position to have the conversation you two have been dreading since you began at Richmond.

Oh, fuck. Fuck. This is really happening.

You glance back over to the window where Beard stands, and he lowers his binoculars when he sees you looking. He sends you a simple, affirmative nod, raising the device to his eyes once more. 

“I assume you’ll be needing those drinks now,” Mae says from the end of the bar, two pint glasses in her hands.

You don’t think you or Roy have ever said ‘yes’ faster.

TAGLIST: @dark-academia-slut @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut, @thatonedogwithablog, @hawkeyeharrington, @jamieolivia27, @seatbacksandtraytables, @luvr-bunnyy

[guess-my-next-obsession]

would you ever consider doing an elementary extension that includes them finding out they’re pregnant with iris? no pressure just wondering!!

The Birthday

pairing: elementary!joel x f!reader (Elementary-verse)

rating: M (talks of pregnancy, steamy moments, talks of vomiting)

wc: 1.9k

series masterlist

— September 26, 2003 —

You stirred awake later than usual, your body working overtime now that after months of trying, you were finally pregnant. You had yet to tell Joel the news, wanting to wait until the appointment you made for this afternoon to confirm the results of the four at-home tests you took before you got his hopes up.

Crawling out of bed, you stretched your arms out wide, letting out a hearty yawn before turning to look at Joel’s shirtless body still fast asleep in bed, sprawled out like usual, his feet nearly hanging off your side of the bed. You smiled at him and all of his quirks that would get under your skin if he were anybody else, your hand smoothing over your nonexistent bump. Though you’d been unable to fight off your morning sickness all week, somehow the thought of carrying his child and your wedding next month seemed to cure the nausea threatening to creep up on you.

Catching the alarm on his nightstand before it could ring out its harsh and piercing cry, you leaned over his form and pressed a kiss to his temple, your palm rubbing over the muscles on his smooth and warm back.

“Mm,” he hummed, rolling over onto his back. He rubbed at his eyes as he stirred awake, and after a big yawn, he focused his vision on you sitting on the edge. “Mornin’, baby.”

“Morning, birthday boy,” you greeted him with a smile, rubbing at his chest. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Shit—“ He sighed, raking one of his hands over his face. “Promised Sarah we’d have pancakes this mornin’ but I forgot to get it at the store.”

“Eggs and bacon then?” Joel gave you a soft smile and nodded. 

As you moved to stand, he caught your hand and tugged you back to him, beckoning you to lean down for a kiss which you happily obliged. Joel hummed against your lips, his arms wrapping around your waist as he tugged you to lay on top of him, your thighs straddling his hips as his kisses trailed down your chin to your jaw. 

“We can call off work,” Joel mumbled against your ear as he placed a kiss there, his hands wandering over your thighs to rest on your hips. “Spend all day in bed.”

“I have an important…meeting,” you lied. “Superintendent is coming. Can’t miss it.”

Joel pouted as you sat upright, your hands resting on his chest as you smiled down at him. 

“God, you make it hard to think rationally,” you laughed, lifting a hand to squish his cheeks together, his pout turning into a pair of fish lips. “That’s better.”

Joel laughed and patted your hip, letting you climb off of him so that he could stand up. 

“Gonna shower,” he said. “You’re welcome to join.”

“So persistent this morning,” you teased, swatting his ass as he passed you. “I’ll take a raincheck.”

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me, I guess.”

With a smirk, you threw on your robe and padded your feet downstairs, finding Sarah sitting at the kitchen table finishing up her homework.

“Morning,” she greeted you with a smile. “How are you feeling? Did you throw up again?”

“No, I’m managing to keep it down today, or…at least for now. Knock on wood.”

After getting the coffee pot going, you pulled two pans from the cupboard and placed them on the gas stove, turning the heat on before walking over to the fridge to grab what remained of the eggs and bacon.

“You gonna tell dad today?” Sarah asked, whispering so that Joel didn’t accidentally overhear the news you’d shared with Sarah almost immediately after finding out yourself, her round, insistent eyes winning over your inner-strength.

“If everything goes well at the doctors,” you replied, looking over your shoulder at her while you cracked some of the eggs into the buttered pan. “You still wanna get his watch fixed?”

“I was hoping, but my allowance money is running a little low.” You looked back to see her shrugging with a frown, but quickly shook your head at her and walked over to your purse that rested on the counter, pulling out three twenties and handing them over. “No, I can’t—“

“You can and you will,” you replied, giving her a playfully stern look. “We’ll just say it’s from both of us.”

“Dad’s gonna love it,” she beamed, sticking the cash in her backpack. “We might see some tears tonight.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Joel’s quick and heavy footsteps sounded as he jogged down the stairs, finding you at the stove and Sarah hard at work on her algebra worksheet. He walked over and kissed her on the top of the head before walking into the kitchen, giving your ass a loving tap as he pulled three mugs out of the cabinet.

“Tommy coming by?” you asked as you watched him divvy up the coffee pot equally into all three cups. As if a lightbulb rang in your head, you realized caffeine might not be the best thing for you given the pregnancy. “Oh, actually…you don’t need to pour me one.”

Both Joel and Sarah gave you an odd look, having never seen you turn down your morning coffee.

“Just…I don’t want to be jittery and anxious for my meeting,“ you lied. 

“You have coffee every mornin’,” he countered, his brows furrowed as he watched you try to form a better excuse.

“Not when I’m already anxious,” you returned, doubling down on your lie. “Coffee will just make it worse.”

“Mm,” Joel narrowed his eyes at you as he lifted his mug to his mouth to take a sip. “You’re lyin’ ‘bout somethin’.”

“No, I’m not,” you quickly denied his claim with a giggle.

“Yeah, you are,” he chuckled. “But it’s alright, I’ll let you have your lie for now.”

“Mornin’, mornin’!” Tommy walked in with a wide smile, rubbing his hands together as he peered over your shoulder at the eggs. “Make sure to put some cheese on mine, sis.”

“She ain’t your personal chef,” Joel barked. 

“Shh,” you hushed your guard dog of a fiancé with a smile before looking over at Sarah. “You want cheese with yours, Sarah?”

“No, I’m okay,” she replied as she stuck her binder in her backpack. “I would like some OJ, though.”

“Bought a new jug of it yesterday,” Joel announced, moving to grab a glass from the cabinet behind him. “Baby, you want a glass, too? Since you’re not havin’ coffee for whatever reason.”

“Yes, please,” you replied, flashing him a thankful smile.

“Why ain’t you havin’ coffee? That’s new,” Tommy noted as he took a seat beside Sarah at the table.

“Why are you both so interested in what she does and doesn’t drink?” Sarah asked, coming to your defense.

“Alright, alright—“ Joel held his hands up in defense. “Didn’t know it was a touchy subject.”

“It’s not, now come help me carry these plates to the table,” you ordered, taking two of the plates in your hands while Joel set his coffee down to grab the other two. You set the plates down in front of Tommy and Sarah before taking your usual seat beside her, Joel joining shortly after.

“You think you’ll be home on time today?” you asked, looking to your fiancé as he stuffed his mouth full of bacon.

“Doubt it,” Tommy interjected. “We gotta wait for the cement guys to come and they take fuckin’ ages—“

“I’ll try my best,” Joel interjected with a glare aimed at his brother. “‘Specially if this one doesn’t drag ass again.”

As if your body suddenly remembered its current condition, the nausea that was nowhere to be found just minutes ago began to take root deep in your stomach. The smile on your face as you watched Joel and Tommy go back and forth faded into a look of worry as things spiraled faster than you could act. Your hand lifted to your mouth as you abruptly slid your chair back on the tile, drawing all eyes to you as you sprinted towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind you and just barely making it to the toilet. 

“Baby, you alright?” Joel’s voice sounded from the other side of the door as every bit of this morning’s breakfast came back up until you were left dry heaving. “Can I come in?”

“It’s gross,” you croaked, hoping it was loud enough for him to hear. It seemed he didn’t care much about your warning as he turned the doorknob and let himself in, finding his seat on the edge of the bathtub. 

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low and soothing as he rubbed your upper back. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, reaching to flush the toilet before moving to sit against the tub beside him, your head resting on his leg. “Must be the nerves.”

“You still goin’ with that lie?” he smiled down at you. “C’mon, baby.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you said, smiling nervously as you looked up at him. “A confirmed surprise.”

“Confirmed?” he repeated, his brows lacing together. You took a deep, calming breath and let it out in a slow sigh before meeting his eyes again, a grin spreading across your face. 

“I, uh, I was feeling off a couple weeks ago and so I went and got some tests—“ Joel’s brow softened, his eyes going round. “And they were positive.”

“You’re telling me…what?” he chuckled. “You’re…you’re pregnant?” 

“Yeah,” you giggled and nodded, wiping a tear that flooded your waterline. 

“Really?” he swooned, reaching out to help you onto your feet so that he could wrap his arms around you. “You ain’t punk-in’ me, or whatever that Ashton Kutcher show says, right?”

You laughed and shook your head as you squeezed his shoulders, his face buried in your neck. 

“No, you’re not getting punk’d,” you said. 

“Does this mean y’aint got an important meeting with the Superintendent today?” he asked as he pulled back to stare at you, his thumb stroking over your cheek. 

“No,” you smirked, looking down at his belt. “I am technically sick.” 

“Exactly,” he smirked. “And it’s my birthday.”

“Sounds like we’ve got some calls to make,” you said, biting your lip. “But first I think I need to scrub my entire mouth clean because that was—“

“I can’t believe we’re having a baby,” he interrupted your less than sweet talk with some tear-inducing sincerity. “Does Sarah know?”

“Yeah, she got it out of me pretty much right after I took the tests,” you laughed. “She’s excited, I think.”

“I’d kiss you if your breath didn’t smell so bad,” he teased, making you gasp and pinch his side. “Fine, I’ll kiss you anyways.”

“If it wasn’t your birthday—“

“But it is,” he smiled at you devilishly as his hands rested on your hips and tugged you closer to him, his lips leaning in to hover over your pulse before pressing a petal soft kiss there. “Go call off work and do what you gotta do. All I want for my birthday is you in my bed all damn day, alright?”

“Whatever you want…daddy,” you purred, a grin spreading across your face at the groan he let out. 

“Lord,” he sighed, shaking his head as he pulled back to look at you. “Go call out.”

[jessikahathaway]

Roomie - PJM (M)

Okay, to be fair. I did get a little unhinged with this. But I wanted Roomie Jimin smut something fierce so here it is.

This is pretty unedited, other than the lovely @quirkybtsarmy taking a look at it for me. Thank you babes I appreciate you!

Pairing: Park Jimin X Fem!Reader

Genre: Slice of Life!AU, Roommates!AU, Romance, Smut

Warnings: Reader is BLuNt (but she tries very hard to explain, she's not mean about it), it's pretty much pwp with a zesting of story. Also Jimin is bisexual, but reader is awks and makes some kinda ignorant assumptions (she really means well, she's just emotionally constipated dw dw). Smut warnings: Jimin's Filthy Mouth (this mans ya'll I can't resist-), penetrative sex, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (she's on the pill and all but for the love of everything use protection I stg I'm watching you, be safe for me pls), creampie, multiple orgasms, Seulgi seeing reader's puppy eyes for JM three thousand miles away.

Words: 9.9k (it's pwp... *nervous sweating*)

Rating: 18+

I don't know how I feel about this story, but I wanted to post cause I finished something and it hasn't been fifty years since my last update.

Pls enjoy, if it makes no sense I'm sorry-

Summary: After a disappointing slew of failed sexual escapades, you find yourself willing to do some crazy things.

