#find ways to put yourselves on the same side

[dimmadoome]

Yall will do anything but actually take responsibility for what you've created. Fanon is literally that. Canon crested by fans. They're all headcanons created by you, yes. Literally you, the person reading this that has written fanfic and drawn comics and posted your essays. You are the people writing stories and sharing art and making tumblr posts. Each an every person on here, commenting on my post outraged that I like the collicteve works of yourself had had a hand in creating fanon just by existing in the fandom. You all speak with such derison about yourselves and its actually making me laugh.

You actually can find fanon from people of color. Many many different ways. From discord servers to tumblr to twitter and beyond. AO3 Is just an archive for writers. It is not the be all end all of fandom. But, while we are talking about AO3.

It is not a streaming service. It is not youtube. The works there are not paid for. They are made by you and me and a billion other people who only want to share their art. THEY ARE YOUR PEERS, NOT A CONGLOMERATE. This whole response makes it sound like you're all complaining about the fucking disney channel queerbaiting you again. If YOU want more Babs stories. Write them. You dont want racist tropes in your fanfiction? Well howdy do you've already proven you can both write and post to the internet just by responding to this post. Write. Create. Build. Just like the rest of us normal people did when we added onto the fandom. If you want Cass to be more present in stories, write those. Jesus christ yall. This is YOUR baby you're trying to throw out with the bathwater.

At the end of the day, you need to step back and realize that if someone is telling you they like your work and the community you built with your own bare hands. Maybe say, hell yeah. Im glad you like it, instead of acting like you're above your own hard damn work.

Also. As a side note. Im an indigenous trans person. I understand what it means to desperately want to see representation for me and to know that i will likely never be able to make it a reality in any canon works. I find that fanon is more likely to be written by people of color, disabled people and queer people than canon will ever be. Fandom is a bigger and more diverse collective than canon. Which makes me love it more. Because I can have my voice heard. Because you can have your voice heard.

Its new and its beautiful and its ever changing and its so, so much better than almost 100 years of writers having to sanitize themselves for the capitalist elite who need every batboy to look the same and cant let gay characters exist without making it tragic or retconning it every two seconds.

In the end all I can say is this

Fanon is beautiful.

Fanon has more for me than canon does. Likely, if you are not white, not straight, not cis or not able bodied, it also has more for you than canon ever will.

You all deserve to love your community too. If there are racists. Well fuck man, do what everyone else is doing by drowning them out with your own, obviously not problematic the sligtest, content. So go. Fix what youre complaing about. But realize that you are part of the problem. You are part of the collective you are angrily decrying and nothing you can say will change anything unless you put your hands to paper and actually start working for the changes you want to see.

Hot take but I prefer fanon Batfam to Canon batfam because at least fanon does its best to give each of the batfam very distinct personalities and looks.

I love living in a world where blue eyed black haired white boy doesn't describe half the group, ya know?

[ailelie]

Potential argument to develop more later:

So. I work in education. One thing I've learned from talking with teachers and kids is that kids will meet your expectations. I mean that in a negative way. If you decide early on that a kid is a troublemaker, that kid will become a troublemaker. Kids figure that if that's what you expect, they have no reason to do or be different. They get frustrated because their actions are always viewed with suspicion.

And, like, I get that, though from the other side. I was a "good kid." I was able to get away with so much shit just because the adults in my school assumed I had a good reason for, say, skipping class or getting sodas from the teachers' lounge, etc.

When kids get treated like problem children over and over again, have their behavior questioned over and over, and even have their good actions seen as a distraction or mask for some bad action over and over, they just give up. They become what teachers expect.

So, I know that how we view and treat people affects how they act and who they become. Surely you've noticed the same?

[Get them to give an example or two from their personal life.]

Right. And so that got me wondering--where else is this happening, you know? I saw this documentary that showed prison conditions* and they were horrible. People were basically treated like animals, you know? Worse than even.

And I just had to wonder...if kids who are treated like troublemakers become troublemakers, what happens when you treat people like animals? What do they become?

*Note: This is a lie, but I have read about prison conditions from various sources. Saying "a documentary" and then conveniently forgetting the name keeps the focus on the argument and off my sources.

The goal of this argument is to get my listener thinking about and questioning prisons and prison conditions.

It needs some finessing, still, but I think the bones are decent. You'll notice I start by sharing my personal experiences and I work toward finding some common ground in a way that gets them to accept my premise. Then I give that same premise a new context with my prisons question. I don't give a conclusion, but lead them to it.