Falling for your roommate not included.

Another failed sexual encounter. 

That makes four in the past two months!

Now, you weren’t really one to sleep around too much. But, hell, it’s your second to last year of your undergrad and life just fucking sucked. Too much work, too little sleep. It was all fucking ridiculous to be completely honest and all you wanted was a good lay. 

Apparently, college fuck boys aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. 

At least, not the ones you’ve gotten it on with. 

You unlocked your dingy apartment and kicked your heeled boots off. 

It was barely past one in the morning and your roommate was probably asleep. 

Sweet Jimin. 

Well, sometimes. Other times he was savage asshole Jimin but he didn’t usually make an appearance unless you’d left your laundry in the washer...

Again.

Jimin had been your roommate since the beginning of undergrad and he’d been a saving grace for you. You wouldn’t consider the two of you best of friends, but you were closer than most. Your undergraduate program was forensics with the interest of going into some kind of criminal justice but anthropology had more promising opportunities in regards to pay... Needless to say, Jimin being a performing arts major was definitely a reprieve from the stuffy labs and beakers you found yourself surrounded by on the daily.

You winced as you sat down on the couch. 

Honestly, you should’ve just left when the dude said you were wet enough without lube.

“Fucking assholes,” you growled, trying to sit comfortably. 

“We’ve all got one,” Jimin chuckled from his bedroom doorway. 

You shot him a glare, grimacing at the pain in your thighs and vagina. 

When you say you want someone to destroy you, you at least expect a little pleasure with that experience. Fuck...

Now, you’ve had good sex in the past. You’ve definitely had men make you cum, more than once. But the last time that had happened was getting further and further away. 

The sexy as fuck librarian at home, Kim Namjoon, had rearranged your guts after a cute little coffee date. Needless to say, you’d gladly let him destroy you again. 

“-okay?”

“Huh?” you said lamely, turning your head to fully look at your roommate. 

Jimin just sighed before coming over to you to sit next to you on the couch. His weight jostled you and made you huff in discomfort. 

“I asked, if you were okay?” he said, crossing one leg over the other as he lounged against the back of your couch.

You frowned, crossing your arms in obvious annoyance. “No, I’m not okay. Men around here don’t seem to understand that condoms may come with a little bit of lube but that doesn’t mean I’m wet enough to be fucked like a fucking ragdoll for five minutes.”

Jimin winced at your phrasing. You sighed and waved your hand. “Sorry,” you said, rubbing your face. 

“Why are you sorry?” he asked, raising a brow. 

“Cause you don’t want to hear about the woes of a stupidly horny female undergrad,” you said.

Jimin had only ever dated men, at least in the time you’ve known him. And that’s been the past three and a half years. You’d never explicitly asked him his sexual orientation, because it really didn’t matter to you. He was a good person, so who he dated wasn’t really your business. 

“If the horny female undergrad is you then I do want to hear it,” he said, pinching your cheek affectionately. 

You slapped his hand away and nodded, acquiescing to his request of ‘tea’.

“You remember when I went home for Easter? I had sex with Namjoon?” you said, already drooling at the memory. 

“The guy you wouldn’t shut up about for three weeks? Yeah, I remember his ‘god tier’ dick,” he sighed. 

“It’s almost new years... and he’s the last guy who made me cum,” you pouted. 

Jimin’s eyes widened, then his face turned confused. “But... But you’ve brought a couple guys home since then. I know that for damn sure,” he said.

“Just because I brought them home doesn’t mean they made me cum, Jimin,” you sighed, rubbing your forehead. 

All you wanted was some good dick, was that too much to ask for? 

“Damn, that’s shitty... I’m sorry, Y/N, really,” he said, patting your shoulder.

You leaned forward on your knees, not without a flash of pain on your face. Jimin rubbed your back soothingly.

“Jeez, did this guy fuck you with a pole? Why do you keep making that face?” he asked. 

“Remember when I said men around here don’t know what lube is?” you asked, resting your face in your hands. 

“You’re shitting me...”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’ for dramatic effect.

“Who is he? I’ll show him what fucking lube is while I fuck him up the ass without it,” he grumbled, feeling how tense your lower back was. 

You snorted, leaning into him comfortably. His gentle rubbing was helping your pain just a smidge. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll just soak in the tub for a minute and hopefully that’ll help,” you said. 

“Seems like a bummer since you didn’t even get to cum from it,” he frowned. 

“Sure is,” you said, letting out a big sigh into the dim light of your apartment.

Jimin just let you sit there for a minute, his hand releasing some of the tension from your aching muscles. You felt your eyes getting droopy and Jimin chuckled. “Come on, Y/N, you’ll be pissed at me if I let you sleep out here, get up,” he encouraged, moving to pull you up.

You let out a soft yelp of pain, thighs cramping up and causing you to stumble into Jimin’s arms like some stupid rom-com. Jimin’s face widened in panic as he grabbed you, trying to see what hurt. “Shit! I’m sorry! I didn’t think it was that bad, oh Y/N...”

You pouted up at him and Jimin just sighed before hauling you up into his arms. A sharp squeak left your throat as you clung to him so you didn’t fall. “Don’t squirm like that or your ass is going to hurt more than it already does,” he scolded. 

Biting your lower lip you just nodded, resting against him as he carried you to your room. Jimin tossed some comfortable clothes to you, a simple pair of panties and one of his old t-shirts you’d stolen at some point. He claimed it didn’t fit anymore and offered it to you when he’d found you wearing it on laundry day. 

If he was being honest, he just liked seeing you in his clothes. You had a cute ass that was barely covered by that shirt and fuck if he wasn’t going to take advantage of that, especially since you were clueless to his attraction to you.

It was true Jimin had only dated men since you’d moved in with him. But, what you didn’t know was his last relationship before your friendship had been with a woman. And it had ended pretty badly. She’d kicked him out of their apartment and he’d been homeless for about two months before his friend, Taehyung, had needed a roommate in the apartment you two now shared. 

He’d been a little adverse to women since his ex fucked him over, and he’d been openly bisexual for years so he’d dated men and hooked up with men exclusively for the past couple years. But you were making him want to start considering women again. 

Although, he didn’t really want to rush into anything with you. And it was certainly fun to tease you with lingering touches and watch your flustered expressions. 

Jimin wasn’t an idiot. He knew you found him attractive, you were the one putting a label on him, and he wasn’t going to correct you until you openly asked. 

He may be a touch of a sadist in his spare time.

“Do you want some painkillers?” Jimin asked, tossing the clothes he’d picked at you.

“Yeah, can you grab me some while I get these on?” You asked, reaching for your makeup wipes. 

“Sure thing,” he said, nodding and heading to the bathroom. You tossed your other clothes in the hamper and managed to tug the new panties on without much ceremony. You were sore, but the pain was dulling as you moved around a bit. 

You bent over to grab the t-shirt off the ground, it fell when you’d clambered out of bed to change. 

And Jimin had never been more thankful for his timing. 

Your perky ass greeted him as he came back into your room with a cup of water and tylenol. Jimin smirked and let out a low whistle as he blatantly stared at your panty clad behind. 

You jumped up and covered your chest with the t-shirt. “Hey! D-Don’t whistle at me!” you puffed your cheeks out in irritation and Jimin just laughed. 

“Sorry, I was just appreciating the view,” he said, walking past you and setting the medicine and water on your bedside table. 

“You can’t appreciate the true glory that is my ass,” you rolled your eyes. 

“Wanna bet? Drop your panties and I’ll show you how much I appreciate it,” he said, eyes sharp as he looked over his shoulder at you. 

Your throat tightened. 

Jimin made comments like this sometimes and it always made your chest throb... and, uh, other areas. Because he looked like he was serious. 

“Don’t tease me,” you said, shooing him with your hand that wasn’t desperately holding the shirt to cover your chest. 

He raised a brow before making a noise of acknowledgment. “If you say so,” he said, waving before turning and heading towards the door. 

Just before you dropped your shirt to put it on you heard Jimin’s voice from the hall. “I know how to use lube if you ever want a demonstration!” he called. 

After that you heard the sound of his door shutting.

And the sound of your heart beating really,

Really

Fucking loud.

--

You sat in the cafeteria after another brutal lecture.

Mid-terms were coming up and then winter break would begin and you’d go home to see your family for a week or two. 

You’d already drank three iced coffees and were considering a redbull when you felt the urge to pee. With a heavy sigh you grabbed your stuff and headed to the bathroom. 

You walked in and the sound of soft smacking filled your ears. 

“Fuck, you taste so good, Jimin~” a sweet voice called. 

Jimin?!

You looked in the mirror and saw a pretty girl pressed up against the bathroom wall, but more importantly you saw your roommate. Park Jimin, with his tongue shoved halfway down this girl's throat.

In your stupor you’d forgotten to grab the door, and it slammed closed after your entrance. 

Jimin and the girl jumped apart, both flushed with puffy, kiss swollen lips. 

His shirt was rumpled from her hands and his hair was slightly tousled like she’d had her hands in it. 

The girl coughed awkwardly. “S-Sorry, we’ll head out,” she said, rubbing her neck awkwardly. 

“Uh, it’s fine,” you said, swallowing hard. 

“Sorry, Y/N,” Jimin said, fixing his shirt a bit. 

Jimin’s make out buddy looked at him in confusion. “You know her?” she asked. It wasn’t offended, just curious. 

“Yeah, we’re roommates,” he said with a gentle tone. “She’s cool.”

You nodded slowly. “Y-Yeah, if you need the apartment no big deal. I’ll be studying with Yena tonight pretty late so, yeah. Um, cool,” you said, giving them a little thumbs up before hurrying past and into a stall. 

You heard them leave the bathroom and you weren’t sure why your heart was beating so fast. 

With frantic fingers you dialed the only person who could make heads or tails of this situation. 

Jimin’s ex, Min Yoongi. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

Yoongi and Jimin had ended things pretty amicably and you two had gotten close during their six month relationship. 

“I just saw Jimin kiss a girl,” you said. “Full on, his put his tongue in her mouth what-”

“Are you really calling me to tell me my ex is kissing a girl? What part of this sounded like a good idea to you-?”

“I always thought he... didn’t swing that way?” you winced at your phrasing. Words weren’t your strong suit. 

“Y/N, did you ever ask him?” Yoongi sighed, no doubt rubbing his face in annoyance like he always does when you’re being obtuse. 

“I didn’t want to be creepy! That’s not exactly a conversation that comes up too often!”

“It does if you have a crush on them,” he pointed out. 

You were about to argue when you found that... the fucker was right.

Ever since you’d moved in with Jimin, you’d found him attractive. He was charismatic, funny and kind. He was comfort embodied and he was always there if you needed him. 

But he’d never expressed interest in you and then you saw his boyfriends and one night stands and... well, made an assumption. 

“So... all this time I could’ve gotten his dick-”

“I’m gonna hang up,” Yoongi warned. 

“No! Wait, wait, I’m sorry, I need advice, serious advice,” you begged. 

“If you’re going to ask how to seduce my ex, it won’t take much,” he said, chuckling. 

“Huh?” you said, head turning to the side like a confused puppy.

Yoongi sighed loudly into the phone and shook his head. 

Always so emotionally constipated, you were.

“He likes you, we broke up because we both knew that firstly: we’d work better as friends, and two: he was thirsting over his female roommate.”

The words shocked you to the core. 

“B-But he was kissing-”

“When did Jimin and I break up? Three months ago or something, right?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. 

“Yeah, why?” you huffed.

“Jesus, Y/N, if you’d been pining after someone and they weren’t getting the hint wouldn’t you try to move on too?” he said. 

“Move on!? But he never said-”

“You know the last time he dated a woman she left him homeless,” Yoongi said, quietly. “It really fucked him up for a while. She wasn’t the nicest, from what I understand. But, that’s a conversation for him to have with you... not me,” he stated.

Your heart cracked a bit at the thought of someone betraying Jimin and making him suffer. 

“If you’re serious about him, let him know. If not, let him down easy. I gotta go, Y/N, good luck...”

--

Apparently Jimin didn’t wind up needing the apartment that night. 

Cause when you walked in at damn near midnight, strung out on caffeine you found him curled up on the couch watching a tv show comfortably. 

“Hey,” you called, toeing off your shoes before heading into the living room with him.

Jimin turned, giving you a kind grin before patting the couch next to him. You crawled up onto the cushions before falling into his lap in a heap.

He was startled for a moment before he patted your shoulder.

“I’m dumb,” you mumbled into his thigh.

“I can neither agree nor disagree without the appropriate information,” he said, trying not to laugh at your obvious distress.

“Park Jimin, if the following words offend you I apologize but I’m on almost twenty four hours of no sleep and I’m crashing from my third Red Bull of the evening so please, understand any ability to form coherent statements is far beyond me,” you sighed.

Jimin raised a brow, you were still talking to his thigh. “I understand, but I don’t think you’ll offend me, Y/N.”

“Jimin,” you said, finally lifting your head so your tired gaze would match with his.

Yena hadn’t helped much other than saying you needed to talk to him.

She was far more forward with her feelings than you. She was unapologetically herself and it was something you loved and envied about her.

“What’s up?” Jimin asked.

Your heart was in your throat. 

You just had to be thoughtful about how you asked these questions-

“Are you gay?” You asked, completely monotone and the look on Jimin’s face made you wince.

“Right to the chase, huh?”

“S-Sorry, I’m not-fuck… I’m just, I want…”

Jimin watched you flounder for a moment. Your face was panicked and embarrassed as you scrambled to explain yourself.

“I’m not, at least. Not entirely,” he said, leaning back with you half in his lap.

Your face was dumbstruck as you looked at him.

“N-No?” You asked.

Jimin smiled and tucked some of your hair behind your ear. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I lost my virginity to a woman. But my first love was a man. But, as of recently I can see how my sexuality would sway towards one gender,” he said. “Her name was Lyla, she was a few years older than me. And she broke my heart, badly too. She was obsessed with her image, she made me so self conscious… I wasn’t happy with her but she wanted me cause I was a good lay and I’m attractive. She didn’t want me,” he said, rubbing your arm. “She wanted superficial parts of me, but not my issues and certainly not my feelings. Just my body.”

“That’s fucking gross,” you pouted, resting your head in his shoulder. “You’re a person, not some fuck doll.”

“Well I do like being a fuck doll sometimes,” he winked, but he squeezed your shoulder. “She kicked me out and I had nothing and no one. I was lucky to find Taehyung and this place. When he left I found you and now here you are,” he said. 

“Here I am…” you said, voice weak.

“And I’m so glad that you are,” he said. “Nothing’s boring with you around.”

You gave a sheepish look. “So…”

“So?” He asked. “Is there a reason you asked me about my sexuality?”

Your palms were sweating as you looked at him.

“I like you…”

Jimin’s face morphed from his teasing grin to a soft smile. 

“Yeah? That’s cute,” he said.

“So…”

“So?”

You huffed in annoyance, he just kept poking you right in that tender spot of your pride. You just wanted him… not for his body or his face or whatever.

You wanted his puffy face in the morning while he made coffee. His laughter that made his whole body shake. You wanted to kiss him and to hold him close.

“Will you go on a date with me?” You asked, eyes big as they looked up at Jimin’s. His heart stammered for a moment.

Your sweet face and voice asking so nicely.

“Mmm, maybe. What are you planning?”

You made a noise of protest. “H-Hey! You can’t ask before you agree, you should be interested in doing stuff with me… if you want to date me,” you said. “You don’t have to of course if you want me to forget it and leave then-”

“Y/N, I’m teasing you,” he said. “I’ll go on the date. When and where?”

Your face was comically twisted into shock. “You’ll go?”

He smirked a bit. “Did you want me to say no?”

“Didn’t want you to… but I wasn’t expecting a yes,” you said, bottom lip between your teeth as you struggled to keep yourself from fidgeting.

“Well, you got one,” he said, leaning closer. “So when and where?”

You thought for a moment. “You have a showcase coming up right?”

Jimin seemed confused but nodded. “Yeah, in a week, why?”

“After, want to get drinks with me?” You asked, looking anywhere but his lips.

“Drinks, huh?” He nodded. “Sounds good to me, I’ll send you the info for the showcase. You can meet me after?”

“The showcase is free for students, right?” You asked.

Jimin chuckled and nodded. “Yes, but the arts is generally not visited often by the science majors,” he said.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t start,” you pouted.

“You’re right,” Jimin said with a big smile, one that was mirrored on your face.

And you could feel the blooms of something yet to be named fluttering in your chest.

—

You were sure if you should buy flowers for him or not.

Was it too much?

But showing up empty handed seemed ridiculous.

Without much more thought put into it you grabbed a nice bouquet of flowers and paid for them, getting into the car to head to the showcase.

You were crammed between a woman who was obviously here for her granddaughter, seeing as how she literally said her name every two seconds, and a very uninterested teen.

But you held your flowers and waited.

Now, you’d never really been one for the arts or theater, but you respected those in their fields. You surely couldn’t do it, but as you watched Jimin take the stage with his partner you saw what it meant.

Every beat of the song, every extension of his fingers had a purpose. There was a message he was conveying.

The beautiful orchestral piece they were playing made a tear come to your eye. They danced like they wouldn’t get to do it again, like separating their hands for an instant was too much to ask.

As the strings settled and the piano took over you watched in amazement as the pair fell to the ground gracefully, reaching for each other but their hands never touched again.

The room erupted into applause and you found yourself doing the same.

You knew Jimin could dance, hell, you’d even seen him practicing in the living room endlessly some nights. You’d wake up to find him asleep on the floor on your trek to the bathroom or on your hunts for a midnight snack. 

But to see it with the atmosphere and the music, you could feel every ounce of charisma and dedication pouring from him and his partner. They bowed to the audience and gave each other a good natured hug as they walked off stage together. 

You desperately wanted to rush after him, compliment his incredible performance but there were still a few pieces left and you did want to see them, especially if they were half as good as Jimin’s they’d be nothing short of incredible.

The showcase ended with everyone coming back on stage and bowing together as a group before moving to the hall to greet their friends and family members who’d come to support them. 

The crowded room made your anxiety spike in your throat, you hunched your shoulders and kept yourself from running. You weren’t an extremely charismatic person, nor were you a big people person. The long stints in your lab and the late nights with your nose buried in your textbooks were proof enough of your natural aversion to the spotlight.

But Jimin seemed to exude the complete opposite energy. 

And you were glad to see him making his way toward you, even with a small group of people chatting with him on the way. His partner, whom you found out to be Kang Seulgi, was incredibly kind and chatted with you while Jimin spoke to his good friend Hoseok who’d choreographed his and Seulgi’s performance.

“Jimin was more nervous than usual today,” she chuckled softly. “I should’ve known it was because you’d be here.”

You flushed at her blunt statement. “Ah, he’s a perfectionist, I’m sure he was just nervous because of the size of the crowd,” you said, trying to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest.

“If you say so,” she said with a raised brow. 

“Y/N,” a soft and sweet voice filled your ears. You turned and saw Jimin smiling at you as he approached. “Those for me?” he asked, eyes revealing a touched expression.

“Yes,” you swallowed. “I-I was hoping it wouldn’t be too much-”

“No,” Jimin said, taking the flowers as you pushed them towards him. “They’re lovely, thank you.”

You nodded, trying to keep your mind from melting at his eyes and the warmth they exuded.

Seulgi chuckled before wishing the both of you a good night, searching for her friends in the crowd. 

Jimin’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in a little closer. You flushed as he invaded your space, however you couldn’t find it in yourself to be disgruntled, even jokingly. 

“Minie...” you whispered, your voice startlingly soft and sweet. Usually you weren’t as demure as you were at this moment. You only used that nickname when you wanted something, and Jimin found it hard to resist your innocent ploy. 

“Yeah baby? What is it?” he asked, teasing as he pulled you in closer. You snuggled into his shirt happily, letting yourself get swept away in the moment just this once. “Mmm, you’re awfully cuddly, did you start without me?” he asked. 

You made a noise of complaint, looking up at him indignantly. “I’ll have you know I’m brave enough to be doing this sober.”

“Yikes.”

“Fuck you.”

“Depends on how many drinks you give me,” he snickered. 

“J-Jimin!”

He rolled his eyes as he started walking towards the exit, his arm slung over your shoulders as he tucked you into his side. You bit your lip as you wrapped your arm around his waist, happily enjoying the warmth as you two stepped into the night’s frigid air. 

The air was bitingly cold but you took a deep breath in and watched as the fog appeared as you exhaled. “Mmm, it’s cold.”

“Brilliant observation.”

You narrowed your eyes in a glare at him before he pinched your cheek and shook your head softly. With a nasty pout you shoved his hand off of your face. “Smart ass.”

Jimin cupped your jaw, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes turned glossy as you watched his features turn cold as the air around you. “Don’t be a brat, I’ll smack your ass right here if you act up,” he warned. 

A throb of want pulsed down to your center as your eyes got big in shock towards his forward attitude. You let out a squeak when he took his hand off your jaw before brushing some of your hair from your face. “Are you more submissive?” he asked, voice suddenly much less icy and returning to the warmth you usually received from him.

You choked with embarrassment as you struggled to put distance between you two. “I can’t, I’m gonna go lay in traffic-”

“Y/N! Stop the dramatics-oof! Don’t squirm-hey! Don’t resist!”

“This sounds horrible doesn’t it?” you laughed as he struggled to keep you in his arms as you kept trying to go limp in his hold. 

He laughed right along with you, working to keep you standing but eventually giving up as the two of you laid on the sidewalk right next to the campus’s performing arts center.

Surprisingly there was no snow, even at this time of year. But the concrete underneath you was sucking the warmth from your bones as you felt your teeth starting to chatter relentlessly. 

“We can get up-” Jimin tried to offer but you shook your head.

“No, this is fun,” you sighed.

“Laying on frigid concrete isn’t usually what I’d describe as ‘fun’ Y/N, you should see the school psychiatrist-ouch!” he growled, grabbing your sneaky hand that had pinched his nipple in retaliation.

You burst into laughter all over again. 

There was a lightness in your chest you hadn’t felt in so long.

You loved school and you took pride in preparing for the future you were planning for yourself. It wasn’t something everyone accomplished, not that they needed to, but for you it was a big deal and that led to a lot of pressure. Not only from others, but worst of all-from yourself.

They do say you are your own worst critic, and it was the most goddamn true statement you’d ever heard in your life. 

There was so much pressure not only on you but on everyone going through life. The world was crazy and life was seemingly changing every single day. It was hard not to get wrapped up in all of it, forget that there are simple things still in the world.

Like laying on the freezing cold cement with a stupidly attractive man, one you’d really like to kiss. 

You think you might just.

Just a little.

Without realizing it, you were leaning in.

Until Jimin’s lips were snug against yours. 

Oh god...

Ohgodohgodohgod.