After this, they'll likely have some response. The most likely response will be that people in prison are different. At which point, my question will be "how?" Or to ask something like, "But, do you think putting these people in prison, however much they deserve it, is making anything better?"

The one downside is that this can easily lead to the assumption that people freed from incarceration are inherently dangerous, which is not true and not where I want to go. I think the counter there would be something like "So we just give up? Or do we have to pay even more in taxes to keep people locked up forever? That doesn't seem very practical." The idea would be route them back to the idea that prisons are the problem, not people.

Obviously, this argument does not immediately argue for abolition or even mention it. You cannot start there...unless of course you have no hope of convincing the other person and the argument is a performance for third parties.

[slvttyplum]

it was clear satoru liked to push the limits and didn’t know how to stop, especially with sex, but that’s what you loved about him: clear boundaries and communication. whenever he pushed the limits, your legs were weak and your knees were buckling.

ever since moving into his new place, whenever you came over, you couldn’t help but watch his eyes repeatedly scan between you and the gigantic window on the side of you.

you never thought too much into it, just the fact that it was gorgeous.

satoru was thinking the same thing, but he didn't think it looked all that good. what would've put the icing on the cake was if you were pushed against it in all your glory while he was burying dick deep inside your stomach.

he made sure to turn that into a reality, who needed curtains with a view like that. of course, him being him, he didn't discuss it and decided to just surprise you instead, putting you so deep into the mood you couldn't say anything, and fuck did it feel better than any other time the both of you had sex.

the feeling of your body pressing against the glass window as satoru gripped your hips had you on cloud nine. it felt so good; it was incomparable to anything else. the adrenaline rushing through your body, wondering if the glass could possibly break but not caring.

your nipples are hardening as they press against the glass, his speed only getting faster; this is everything satoru imagined and more; this was too sexy even for him; he never wanted to stop; he wanted to keep going until he felt as though the glass was on the verge of cracking and that never was going to happen.

you could see everything that was happening beneath you, people walking hand in hand, cars passing by, you knew no one could see you but the fear that someone could kicked in and satoru used that to his advantage.

grabbing you by the jaw making sure you were looking straight down.

"you think he can see you? getting fucked like the dirty slut you are." pushing deeper inside of you, his dick pressing on your sweet spot making you whimper and clench around him. feeling the way you gripped over his dick and whimpered while trying to keep yourself steady made him want to do this more, and he did.

every time he got a chance, he slid your panties to the side and made sure to fuck you like it was his last day on earth. your stomach was sucking in, your eyes rolled to the top of your head, and you held onto his arm with your fingers digging into his skin for stability.

he didn't just fuck you with your front facing out the window; that would be boring, and he didn't purposefully get the window for that reason, he wanted to explore and see how much he could get away with, so he would twist you around, lift you up, and fuck you against the window instead.

whispering in your ear that everyone could see you getting fucked and even hear you, so you better quiet down, but he didn't want you. that's why he found himself time and time again inside and fucking you against the glass.

this was a sight that others wish they could see; they wish they could have you bent over and moaning endlessly on their dick. he wanted to make everyone jealous, and he did right in that little mind of his smiling to himself while he got faster with speed each and every time.

that became your favorite spot to suck and fuck, finding yourselves in that exact same spot at least three times a day.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Showing Off

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 990 words

warnings/tags: fluff, briefest allusions to smut

“What do you think about this one, Si?” You ask as you pick up one of the grocery store’s apples, not even really bothering to look at which one you grab. You shove it in front of his face, twisting it around so that he sees more of your hand than the fruit itself.

“Looks fine to me, love”

“Mmm, actually how about this one?” You quickly switch out apples, presenting him another one in the same manner, his eyes seeing more of your hand than what it holds.

“S’alright.”

“Okay, well, where do you think we should go next? That way towards bread? Or maybe the aisle this way?” You ponder, making a big show of waving your left hand back and forth in front of his face as you point. From behind the black surgical mask he wears, you hear him scoff in amusement, but his eyes cannot contain the love he holds for you as he snatches your wrist in his much larger palm. He brings your left hand up to his lips through the mask and gives your newest piece of jewelry a kiss.

“Follow ya wherever ya take me, love.” He says, threading his fingers through yours as he nudges the shopping cart with his hip, and true to his word, follows you wherever you take him.

‘Do you think we need any more dish soap?’ accompanied by a photo of your left hand pointing towards a store shelf, your ring front and center.

‘Nails are painted! Got the colour you picked ;)’ sent along with a photo of your nails on your left hand.

‘Ever noticed how soft the brown blanket is? We never take out the brown blanket’ reads the message, in addition to a short video of you petting said blanket for a few seconds, before zooming in and out dramatically on your ring.