You felt your heart jolt in your chest, even though you pulled back relatively quickly. You squeaked in shock at yourself, covering your mouth as you sat up with hot cheeks. 

“I-I’m so sorry! I’m usually much less-well... Actually I’m probably a little more-uh, ha-”

“Hey,” Jimin soothed, bringing his hands to your waist. “I know you word vomit when you’re nervous, but it’s just me Y/N. You’ve known me for years,” he said, giving you a little bashful smile.

“I-It’s not just you... It’s... It is you and that’s why I’m turning into an uncivilized moron I’m sorry...” you winced. You just didn’t know how to act, on other dates you felt like you had to put up this persona. This mirage of an image that was more appealing than the awkward and fumbling mess you turned into the moment feelings got involved. 

Words still weren’t your strong suit.

Jimin moved closer, causing you to squeak and shut your eyes as you waited with baited breath. When nothing happened you peeked one eye open and saw Jimin’s shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Ah, you’re too cute Y/N, I never knew you’d be this easy to tease,” he cooed, causing you to shove him back with an embarrassed huff.

“Get off,” you pouted.

“We should go, it’s fucking freezing,” he said, lifting you up and wrapping his arm around you with an easy smile on his face.

“D-Did you still wanna get drinks?” You asked, looking at him with a soft shimmer in your eyes.

Jimin sighed and looked up at the dark sky. “I have an idea,” he said, turning to gaze at you once more. “Let’s grab some cheap vodka and some mixers, drinks at home,” he offered.

You bit your lip. “If that’s what you wanna do,” you said. “I’m down for that too.”

He nodded, taking your hand as you headed out into the night, heart hammering in your chest as you felt a sensation bubbling in the pit of your stomach…

—

Jimin had made good on his promise, it was almost midnight and you two were properly tipsy.

Not blackout hammered, but certainly looser and perhaps a bit more… unhinged.

“God damn it, I’m gonna fucking destroy you!” Jimin growled.

You smirked with a twinkle in your eye.

“You’d love to, wouldn’t you, huh? But, unfortunately,” you pressed a button on your controller.

Jimin’s character blew up and he snarled in frustration as he kicked his head back. “You’re such a shit! Come on, don’t be a brat,” he said, trying to mess you up so you’d fail as well.

“Jimin!” You shouted, turning on the sheepish man as your character fell to their death, ending the match for the pair of you. “I was gonna win again! How could you?”

He scoffed. “How could I? Y/N, you’ve won almost every game against me!”

You tried not to smirk at his distressed tone, but you couldn’t help the maniacal laughter that took over you as you looked at his pouting face. “Ah, Minie, I’m sorry, I-I don’t mean to laugh,” you chuckled out, not sounding even the slightest bit sorry.

“Better quit teasing me, baby, I’m not a gracious loser,” he warned, raising a brow.

The alcohol made you mouthy, unfortunately.

“Oh? Don’t like to lose huh? For someone who doesn’t like to lose, you do an awful lot of it, don’t you?” you smirked, eyes sparkling with mirth and bratty attitude.

Jimin didn’t like this however, because the next thing you know, you’re on the ground with him between your legs as he pinned you on the floor. His hands were around your wrists as your thighs wrapped around his hips loosely. His crotch was right up against your core and it had your stomach in a fit of butterflies. 

“You... are such a little fucking brat,” he grit out. “You keep acting up and I’m gonna smack your ass fucking raw,” he warned. 

A normal person would’ve stuttered and flushed like mad at his angry tone and dark expression.

You may have had a slightly different reaction...

“Minie!” you whined loudly, voice sweet and needy. Jimin’s brows shot up as you clamped a surprised hand over your mouth in shock.

The shock leaked off his features as they turned even darker than before. “Yeah? What is it baby? Something the matter?” he smirked, pushing his hips closer to yours with a menacing look.

“N-No...” you whispered, voice surprisingly soft and docile.

Jimin raised a brow and scoffed at you. “For someone who was talking a lot of shit just a few minutes ago you sure turned into a bitch really quick for some dick, huh?” he laughed. The heat of his statement worked its way onto your face. So much so it made you turn your head so you didn’t have to look at him.

“Hey,” his tone was gentler, fingers intertwining with yours as he kissed your cheek. “Too much? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable...”

You quickly snapped your head back towards his so you could connect your lips. He sighed as he gently kissed you back. “Need you to tell me if it’s too much baby,” he said, kissing your jaw and right under your ear. You hiccuped in pleasure, trying desperately not to ruin your panties.

“N-Nothing so far has made me uncomfortable... I-I like dirty talk, a lot,” you promised. “Are you okay? I-I don’t wanna rush you either.”

Jimin’s face softened, kissing you again. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he sat the two of you up. “Ah, I hate to sound like a fucking animal, but I’ve had way too many wet dreams about you to stop now,” he panted. “If you’re down I’d like to properly appreciate your ass now,” he smirked. 

Your eyes twinkled in the soft light of the living room as you nodded. “Yes... Yes I want that,” you said. “Take me to bed, Minie...”

He did not have to be told twice. Quickly, Jimin hauled you in the air as he carried you both to his room. You were going to protest and say you had a nicer bed when he shushed you. “Shh, I’ll fuck you here and then we’ll sleep in yours,” he said, dropping you on the sheets of his bed moments later. “Now spread your legs.”

You were eager to comply, separating your thighs as he situated himself in between them once again. “M-Minie~”

He shushed you again by bringing your mouths together, sucking on your bottom lip as he ground his hardening cock against your pussy. Your panties were already soaked and your flimsy pajama shorts weren’t going to stop your arousal. Especially if Jimin kept grinding against you like that.

It was like he was fucking you with your clothes on. He rolled his hips against your core desperately, causing his thickening member to nudge your clit just so. You whined against his lips, clutching his shirt due to the pleasure coursing through you.

“Such a pretty baby, you sound so fucking pathetic, whining for my cock like a bitch in heat. You a little puppy slut? Just starting her rut? Huh?” his voice was thick with arousal as he ground against you. “Don’t deserve my cock. Not after being such a little bitch,” he snapped, grabbing your jaw in his hand. You were panting at the aggressive nature he took on, eyes turning watery as you begged for more. 

“B-But Minie! I-I came t-to your showcase! I-I was nice,” you pleaded. “I-I’m sorry for being mean, I’ll be good,” you promised. 

A dark chuckle left his lips as he slammed his pelvis into yours entirely too hard to be nice, making you yelp. But the sharp sting left you writhing underneath him. “Desperate,” he teased. “No one’s been fucking you right, huh? Last good dick was so long ago you’re already soaking my fucking pants,” he rolled his eyes, as if this was predictable. “Should’ve known you’d be a little cockslut once I got my hands on you...”

“I’ll be a slut for you, Minie... If that’s what you want,” you gasped when he rolled against your clit firmly, making sparks flush through your body. Your hips twitched, naturally seeking out your pleasure. But Jimin had different plans. 

He pulled you up and kissed you, tangling his fingers in your hair before tugging your head back to kiss your neck and throat. “Don’t want to rush you my baby,” he breathed, trailing his lips across your jaw slowly. “If you need to stop just tell me,” he said, sealing those words with a kiss as he finally slipped his hand inside your shorts. 

“M-Minie!” you cried, head falling back against his pillows. “C-Careful, m’sensitive baby,” you bit your lip.

“Aw, poor baby,” he said, voice mocking and harsh. It sent chills of pleasure over your skin. “You’re sensitive from humping my fucking crotch like a little bitch,” he growled. “If you’re sensitive, then it’s your own damn fault for being such a cock hungry whore,” he snarled, pressing a savage kiss against your mouth. 

You weren’t even sure you could call it a kiss. He panted harshly against your mouth, his tongue licking inside soon after. 

With a soft but sweet whine you wrapped your arms around his neck again, playing with the hair at the base of his head. You tangled your fingers in it and gently scratched his scalp in a way that made him purr. 

“Minie,” you pouted. “Please touch me...” you flushed, voice shaky as you tried not to shy away. It was harder than expected, to be totally submissive and to feel okay. Usually you switched, men had taken advantage of you before. Never anything terribly traumatizing, but there had been some situations where things went too far and a safeword had to be used. 

And after that you went back to more vanilla sex, but it was all so fucking boring. These college boys you’d been fucking hadn’t been on the same level, not even the same fucking planet as Jimin. You felt so hot, so turned on, but you didn’t feel like you couldn’t be honest either. 

It was a little intimidating to have something so good. You weren’t sure what you’d do if you lost him now...

And he hadn’t even gotten his dick out yet.

Jesus.

“Baby? Y/N, hey, look at me for a second,” Jimin’s voice was still husky, but more direct. “There you are,” he said, a small smile on his face. 

You blinked slowly before you mirrored his action. “Sorry, just... Got caught up for a second, I’m here. I’m okay, promise,” you said, pecking his lips sweetly.

“I trust you,” he said, pushing your hair away from your face before he gently cupped your core through your panties. “You’re soaking these panties, pretty... I’d hate for you to have to throw them out,” he said with a smug look on his face. “Mind if I take them off?”

With a quick lift of your hips, Jimin was tugging the wet fabric of your shorts and panties down your thighs and off your feet shortly after. His eyes gleamed in the dim light of his room. You sat up and shed your shirt before laying back in his sheets. You’d both changed shortly after getting home, pajamas being much more favorable than the clothes you’d both worn out that evening. Although Jimin had kept his makeup from the showcase on.

You certainly weren’t going to remind him now...

“Shit... Y/N, you’re pussy is so fucking pretty,” he moaned, kissing your shin and knee with his plush and slightly swollen lips. “Bet you’re gonna fucking cream my cock, you ever squirted baby? Think I could get you there?” he asked, running his thumb through your slick and puffy lips. 

“Jimin,” you gasped, arching your back gently, reaching up to grip your chest. You gently rubbed your nipples, working them to sensitive peaks as you tugged and stimulated them as Jimin played between your legs.

He leaned forwards and kissed your sternum, smiling against your skin as he felt your hands brush from his head down to his upper back and shoulders. He shivered slightly when you ran your nails across his sensitive flesh. 

“I’m so hard, baby,” he whined, licking his lips as he looked at your center. “But you look so good, I need to taste you. Maybe if you’re good I’ll lick my cum out of you later,” he winked. You felt your pussy clench around nothing at those words, begging for his teasing thumb to sink inside. Just a little. 

You’d never felt so desperate.

Jimin had mastered the art of teasing it appeared. Because you’d never felt so needy. Perhaps it was the fact that you and Jimin had incredible sexual chemistry. But, there was something else deeper than that. You’d had good sex, you know what it’s like to be pleasured well. 

But this was something else entirely.

It felt like he knew you, like he knew exactly where he wanted to touch you and it was exactly where you needed him. Every part of you was made for him to touch, to worship...

To ruin.

“P-Please, I need something, Minie... Hurts,” you breathed, hips seeking his touch out.

He didn’t make you ask anymore, sinking his thumb inside your clenching hole with a hiss. “Oh fuuucckk,” he moaned, watching your sticky pussy swallow his digit had his cock pulsing aggressively in his pants. “Snug little cunt, huh? Looks so tasty baby, gonna be good for me while I eat this pussy?”

You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice to hide the desperation you felt. 

“Yeah, you’ll be good for me... If you aren’t, I’ll edge you until you cry,” he smirked, eyes dark and dangerous.

“‘M good Minie, I’ll be good,” you whispered, worrying your bottom lip as you felt him adjust. Soon he was kissing your thighs, thumb still rocking in your pussy slowly. “Please, wanna feel your hot mouth on my pussy, baby.”

Jimin growled against your skin before he pushed his thumb in deeper before giving your pussy a fat lick. “Fuck, fucking hell baby,” his voice was deep, vibrating your core as he absolutely refused to separate from your heat for a second. 

You tasted so fucking good...

Now, Jimin was entirely aware that pussy didn’t taste like candy or fucking sugar. But you were so fucking wet. It was dripping down his chin, coating his tongue in your flavor, thick and heady in his mouth and throat. 

“M-Mm! Baby!” you cried, gripping the sheets tightly in your fists. “Feels so good! So fucking good!”

How did you taste so good? Jimin couldn’t get over that fact. Jimin hadn’t ever said no to going down on a woman if it was consensual. His ex said his head game was insane. He didn’t like to boast, but he knew he was good with his mouth. But this much slick cream was insane to him.

He couldn’t get enough.

“Such a sweet little cut, so wet for me,” he panted against your skin, licking his lips before digging back in.

Jimin removed his thumb, making you whine in frustration. Your core was still achingly empty, even with his digit fucking you open. He licked all your arousal off his thumb before sucking your clit into his mouth and pushing two fingers into your weeping hole.

“Minie!” you sobbed, walls sucking him in as deep as you could take him, clit on fire as he tortured it with his tongue.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” he moaned. “So soft, kinda forgot how sweet and soft pussy is... But something tells me, yours is special,” he winked which made you scoff. “Already the best pussy I’ve ever had...”

You bit your lip and moaned as Jimin’s fingers worked inside of you. He ground his middle finger against that rough spot while sucking on your clit and you felt a hot pulse of pure bliss shoot down your spine.

“Jimin!” you shrieked, causing him to jolt in surprise. 

“Baby? Too much? I’m sorry-”

“Please don’t stop!”

He froze for a moment before he chuckled darkly. “You want me to make you squirt pretty? I can almost bet I’ll make you squirt for me,” he said, licking your clit like a kitten, watching in amusement as your hips twitched against his ministrations.

“I’ll take whatever you give me Minie, m’ your good girl,” you said, eyes big and watery, shining in the light of the room. Jimin felt his heart twinge in his chest.

He was nervous to do this with you. He was nervous to take this step.

He didn’t want to fuck it up.

Firstly, he’d hate to lose you. Secondly, it would be really hard to either find a new roommate or apartment right now. Middle of the semester was such a shit time honestly. 

But he knew, he knew what he wanted.

You were worth the risk, you were worth the chance.

He was willing if you were.

“You are, aren’t you?” he praised, kissing your jaw as he fucked you with his fingers. “Gonna cum for me like a good girl? Want to make you cum so hard baby, has anyone ever made you squirt before?”

With fluttering eyes you shook your head, no. You’d made yourself squirt, almost. It was a little different than you imagined it was supposed to be. 

“Want me to help you then? Want your Minie to get you there?” 

Him calling himself ‘your’ Minie did things to you that had not only pussy clenching but your heart as well.

“Please Minie,” you mewled, digging your nails into your thighs desperately.

“Okay pretty, I’ll make you cum, you’re gonna soak this bed when I’m done eating your cunt,” he growled, leaning down once more to suck your clit into his mouth as his fingers sunk in deeper.

Fuck, he’d added a third one.

But his middle digit kept pulsing and rubbing in the same time as his tongue and mouth on your clit. You felt each push and suck in your stomach. You could feel yourself slipping, your pussy was getting wetter and wetter, and Jimin was elated.

“Yes, that’s it,” he said, kissing your cunt before going right back to sucking.

A hot sensation pooled in your lower stomach, causing you to clench tightly. Your breaths were coming in shorter now, Jimin seemed to notice.

“Feel it?”

You nodded quickly. “B-Baby, feels... a lot... ‘s a lot!” you whimpered, clutching the sheets before you carved your thighs up with the aggressive pleasure coursing through you.

“It’s okay baby, it’s gonna feel so good. Breathe, keep breathing my baby,” he cooed softly, capturing your clit between his plush lips and amping up the speed of his hand and fingers. 

You didn’t have time to breathe, because you were cumming shortly after.

Jimin watched in awe as you screamed in pleasure before you came hard all over him and his bed. “Good girl, fuck that’s so fucking sexy, give it to me...”

You collapsed against the sheets, heart hammering in your chest and ears ringing as you felt your toes and fingertips tingling. Jimin cleaned his fingers, shushing you as he took off his shirt to clean around your thighs just a bit to get most of you wiped up.

“Y/N? Can you hear me baby?” he asked, trying to be gentle. His cock was leaking in his sweatpants at this point, he’d been grinding it against the mattress as he ate you out. But cumming that hard, and especially after the spout of assholes you’d encountered in the bedroom lately, that orgasm was no doubt intense. 

You swallowed hard, leveling out your breathing to a softer panting as Jimin leaned forward, kissing your lips and cheek softly. “Easy, do you need some water? You did so good, pretty,” he said, pressing tender kisses and bites into your skin.

“I-If you can make me cum that hard, I have to marry you. You’re mine, I won’t let anyone else have you,” you said, holding his face as you kissed his jaw and lips slowly.

Jimin laughed softly, kissing you back before he moved away. You pouted, but only for a moment as you saw Jimin pushing his pants off. 

Your mouth dropped open slightly as you saw his cock, bright red and absolutely drenched in precum. You wanted to move forward, take his dick in your mouth and pleasure him just as good as he did you, but he was already moving towards you again.

With eager hands you found yourself kissing him once more, palming his cock and caressing his neck all the while.

“F-Fuck, not too much. I’ll fucking blow my load, can I fuck you? Condoms or no condoms I don’t care, but fuck I need to be inside you,” he said, pushing you on your back as he palmed one of your breasts.

“I’m on the pill, and I haven’t let anyone go raw in over a year, I-I’m okay with it if you are-”

“Yes,” he hissed, lining himself up with your center. His eyes locked with yours for a moment. You gave him a nod before he finally pushed himself in.

“Minie! Jimin! F-Fuck,” you cried, throwing your head back into the pillows as Jimin sank deep inside you. He wasn’t incredibly huge, he was certainly above average however. Bigger than the most recent stint of idiots you’d let fuck you.

And you were so fucking happy he went in raw. You loved raw sex, creampies were certainly a big kink for you. Not only that, but you could feel every delicious inch of him filling your desperate pussy. You could feel how hot he was, how snug he fit inside you.

“Y/N, oh fuck,” he huffed, resting his head on your shoulder. “F-Fuck, you feel so fucking good. Wet little pussy sucking me in, Jesus christ baby,” he laughed, almost in disbelief. “If you’ve got a pussy like this, squeezing me like this? Then I think I agree baby, I’m going to have to marry you... I’m not letting anyone else fuck you, especially not some stupid fucking assholes who won’t appreciate such a perfect cunt... You said some fucking prick needed lube? Must not have liked him as much as you like my fat cock, baby... You’re dripping.”

“Don’t want anyone else Minie!” you moaned. “Fuck me, please baby... Please fuck my pussy, want you so much.”

Jimin didn’t waste any more time, he grabbed your thighs and pulled your hips up, making you curl in on yourself so he had more leverage. “Take my cock baby, sweet pussy,” he moaned, thrusting into you firmly.

You grabbed his shoulders, moaning loudly as he started fucking into you. The sound of his hips slapping into yours was echoing through the room, Jimin leaned down to suck tender marks into your breasts. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the bed as he forced you to take his cock.

“Minie! Cock so big baby, u-uh! Please, please-ahh! F-Fuck, feels so good,” you mewled.

Hot pleasure curled through your body, making involuntary grunts and moans fall from your lips without you even realizing it. Although, Jimin’s cock had you so braindead honestly you wouldn’t be able to say anything coherent anyways. True bliss.

Jimin wasn’t exactly going to be writing any papers at this moment either, his mind had two thoughts. Make you cum again, and make him cum. And if he was lucky, his dick would go again. He can’t remember the last time he was so riled up.

He’s not surprised his little shit of a roommate is the one who managed to work him to the edge of insanity. You’re so beautiful, he’d been absolutely fucked from the moment you walked into his life. How was he supposed to resist you?

Every part of your body drew him in. Supple thighs, beautiful eyes that sparkled, sweet lips that he’d found could spit the nastiest things (although he is the furthest from complaining), and a tender heart that was captured by the simplest actions, but usually those spoke the loudest.

You weren’t good with words, but you really did try. You wanted to understand, you wanted to be connected.

“Fuck,” Jimin growled, thrusting inside you steadily, you watched with morbid curiosity as his entire frame slammed into yours. You watched where your pussy struggled to swallow every inch of him, but you could feel all the slick leaking from not only you, but Jimin as well. Your arousal and his precum created a very easy glide that had your stomach roiling with desire. Your clit throbbed in want, but you feared if you let go of the sheets or him for even a second you’d be fucked right off the bed.

“Minie! S-So close, please baby, can I cum? Wanna cream on your dick,” you whined, grabbing at his forearms with your pretty hands that had Jimin going utterly feral.

“I’ll make you cum so fucking hard baby,” he said, adjusting so one of your legs was stretched up and over his shoulder as he started to pound into you even harder.

You couldn’t breathe, the look on Jimin’s face was utter sin. His eyes were dark, the makeup from his showcase smudged a little from the sweat, but overall he still looked incredible. His flushed face and neck, even the top of his chest was slightly twinged. He was panting, sweat coated the tips of his hair as he kept his brutal pace with ease.

“Touch my clit, please! Jimin, I’m so close,” you cried, feeling every inch of your body start to tingle. 

He didn’t waste any time as he brought his thumb to your clit while he kissed your ankle. “Cum, Y/N, soak my cock,” he encouraged, eyes fucked out and dazed. 

Your body couldn’t take anymore, your walls clamped down on his dick and you screamed in bliss. You couldn’t tell what happened for a few moments until you felt Jimin shake your shoulder for a second. “Baby, please, where do you want it?” he asked, drawing you out of your stupor long enough. 

It was a no brainer for you.

“Inside,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in as he shivered.

“Gonna take my load baby? Want it inside?” he asked, panting harshly against your lips. 

“Yeah, give it to me... Wanna feel it dripping out of me,” you whined, the sensitivity of his brutal thrusts settling it.

Jimin growled, kissing you deeply before his hips stuttered. You soothed your hands down his back as he rutted into you a few more times, ensuring you milked him for every drop he had. 

His kisses turned softer, trailing them along your cheek and jaw as he tried to calm himself down. His heart was hammering inside his chest as he watched you sleepily try to keep up with his affections.

“Y/N, you okay? Let me get a towel and then we can head to your room,” he offered, pulling back gently as you both winced at the slight ache and tender drag. “Keep your hips up for a second,” he stated as he jogged to the bathroom. 

You huffed in effort as you waited. Jimin reappeared shortly after, walking over with a warm cloth that he used to clean you up as best he could. “Okay, think you can stand?” he asked, tossing the cloth and towels in the basket.

“Yeah, what’s standing?” Jimin laughed and so did you while reaching for him as he helped you get up on your feet. A slight head rush flew through you at the change in orientation. You wrapped your arms around Jimin’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. He obliged you, eagerly kissing you as well.

“You need to use the restroom,” he said, urging you towards it. “Let me get these sheets in the basket at least and then we can continue this,” he smiled, pecking your cheek before patting your bare ass and sending you into the bathroom.

You rolled your eyes but did clean up a bit more and used the toilet before washing your hands and face, patting yourself dry with a nice fluffy towel. You tried not to let the nervous sensation in your stomach overwhelm you. Jimin hadn’t really specified what this meant. But to be fair, neither did you. It’s not like you both were rushing anything either.