‘Don’t mind me, just putting clothes away :)’ are the words that accompany a photo of your left hand atop a pile of laundry. You’ve circled your ring in bright red and drawn little hearts around it.

He finally is able to check his messages after a long day on base. He sees all the notifications from you and can’t help but roll his eyes while a smirk stays plastered across his face, hidden behind his mask, as he goes through them all. You’re adorable. He’s so in love with you it hurts.

“Wait!! Let me do it!” You squeak, noticing which jacket Simon has just thrown over his broad shoulders and looped his muscular arms through. He chuckles softly to himself and slowly shakes his head in disbelief, yet he still keeps his hands at his sides, allowing you to come up behind him. The both of you angle yourselves so that Simon is facing the mirror you hung up in the foyer not long after moving in with him. He’s not so bothered by what he sees in his reflection nowadays. Especially when it more often than not shows him with his pretty little bird by his side.

He hears your sweet little giggle that you try to muffle into the fabric of his jacket, and his smile widens, knowing how pleased you are with yourself that he’s putting up with your antics. He feels your left hand creep its way between his side and his arm, sneaking its way towards the front where you find his zipper. He uses his right hand to pass you the other side of the jacket and helps you to fasten it (listen your fiancé is just so broad, it’s easier if you just let him help you start the zipper okay lovie, then he’ll let you do it all on your own).

He turns his gaze towards the mirror, where he watches your much smaller hand ever so slowly inch the zipper up his abdomen towards his chest, admiring how the ring he slipped on your finger for the first time only so many days ago glistens in the light. Eventually your little hand and its new pretty accessory make its way up to his throat, where your soft fingers fingers slowly reach up and pet the skin they find there. If it looks like he’s blushing when you slip your hand back and come around to face him, you don’t have long enough to comment before he’s dropped down to a knee and is grabbing your preferred pair of shoes of the shoe rack.

He juts his chin towards your legs, letting you know he wants you to lift a foot. You lean back against the wall and raise your foot for him, enchanted by the way his larger than life hands grasp your ankle as if he were handling a newborn fawn, delicately slipping your shoe on for you, before pressing a kiss to your knee, and wordlessly repeating each step with diligence with the next foot.

He stands to his full height, where you now find yourself trapped between the wall and his hulking frame. You grab his left hand with both of yours, folding his fingers so that you can press a soft kiss to the spot where you hope he too will one day adorn his own shining band. His already lovesick gaze softens even further as you smile sweetly up at him, allowing him to cradle your cheek with his palm.

“Do you think you’ll want to wear a ring, Si? Wear it on your tags at work maybe, if it gets in the way of gloves or-”

“‘Course I’ll wear a ring swee’heart.” He cuts you off, leaning in to press his own soft kiss to the edge of your mouth. “I’ll let ya slip any ring you want on my finger.” He adds with another kiss to the other corner of your mouth. “And then I’ll make ya watch as ya get that ring all wet on my fingers.”

…

“We don’t actually need a ceremony right? Courthouse good with you? How’s tomorrow??”

[morning-star-joy]

honey don't feed it, it will come back (Joel x F!Reader)

Pairing: Bodyguard!Joel x Sex Worker F!Reader

Summary: You run a brothel in the Boston QZ, devoting yourself to taking care of your girls. When the safety of one is threatened, you hire a bodyguard in the form of the surly Joel Miller to protect them. Little did you know that you were going to become his new favorite vice, and him your favorite addiction.

Warnings: MDNI Explicit Smut (oral f receiving, v fingering, Joel jacks off while going down on Reader, dirty talk, bit of a sir kink, bit of a brat tamer dynamic). Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart). Alcohol/drug use. Sex work (Joel listens to Reader). Age gap (20 years). Mentions of physical assault (towards minor characters, never from Joel. Not stated to be sexual assault but it can be inferred as such, so please take care of yourselves).

Wordcount: 9.6k (how the fuck)

joel miller masterlist

The world was fucked to all hell and back, and so what did men do in those circumstances?

“Oh fuck,” your customer was grunting as he fucked into you from behind, your hands on the headboard as it rocked against the wall to keep yourself up, breathy moans expertly leaving your lips to spur them on, even if you hadn’t felt an inkling of desire in years.

Yeah.

They fucked.

Fight or flight were often referred to in the first years following the Outbreak, a default of survival instinct that most everybody resorted to in order to survive.

But fucking was the much less talked about, incredibly prevalent third option.

It became clear in the Quarantine Zones that there was a need to be filled here, a way to satisfy that urge in a way that wouldn’t cause a barely held-together society inside high walls to erupt into chaos.

From this need, brothels made an appearance. While FEDRA had nothing to do with the establishments officially, they turned a very convenient blind eye to the street corners where women trying to make some kind of a living in the QZ took up their stations, tempting any lonely man who may wander by into a night of needed release.

It was a dangerous profession, in its own way. Contraceptives were long expired twenty years after the society collapsed, and even if a client pulled out at the best time and you were keeping track of your cycle, there was always the risk of being put out of work for around 9 months if you were unlucky.

And then came the obsession.

Clients could become far too eager far too quickly, addicted to the touch and feeling of a certain girl, mistaking lust for affection and lurking around those street corners before the night even came or, worse, outside the brothel doors.

You’d experienced it first-hand and through other girls, but it wasn’t until one of the younger ones came to you with a black eye and bruised jaw that you had had enough.

“Who did it?” you said in a low tone, breathing deeply in and out through your nose as you tried to control yourself, reigning yourself back in from the need to grab the gun you kept tucked in the top drawer of your rickety old nightstand and find who the fuck had laid their hands on one of your girls in such a way.

After years of being in the business, you had gone from only taking clients to keeping a watchful eye over the other women who made the same living you did. Your glory days were mostly behind you, but you still had your reputation, even after the incident that left you with a jagged scar that stretched vertically across the right side of your face, from above your eyebrow, down across your eye to just below your cheekbone.

Those clients you did still have preferred to fuck you with you facing away from them now, but you weren’t complaining. Not seeing their ugly faces as they used you to cum helped you dissociate, focus your thoughts on how well you were going to eat the next few days because of a few minutes of sacrifice.

The young woman whose lip was trembling as you held her hands gently in yours now was hardly past her early twenties, a sweet young thing who you had taken under your wing when she confessed needing a way to get some extra ration cards for her little brother who had gotten sick recently.

You had snuck Isabel some of your own ration cards with each of her payments, not caring that you had a bit less to eat each night, especially when she had come to you a couple weeks later with a bright smile and the news that her brother’s health had improved.

Now that smile that could light up the whole goddamn QZ was nowhere to be seen, an abject horror darkening her gaze, making her angelic face gaunt as you reached up to gently hold it, tilting it so you could assess the extent of the damage.

Her eyes, a deep honeyed brown that had drawn in the most clients your brothel had seen in years, were avoiding yours as you searched for her gaze, and you gently directed her face back towards you, voice softer as you implored her, “Isabel. Please, talk to me, babygirl.”

A choked sob was the first sound to leave her mouth then at the sound of your genuine affection. The world may be fucked, but protecting these girls was your purpose. And the thought of not being enough to protect them, for one of them to come to you like this…

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you whispered as her petite form collapsed against yours, holding her close as you smoothed a hand over the tangles in her hair, gently combing them out with your fingers as your other hand rubbed at her back. “It’ll be okay, love. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Even as you assured her, a fear was creating pressure in the back of your mind, causing the first of many sleepless nights as you tried to figure out how to make sure this could never happen again.

You sat at your little makeshift desk in your tiny room on the top floor of the brothel, a cheap cigarette you had just gotten from a couple smugglers perched between your fingers as you slowly exhaled the smoke, staring down at your incoherent scribbled notes.

With a groan, you pushed yourself away from the desk, standing to cross over to the small window on the wall, gazing out in paranoia to make sure there were no dark shadows lingering nearby, waiting to get a hold of one of your girls if they didn’t want it.

Glancing back down at the lit cigarette, you pondered your few options.

FEDRA was not a viable source for protection. Yes, they turned a blind eye on your activities, but they would never risk their image by offering guards for your girls. Besides, you didn’t trust anybody in one of those uniforms within an inch of your life.

Fireflies weren’t a fucking option either. Those jackasses were so far up the proverbial ass of justice that they couldn’t see the actual struggles of the real people around them, subjecting them to be collateral in whatever useless statement they were making lately.

The cigarette was raised halfway to your lip when you paused, staring down at it as you suddenly had a small epiphany.

Who did you know that had not an ounce of a moral code, but a strong work ethic and determination to get the job done for a good deal that promised a stack of ration cards?

A smirk curled onto your lips then as you brought the cigarette back to them, placing it in your mouth as you took a long drag, exhaling it towards the window and watching it fog up the glass as you realized exactly who you were heading to.

“We don’t do protection,” your smuggling contact was saying, her voice as gruff and no-nonsense as always, and you sighed, meeting her sharp green eyes straight on as you shifted to cross your legs.