Fuck...

“Are you giving yourself a nosebleed in there? Come on, lets get some sleep,” Jimin said through the door. You couldn’t help the smile that creeped onto your face as you opened the door and found Jimin standing there. He worked quickly, pulling you out and shutting the light off before dragging you through his room.

He’d worked fast to strip his bed, eager to get you back into his arms. 

“Are you okay with sleeping together?” Jimin asked, standing outside your door with you. You nodded, opening your room and bringing him inside. You tossed the towel into your basket, reaching and grabbing another pair of panties before throwing a huge t-shirt over it all. Jimin was sat on your bed and you couldn’t help but like the view. 

He seemed to feel your gaze on him because moments later his eyes were locked with yours. “Beds cold, come here,” he said, pouting softly.

How could you resist such a sweet request from him?

Without even a moment of hesitation you moved towards your bed and let him wrap you up in his arms under the blankets happily. You two curled together, chests touching as Jimin rubbed your scalp softly. 

The silence wasn’t necessarily awkward, but it was clear you two both wanted to say something. 

“Minie,” you broke the tension, voice soft and sweet in the night. 

“Yeah, Y/N?” he asked, looking you in the eyes. 

“We didn’t... We didn’t really say what this was, and um. I don’t want to ruin this, our friendship, but I also don’t want to miss out on something good just because I didn’t want to rock the boat,” you said bluntly.

Jimin snorted before nodding. “I see, alright. Well, I was under the impression you were interested in a relationship. That’s generally what dates are for, and someone who was looking to hit it and quit it probably wouldn’t have bought me flowers and cried during my showcase,” he chuckled. “I value our friendship as well, you’re a wonderful woman. But I also don’t want to miss something good, I don’t want to miss out on you.” 

His words made your chest stutter with anxiety, but also pure elation. 

“Then, we’re doing this? Uh, relationship? Together… thing?” You butchered that, but Jimin smiled all the same.

“I’m yours if you’re mine,” he said, kissing your forehead.

You were about to kiss him softly when you burst into laughter. Tears fell down your face as you struggled to keep your wheezing down.

Jimin watched in blatant confusion.

“Babe? Uh, what’s so funny?”

“And they were roommates!"

*Please don't ask about updates, thank you*

[sotwk]

The Baker from Lórien (Haldir gen ficlet)

Summary: A visitor from Lórien brings some excitement to the kitchens of the Elvenking's palace.

Word count: 1.1k

Content: Pure fluffy randomness, mother-son relationship, toddler Legolas

Rating: General (no warnings apply)

To Read on AO3: Link

A/N: I wrote this ficlet purely on a whim; I had no plans or strategy for it going in. It could be nonsense, or I could be onto something. XD It's most likely going to stay a random SotWK AU one-shot, but who knows. I pretty much just wanted to finally write any story featuring Haldir, whom I love dearly and firmly believe was one of the most desired bachelors east of the Mountains. Special thanks to my friend @creativity-of-death who inspired the concept of a Baker Haldir long ago!

Headcanons about Haldir in the SotWK AU: Any questions you might have about the background history in this fic would be answered HERE.

The Baker from Lórien

Third Age 246 Spring

Bar Lasgalen, the Palace of the Elvenking

“Down and forward, turn, and fold over. Repeat. Remember to use the heel of your hand--this part, right here.”

The lump of dough felt pleasantly squishy in Legolas’s hands, and only with great self-restraint did the four-year-old elfling manage to resist playing with it like modeling clay, instead of following his instructor’s example. With eyes narrowed in determined concentration, he watched the steadily working hands of the elf across the table from him. After just a minute or so of observation, he began to mimic the brisk kneading motion.

“Yes, good! That is very good.” The visitor from Lórien seemed pleased, albeit surprised, by how quickly the child caught on.  

Legolas beamed at the ellon’s praise, and held the smooth ball of dough up high over his head in triumph. “Is it ready for the oven now?”

“Not quite.” The silver-haired ellon took the dough from Legolas and checked it with a few expert prods of his fingers. “It needs time to rest and rise. An hour at least, although up to three is much better, and then we can reshape it into loaves. Then it must rest again, before it can be baked.” 

“Three hours?!” Legolas exclaimed, already dismissive of whatever other steps came after. “Does bread really take that long to make every time?”

“The loaves should be fresh and hot out of the oven just in time for your Highness’s breakfast.” Legolas watched as his dough ball was placed into a large pan next to five others and covered with a dish cloth.  

“And a delicious breakfast is best preceded by a sound night’s sleep, is it not?” The voice that came from the kitchen doorway made Legolas scramble off his stool. He smiled sheepishly at his nursemaid, Ninniel, as she entered with a knowing smile and firm shake of her head for him.

The older ellon spoke up. “My apologies, Emmë. I should have realized the hour was too late.”

“It’s all right. It appears some valuable learning has been accomplished here, at least.” Ninniel took in the rather comical sight of her grown son towering next to her not-at-all-grown charge, both of them dusted in flour, and felt all her exasperation melt away. She dipped a tea towel into the washing basin and set to work wiping the sticky residue off Legolas’s fingers. 

“Will you come and get me when my loaf is finished baking, Halidr?”

“Well…” Haldir of Lórien glanced hesitantly at his mother. He was still unsure what to make of Thranduil’s sons, who all behaved without any regard or perhaps even awareness of their social rank. Legolas, in particular, had been unabashed in his fascination with Haldir ever since his arrival at Bar Lasgalen. Today was merely the first day of a month-long, overdue visit to his parents, and most of it had passed with the little prince turning up wherever Haldir happened to be, armed with a constant stream of questions. “It really is not my place to--”

“When your bread comes out of the oven, I will wake you to come and have it for  breakfast, with me and Haldir,” Ninniel interjected smoothly. “But the sooner you get to bed, the sooner you can rise refreshed for a new day, yes?”

“That sounds excellent!” Legolas threw his hands up, and wriggled his hips in a little sort of dance. “I shall be back in a few hours, Haldir! Please take care of my bread!” he called out to the bemused elf before bounding out the door. 

“Are you still finding everything all right, dearest?” Ninniel swept a light hand over her son’s broad back. In one touch she could tell Haldir was fairly relaxed, as she had hoped he would gradually become. Her eldest had always been the most serious of her children, and his nature only grew graver as the ages passed and the memories of hard years weighed on him. It had been far too long since his last visit to Eryn Galen, so rarely could he be persuaded to leave his post at the March, and Ninniel hoped the brief holiday away would be restful for his spirit. 

“Yes, everyone here at the palace has been… quite attentive.” Haldir smiled and planted a swift kiss over his mother’s hair. “The prince’s arrival sent them scurrying off, I fear, but I do not think he seemed to mind or notice.”

Ninniel shook her head. “The only thing they were running from was their own embarrassment,” she said. “I will let you return to your work, my love. Legolas and I will be back soon.”

And indeed, as soon as she exited the kitchen, she encountered the gaggle of young kitchen maids waiting in the hall, preparing to re-enter now that the royal Highness had left and gone to bed. 

“Lady Ninniel,” they curtsied to her, appearing only mildly abashed by her witness to their obvious intentions. But this was a small phenomenon Ninniel had grown accustomed to over the years, for it became clear early on that her handsome son elicited rather strong reactions from elleths, often without any encouragement. 

“My lady, if we may…” one of the girls blurted out. “We were wondering… that is, we wanted to make certain… do you know whether or not Lord Haldir…”

“He is not a lord, and he would not appreciate being addressed as one,” Ninniel corrected gently. “And as far as I know, he is not engaged, involved, or taken with anyone at present.” She gazed at the line of hopeful faces and pressed her lips to smother a chuckle. “Any of you are welcome to try and draw his interest, if that is your wish.”

But best of luck, indeed. Ninniel sighed as she departed, leaving the sounds of pitchy giggling behind her as the pack descended on her oblivious son. Whether there was any chance of a maiden in all of the Woodland Realm catching Haldir of Lórien’s eye, much less his elusive heart, she did not know. That hope had certainly not borne any fruit in over a thousand years of matchmaking attempts. But any diversion, any added source of joy outside of his work, his books, or his baking, could only be a good thing. 

Anything beyond that--dare say a betrothal, a marriage, or even a new precious grandchild--was something Ninniel was prepared to be completely surprised with. But a mother will always hope.

For more SotWK Fanfiction: Fanfiction Masterlist

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Other useful links:

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[alwaysbethewest]

Triple Frontier fic: A Pilot for Christmas

It's @pedrostories Secret Santa day!! My assignment was for @frannyzooey, who requested domesticity, roommates-to-lovers, and fluff or smut 🥰 I had some of the most fun EVER writing this fic, so I hope it will make you smile, too, Kelli. Merry Christmas!! �� Thank you to @mourningbirds1 and @fleetwoodmactshirt, both of whom I—not to be dramatic but—basically can't live without at this point, and at the very least couldn't have written this fic. And she's not a Pedro fan so I can't imagine she wants to be tagged in this, but thank you to my friend Alyssa for kindly helping me with one of the very few pieces of actual research I did for it.

Title: A Pilot for Christmas Pairing: Frankie Morales/f!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 4.8k Content/warnings: roommates to lovers, hot single dad Frankie, pining, yearning, lusting, questionable romance novel smut, compromising positions, sexual content, fade to black, food, domesticity. Unbetaed, so please let me know if you spot any typos/errors!

There’s a note for you on the kitchen table, written in Frankie’s even, boxy print: Mac + cheese + trees in fridge if you want some.

Your schedules never align on Wednesdays; your boss’s mandatory mid-week team meetings inevitably keep you late and Frankie is always on his way to Laura’s place by the time you get home. You haven’t met his ex-wife, but you think she must be nice enough since he’s usually in a good mood when he gets home from their weekly family dinners. They’re co-parenting, as he’d explained when you first moved in, and along with providing dinner on Wednesdays he does his part by taking their daughter on the weekends. He’s given you a break in the rent to make up for sharing your apartment with a three-year-old two days a week.

This is technically a sublet, and it’s technically temporary, but you get along well enough with Frankie that sometimes it feels a little like kismet. His old roommate had landed a contract overseas for a year just as you were moving to town, and a mutual friend had connected you. There are four months left on the contract, but you’d heard from the roommate recently that he was expecting the position to be renewed, so most likely you’ll get to stay longer if you want to. Nothing is official yet either way, and you’ve decided to give yourself another month before you start to worry about it.

Having the apartment to yourself once a week is the perfect opportunity to watch your favorite guilty pleasure TV shows without fear of male judgment—not that Frankie gets really rude about it but his silent raised eyebrow speaks volumes—and you happily warm up a bowl of macaroni and cheese and “trees” (broccoli; it turns out toddlers lose interest when you use the B-word) and settle in on the couch.

Living with Frankie has gone better than you’d feared it might. Knowing he was the friend of a friend of a friend had alleviated some of your anxiety about moving in with a stranger, and he’s turned out to be a mostly quiet, respectful roommate. After maintaining clear-cut boundaries for the first couple of weeks, you had both relaxed a little bit and settled into something of a shared routine. He likes to cook but doesn’t enjoy grocery shopping, so you often take his list along with your own to the store—and reap the rewards on nights like this when he keeps you well-fed. You both like to keep a tidy home, and neither of you minds the other person throwing in a few items when you’re doing a load of laundry. You’ve even mostly gotten over the embarrassment of the time Frankie had delicately handed you a pair of thong underwear he’d found trapped in the sleeve of one of his clean shirts. The barely-contained amusement on his face had haunted you for a full week.

When you’ve finished your dinner you pause the TV to go wash your bowl, and while you’re in the kitchen you take a few minutes to put away the dishes Frankie had left drying in the dish rack. It’s an easy symbiosis, you muse, a give-and-take that seems to suit you both. Underneath his note, you write back: Delicious!! Thank you, and sign it with a heart.

Most of the time your editing job allows you to maintain a reasonable work-life balance, but this month you’ve found yourself scrambling to get everything done before the upcoming holiday break. Your co-worker Deandra is off on an unexpected leave, and after taking on a share of her work on top of your own, the projects have started to form an intimidating pile. One Monday, two weeks before Christmas, you compromise your typical boundaries by logging back onto your laptop after dinner to work on a manuscript. Frankie is watching a game with the volume on low and it makes for comfortable background noise while you work from the opposite end of the couch.

Deandra’s specialty is romance, and while you’ve had to get used to covering a new genre, having some variety has been interesting. But a detail in this book is bothering you. You glance at Frankie, whose expression is quietly focused. His team is leading the scoreboard by a healthy margin. You don’t think he’ll mind a brief distraction.

“Hey. I could use your piloting expertise. Can I ask you a weird question?”

Frankie raises an eyebrow and shrugs his assent. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, so—is it logistically possible to have sex in a cockpit?”

You have his attention. He slowly turns his head to give you a long, wide-eyed look. After a moment of silence, he narrows his eyes, contemplating. “What kind of aircraft are we talking?”

“Like a regular… A commercial passenger plane?”

He nods, pursing his mouth and tilting his head up so he can gaze off into space, like he’s visualizing it. He glances at you again.

“Two people?” he checks.

“Two—yes, it’s—” he’s surprised you a little, and you fumble for words. “It’s not a cockpit orgy,” you tell him.

He laughs. “Pilots like to party,” he says opaquely, and now you’re the one narrowing your eyes at him, but he’s ignoring your questioning look. “Okay, is it possible? Theoretically, sure. Especially if the other person is short. Is it comfortable, though?” He pulls a face. “It wouldn’t be my choice. It’s a cramped space. Someone’s gonna end up hitting their head, or accidentally kicking the instrument panel, or…” he trails off, shaking his head in disapproval. “It’s… inadvisable.”

“Got it. Thank you.” You make some notes in the Word document on your screen, still internally recovering from his follow-up question, and Frankie turns his attention back to the TV, where the opposing team is starting to close the lead.

You’re no prude, but the genre you usually work in fades to black more often than not, and this author’s penchant for smutty detail has you feeling slightly in over your head. You’ve made it past the cockpit quickie but four chapters later Frankie’s team is on the cusp of winning their game and your protagonist is finally about to have her tall, dark, and handsome pilot love interest in a real bed.

“This love scene is… really something,” you comment. Frankie looks over in interest.

“Read it to me.”

“It’s dirty,” you warn him.

Frankie smirks. “I think I can handle it.”

You take a breath and start to read aloud from the page: “Isabella’s heart raced in excitement. Roderick was standing so close she felt as though his breath was entering her lungs with every inhalation. He took her hand and pressed her palm to himself, making her feel his turgid cock stirring in his pants—Obviously that needs to go—”

“Which part, the turgid cock?” Frankie asks. “I like it.”

“You like it?” you ask, incredulous.

“What?” he says. “A guy can’t enjoy a turgid cock now?”

“Jesus,” you laugh. Your face is starting to feel warm. “Isabella’s petite hand could barely fit around Roderick’s girthy length and it made her whimper with arousal. Roderick smirked down at her. ‘I can’t wait to be inside you,’ he rasped hungrily. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her flush against his body. ‘Tell me you want it,’ he growled.” You glance at Frankie and see he’s got one arm slung across his chest and the other hand resting at his mouth, thumbnail running distractedly over his lips. He’s staring at the TV without really watching it, and after a moment of silence he finally blinks and meets your eyes again.

“It’s weird you get to read porn for work,” he says dryly, and you bury your face in your hands and laugh.

When the game ends, Frankie switches on an episode of Star Trek that he seems to be half watching while he does something on his phone. On your laptop screen, Roderick has you stymied.

Roderick’s muscular arms tossed Isabella onto the bed like she weighed nothing. “Ohhh,” she moaned. “Give it to me.”

“Give you what, baby?” he rasped. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Give me—” Her pale cheeks blushed prettily. How could she say it out loud? But he was looking at her with such lust in his eyes that she knew he only wanted to make sure she was ready to turn herself over to him, to let him use her any way he liked. The thought of it made her shiver with anticipation. “Give me your cock, Roderick. Make me yours.”

With a growl from deep in his chest, Roderick dragged her hips down the bed so that she was balancing on the edge, where his body loomed over hers. Turning her onto her side, he leaned down to nose under her ear, nipping at the delicate skin of her neck and making her moan. His broad hand clutched her thigh, maneuvering her leg to tuck her knee around his hips, and his other hand he ran tantalizingly down her back until he reached her other thigh. He opened her legs, like an explorer unveiling the treasure he’d been seeking, and he straightened up, lifting her ankle to rest against his shoulder, and grinding his hard member against her core.

You go over the last few lines again, whispering the words under your breath to yourself as you try to picture the position. You feel like you need a diagram.

“I’m lost,” you declare.

Frankie glances up from his phone. “Hm?”

“I don’t understand where these limbs are going,” you tell him. “I don’t know if my brain just isn’t working because it’s 9 PM or if this passage needs rewriting. Or if this sex is too advanced for me.”

He laughs and makes a grabbing motion at your laptop. “Lemme see.”

You hand it over, standing up to stretch while he reads it to himself.

“‘He opened her legs like an explorer unveiling the treasure he’d been seeking,’” Frankie reads out dramatically. “Really?”

“Don’t get caught up in the simile,” you say. “Focus on the legs. Is that position even feasible? For someone who isn’t a contortionist?”

“Maybe in the next chapter they reveal she was raised in the circus,” he suggests, but he squints at the screen again, reading through the text. “I think I get it. It’s like—” He gestures with his arms, posing them to mimic Isabella’s legs. It’s borderline incomprehensible.

Later, you’ll blame the late hour and your overworked brain for what happens next. If you’d been running on all cylinders, you would have thought through the boundary-crossing implications of this and stopped yourself, but as it is you frown down at him and say, “Show me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” you urge him, already heading down the hallway to your bedroom. He hesitates, but then follows a few paces behind, and it’s then—the moment he crosses the threshold behind you—that your brain finally catches up to your actions and you begin to realize this was a terrible, terrible idea.

But somehow, coming up with an excuse to turn back feels more mortifying than plowing forward. You sit on the edge of the bed, trying to focus on the matter at hand. Frankie is hanging back, but you give him an expectant look and he takes a step towards you. He clears his throat softly.

“On your side,” he says. It shouldn’t sound like a command—he offers it gently, a reminder of the scene you’re playing out—but something inside you can’t tell the difference and you feel a spot deep in your core go hollow and needy. You turn, obediently, and lay on your right side. He touches the knee of your right leg, urging you to pull it forward.

“This leg around me.”

He steps into the crook of your knee, between your thigh and your calf, and looks down at your other leg, tucked awkwardly between your bodies.

“This is where it gets weird,” he says, and you laugh out loud. The sound dies out when you feel his fingers firmly wrap around your ankle and slowly maneuver your left leg, straight in front of you and then pivoting towards the ceiling. You feel the stretch in your hips, your body turning to follow so you’re halfway between your back and your side. It’s awkward, and he must see your face twist in discomfort, because he stops midway through the movement and rests your foot on his left shoulder. His body is solid and warm against the back of your leg.

“I think in the book it was over here,” he says, tapping his right shoulder. “So maybe she is a contortionist.”

“Or I need to do more Pilates,” you lament. He looks amused.

“Does this position even make sense? Would this work for you?” you ask him, regretting the question as soon as it’s left your mouth. He blinks down at you and his eyes rake down the length of your body to where you’re tangled around him. His hand is still resting over your ankle.

“Your bed is too low,” he says.

It’s—You’d meant the question in a more hypothetical sense. With some other partner, in some other scenario, would this position work? The knowledge that he has taken in the question and assessed the situation—looked at your two bodies in relation to each other, here, in your room, and thought about whether he could fuck you like this—makes you lose your breath.

“Plus—” he continues. He nudges at you to roll you onto your back, carefully lowering your foot from his shoulder so he’s standing between your open legs, nothing between you but empty space and a secret, aching want. He leans in, bracing his hands flat on either side of your body, not touching you but close enough he would only have to lean in. “I like to be able to kiss someone when I make love to them,” he says softly.

He shoots you a smile that could almost be a smirk as he stands up and heads out of the room, leaving you clutching the duvet cover as the world around you tilts on its axis.

It’s not like you’ve never noticed Frankie is attractive. Anybody could see that he is. He’s boyishly cute when he’s playing around with his daughter, their matching, dimpled smiles on display; smoldering when he gets cleaned up to go out on the town with the guys, if a little less runway-ready the morning after; and confusingly, unrecognizably handsome on the occasions he goes clean-shaven. But he’s been so firmly relegated to “platonic male roommate” status since you moved in that you’ve never, even for a second, thought about pursuing anything more. Lusting after your roommate can only end in awkwardness and moving boxes.

So discovering that the man you live with isn’t just good-looking, but has the ability to leave you wet and aching with desire, without even trying, has you looking at everything through a new lens.

On Tuesday, mid-morning, your phone lights up with a text from him. It’s a picture of a small plane cockpit interior, just two seats and a display of navigational instruments.

See how tight she is? he’s written.

You blink at your phone. SHE??

…

She = the plane. Sorry, pilot speak.

Mortifying. You nearly pull up the local apartment rentals page on Craigslist right then and there. You dive into your work instead—not Deandra’s romance, but the grisly thriller in your regular docket. Roderick and Isabella need to give you some space this week. It’s not them, it’s you—and the images of Frankie and you in compromising positions that had popped into your mind when you attempted to pick back up the draft.

He’s like a specter, haunting you.

Wednesday evening is your night with the apartment to yourself, and you’ve never been happier to be alone. He’s left you dinner, again, and you almost don’t eat it on principle—you’ll have to get used to feeding yourself, after all, once he kicks you out for making it too blatantly obvious you want to jump him.

But it would be an actual crime to pass up his enchiladas. You savor the plate. Maybe he’ll give you the recipe as a parting gift, if you ask nicely.

You pour yourself a glass of wine and catch up on one of your shows, and some of the tension you’ve been holding starts to drain from your body. But underneath is a familiar, restless energy buzzing through you, desperate for a different outlet, that you can’t ignore.

You go to bed early. What you need is just a little quality time with yourself, to reconnect and remind your body that you’re perfectly capable of satisfying it on your own—or with the no-strings-attached assistance of a vibrator.

It’s a valiant, miserable attempt. Every tried and true fantasy keeps rerouting back to Frankie. You turn your toy to its highest setting and the sensation still pales in comparison to the thrill of his fingers wrapped securely around your ankle, the line of his body pressed against your legs, and his low, deadly voice telling you how to move.

You go to sleep more frustrated than when you started, only to dream of him. He’s hovering over you, pressing you into the bed, his hot mouth on your neck and sucking on your tits and working his way down to eat you out and bring an orgasm crashing through you—and you wake up at 3 AM with your cunt throbbing between your legs.

One of the things you’ll miss most about this place when you inevitably have to move out due to your incurable roommate attraction is the in-unit washer and dryer. Perhaps in solidarity with your own resolve and self-control, the dryer abruptly breaks in the middle of the week.

“Do you want me to call the landlord, or will you?” you ask Frankie, but he immediately shakes his head.

“Let me take a look at it,” he says.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek.

Two hours and one trip to a hardware store later, he’s on his knees in front of the machine, working quietly save for an occasional soft grunt of exertion when he has to fit something into place.

There’s a bare strip of skin on display where his shirt has ridden up, and a black waistband peeking out from under his jeans. Your mind drifts, imagining away the denim and picturing how the tight boxer briefs would cup his ass and grip his muscular thighs, until your own thighs are clenching and you force yourself to go clean the kitchen instead.

“I’m moving out,” you call over your shoulder as you go.

“I promise I can fix it,” he says, like he thinks you’re just fed up with one broken appliance, not your own internal breakdown.

If only.

It’s 7 AM Friday and you’re fixing your coffee when Frankie ambles into the kitchen, bare-chested and barefoot and wearing nothing more than a pair of low-slung pajama bottoms. If you allowed yourself to look, you would see the soft curve of his modest belly and the sparse line of hair trailing down to disappear enticingly under his waistband. His voice is early morning-deep when he mumbles a good morning. His hand steadies casually on your wrist when he stands next to you to grab a mug from the cupboard just to your left, and you hope he can’t feel your pulse quicken under his touch. When his coffee is ready and he takes his first sip, he lets out a satisfied groan. You want to die.

“You must be doing this on purpose,” you say, dismayed.

He blinks at you over the rim of his coffee cup. “Doing what?”

You gesture helplessly, at his naked chest and effortlessly rumpled bedhead. “Just—being all—”

He glances down at himself, then back at you, raising an eyebrow. “Being all…?”

“Just—sexy, I guess,” you finally admit.

For a moment, he looks surprised. Then an amused smile spreads slowly over his face and he takes a step towards you, clever eyes taking in how your body straightens and your breath picks up.

“I didn’t realize it bothered you,” he says. “Didn’t you say you were going to move out, anyway?”

“I am,” you say. “I can’t stand you anymore.”

He takes another step closer.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I could give you a reason to stay.”

You slump against the counter at your back, helplessly wanting him.

“Please,” you tell him.

He touches you carefully, one hand skimming your hip and the other on your arm. He cocks his head, looking skeptical.

“You really think I’m sexy?” he asks.

You nod miserably. “It’s torture.”

He laughs and you are desperately endeared by the way it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, and the hint of a dimple peeking out under his beard.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, and he leans in, and the touch of his lips to yours makes you feel like you’re floating, like your body might drift up to the sky if not for his sturdy frame anchoring you in place. Like your legs might give out, sending you sliding to the floor, except that he’s pressing close enough now that his body is touching yours, bending you back just enough to easily reach, and his hand has crept up from your arm to wrap around the back of your neck, holding you securely even as he finally pulls his mouth away, leaving you breathless and dazed.

You think you understand the overwrought prose of Deandra’s romances now.

“I can’t stand you either,” he says quietly. “You were torturing me the other night, with all the dirty talk from that book and then making me go to your room. Christ.”

“Sorry,” you say, not really meaning it. You’ve never felt this intoxicated this early in the morning. You’ve never looked into his eyes this close up. They’re a rich, deep brown that you feel halfway hypnotized by.

He glances away and must spot the microwave clock, because he pulls away with a look of regret. “I need to get ready for work.”

“Take a sick day,” you suggest.

He smiles ruefully and shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says. “But what would you do if I did?

You take a deep breath. Your eyes drop to his waist, and you touch your fingertips gingerly to the soft skin on display there. You lift your gaze to meet his own.

“I’d ask you to take me to bed,” you tell him.

He forces himself to leave. You watch his fingers clenching as he turns away, closing around the empty air as though he wishes it was you.

You go to your own room on unsteady legs and finish getting ready for work, thinking of Frankie’s mouth for your entire commute and almost missing your exit as a result. This time, opening Roderick and Isabella’s romance is a whole new kind of torture, and you end up claiming a headache by 3 o’clock to go home early, not caring if your boss can see through the lie.

Getting home early means you have plenty of time to shower and shave and moisturize with intent this time instead of your regular lazy girl morning routine. You’re soft and smooth and clean, in the kitchen making a snack of crackers and cheese to distract your anticipatory nerves, when Frankie comes home.

He gives you a small, familiar smile and sets a grocery bag on the counter between the two of you.

“You pick which comes first,” he says, nodding to the bag. He steals a cracker off your plate while you peer inside.

He’s brought you two pints of Ben & Jerry’s and one box of condoms.

“All the essentials,” you observe, and he grins. You pluck the condoms out of the bag and hand them to him meaningfully. His smile turns a little sly and he leans in and kisses you, too briefly for your liking, before pulling away again.

“I have to take a quick shower,” he says. “Wait for me?”

You let out a sigh, turning to put away the ice cream. “Don’t take too long,” you joke, gesturing to the pints. “I’ve got two other men waiting for me.”

“Ha, ha,” he says, already halfway down the hall.

Out of the shower, he comes to you with damp hair curling softly around his head, dressed simply in a navy t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants, and looking so good you think you might combust. After a moment of flirtation—your room or mine?—you finally find yourself in his bedroom. He leans in to kiss you and he takes his time this time, cupping your face in his large hand, teasing gently at your mouth, sliding his tongue along yours to deepen the kiss. When he pulls away to trace his lips down your jawline, you take a breath to steady yourself—and then squint in confusion. There’s a familiar scent in his hair.

“Is that—did you use my shampoo?”

He goes still for a moment, caught, and then laughs.

“Mine ran out,” he admits, a little sheepishly. He pulls in closer, nosing at your neck. “Yours is nicer, anyway. I always like how it smells on you.”

“We can share,” you say generously. “I’ve never been one of those roommates who labels all their shit.”

“Good,” he murmurs, mouth hot against your collarbone. “‘Cause I also ate your leftovers.”

You make a sound of exasperation and he tackles you to the bed, promising apologetically that he’ll make it up to you. And then proceeds to do so.

Very thoroughly.

You awaken to find a note on the pillow next to you, in Frankie’s familiar printed handwriting: Going to pick up Baby M. See you soon.

You give yourself a minute to luxuriate in his bed, enjoying the calm, satiated feeling in your body, and the warm scent of him in the sheets, and then you straighten up his bedding and scurry back to your own room to get dressed before he arrives home with his daughter. You’re just pulling your shirt over your head when you hear their voices in the living room, and you go out to greet them. He’s juggling a Starbucks tray in one hand along with his keys and her travel bag. She’s munching contentedly on a snack and doing her part by carrying her favorite stuffed seal plushie.

Over her head, he shoots you a warm, intimate smile. You feel a giddy thrill bubble up in your chest and you grin back at him.

“We made a coffee run,” he says, nodding to the drinks. “Someone wanted a cake pop.” The toddler tips her face up to offer a beatific, icing-smudged smile. Frankie sets her bag on the couch and leads the three of you into the kitchen.

“That one is yours,” he tells you, pointing to one of the cups. Then, to her, “You want some real breakfast, mija?”

You look at the label on the drink and your jaw drops in surprise. “How did you know London Fogs are my favorite?”

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, but you catch a self-satisfied smile on his face as he turns away. “I notice things.”

He keeps a platonic distance while his daughter is in the kitchen but when she leaves to go put her stuffed animal away in her room, he pulls closer, nudging your hand with his. “You alright?” he murmurs.

You rub your thumb across his knuckles. “I’m really, really good.”

“I convince you not to move out?” he asks. You pretend to think about it.

“Almost. I think you could tip the balance if you make me some eggs.”

He clicks his tongue in affirmation. “Got it.”

Later, when the three of you have settled at the breakfast table with piles of fluffy scrambled eggs and buttered toast, his face changes like he’s just remembered something.

“Hey, how did that book end up, with Roderick and what’s-her-name?” he asks you, taking a sip of his coffee. “You never mentioned it after Monday night.”

You haven’t actually made it to the end yet, but you already know the answer.

“They lived happily ever after,” you tell him. “It’s a staple of the genre. The couple always has a happy ending.”

“Huh,” he says. He gives you a small, private smile, and taps his foot against yours, out of sight under the table. “That’s good to hear.”

[asexualbookbird]

Whoo boy. Lots of things going on here, many of them Not Good, so I threw myself into video games and reading. Played a whole bunch of Project Sekai, so much Project Sekai I have to now force myself to take a break from Project Sekai because my hands hurt so much. I was absolutely SPOILED by my friends on my birthday. I look at my little Miku figure everyday and it brings me SO much joy!! Got an embroidery machine and I already have a couple jobs lined up so hopefully I can make a little bit of Fun Money. At the very least I'm hoping to make enough to upgrade the program so I can make my own freehand designs! I read SIX (6) books this month and I annotated in the margins for the first time! It was fun, but I think it was only fun because I was leaving notes for a friend. I don't think it's something I would enjoy on my own so I won't be making a habit of it. Still! Fun and new and exciting!

Someone You Can Build A Nest In by John Wiswell ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- Okay Initially I rated this four stars, but sitting on it for a month I ADORED this. It left so many good feelings. Fun and silly and gross, I want more like this.

Magic for Liars by Sarah Gailey ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ - A reread! Still love it! I'd forgotten so much it was nice to revisit and about halfway through I remembered the ending which was fun. Opted for the audio this time which was absolutely delightfully done.

Moon Over Soho by Ben Aaronovitch ⭐⭐⭐ - Not my favorite, but still fun. I find it a Choice that the use of outdated slurs was a hint at a plot point. Peter made a promise to a child, so there's no way that will come back to bite him!

The Daughters of Izdihar by Hadeer Elsbai ⭐⭐- I listened to the audiobook and I think that didn't help my enjoyment of this. I switched to a hard copy in the last 20% and found my opinions of the two main characters switching. I didn't like Nehal's narrator, so I didn't like Nehal. But reading it myself she was more tolerable. Aside from Giorgina having an abortion, this could have easily been a young adult novel, and even then it wouldn't necessarily have been out of place. The writing didn't feel like an adult novel, which I hate saying but I know of no other way to voice my feelings on this.

Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- PERFECT. WONDERFUL. LOVED EVERY BIT! I know I just complained about a book reading like YA, but listen. Elatsoe was SO good. The love Elatsoe has for her family and her family for her is so refreshing. She's ace. Her loved ones love her. She loves them. And she's ace. It's not about Being Ace, but still! There she is! The audio was so easy and pleasant to listen to. I want my own copy because I KNOW I want to read this again. Absolutely delightful.

Whispers Underground by Ben Aaronovitch ⭐⭐⭐- didn't enjoy it as much as the first, but enjoyed it more than the second. Typing the title out made a lightbulb go off and I Got It. The buried alive chapter had me squirming. Abigail returned. There are an awful lot of guns in this series for being set in London and here they still had to poke fun at the American being trigger happy (she was). I'm a little burnt out on this series for now, but I'll return to it in the future.

June is bringing a birthday tea party for my mom, finishing a knit hat for my mom, making a homebound sketchbook for my friend, and whatever books I feel in the mood for. I'd say throw suggestions at me, but the instant someone says YOU MUST READ THIS my brain goes hm. No uwu. I think I want to make Monthly Reading Goals photos again, that was fun! Only book set in stone this month is The Adventures of Amina Al-Sirafi which I've already started and am enjoying a lot so far. Good omens and good vibes for June, I am speaking that into existence.