“Don’t bullshit me, Tess,” you said flatly back, your voice not harsh, but definitely firm, calling her out on her bluff even as you saw her ever-present guard dog shift a ways behind her at your tone. “You’ll do anything for a good trade. And I have that.”

“I don’t wanna fuck your girls,” Tess dismissed, waving her hand as if to brush the thought away, and you rolled your eyes, even as you couldn’t help a smirk, glancing at your associate with a small hint of mirth that matched her own.

“I’m not offering that,” you replied honestly, slowly drumming your fingers at the small table you were both seated at in one of the back alleys where these deals tended to go down. Public enough to avoid a shootout, but private enough to avoid FEDRA breathing down your backs. “My girls get paid for their work. So would you.”

Tess raised an eyebrow then, leaning in just a fraction, and you knew that you had captured just a fraction of her attention.

Good. You could work with that.

“What are we talking?” she asked in a low tone, voice still disinterested, gaze still closed off, but you knew that would change when you laid out the conditions of the deal.

When you did—offering a heft of ration cards (that they didn’t need to know was almost your entire cut of the brothel’s proceeds) for an able body to keep watch at your brothel during active business hours—Tess leaned back again, eyes flickering over your face as she processed the information.

“You know I’m good for it, Tess,” you implored, allowing a bit of emotion to creep into your tone now as you meet her gaze, hoping she would hear what you were asking for, woman to woman. “And these girls…they need it.”

She frowned then, sympathy flashing over her face as she glanced over yours, hearing what went unsaid.

Tess began to turn her head slightly over her shoulder, though she didn’t bother sparing a glance back as she called, “Joel.”

That was the first time you think you’d heard the name of her silent, watchful companion.

You knew that they were a package deal, but whenever you met with Tess, he lingered in the background, making sure you didn’t lay a hand on her.

Good, you thought to yourself, glancing over at him as he pushed himself off the wall and strolled over just at the unspoken order she gave for him to approach. If he’s who she has in mind, hopefully he does the same for the girls.

It was also the first time you really got a look at the man who Tess finally introduced you, explaining to the both of you how this was going to work at the same moment.

With those thick arms that could be around your neck as fast as you could blink, hardened dark eyes that were already measuring you up and calculating at least six ways to take you out before you could even open your mouth to say hello, you knew that just the sight of him in your brothel would strike fear into the depraved hearts of meeker, cowardly men.

He was older, too. Maybe had twenty years on you, and if somebody had lived that long in the apocalypse, they had to know how to get their hands fucking dirty if they needed to.

“I’ll take him,” you said back to Tess after appraising the man who would be your brothel’s bodyguard, your attention only pulled back to the hunk of muscles when you heard him scoff at your words. “There a problem?”

“I’m not a piece of meat,” he grunted, expression flat as he stared at you, and you arched an eyebrow, unamused by his comment that came right after you and Tess had agreed to the terms of the deal.

“Hate to break it to you, but a bodyguard is nothing but that,” you replied as you gracefully uncrossed your legs, rising to your feet as Tess collected their first payment from you off the table, pushing it into her front pocket as she rose from her own seat as well. “Muscle that can drop a man at a moment’s notice.”

You watched as Joel’s strong jaw ticked, your other eyebrow rising with the first as you stepped around the table, getting closer to the man than you probably should, watching as his tense shoulders bunched up even more around his ears when you approached. 

“And now, you’re my muscle, Mr. Miller,” you said in a perfectly conversational tone, a practiced smile pulling onto your lips as Joel glanced down at them briefly before looking back into your eyes, his gaze narrowing as you added, “Pleasure to be doing business with you.”

Spinning on your heel, you strolled away from the smugglers towards the exit to the alley, but not without saying back over your shoulder before you got too far, “First shift’s an hour after curfew. Don’t be late.”

There was the sound of low grumbling behind you, followed by the smooth low tones of Tess’ voice, and you didn’t know why you felt the urge to laugh at that moment.

You didn’t know why, because you hadn’t laughed in years.

But you brushed that feeling aside, heading back towards your establishment to ready your girls for the change that would be coming in their worlds tonight, hoping that it would give them the peace of mind you all so desperately needed.

Whether you would be able to relax all depended on if Joel Miller could actually do his job.

He could.

One of the very first nights Joel had taken up station in the main hallway in the brothel that led off to private rooms, he had proven his worth, and then some.

You had been down the staircase in an instant when you heard the loud crash, heart racing in your chest, breath quickened from panic as you rounded down to see what had caused the loud sound.

Some thumps and bumps were common in an establishment like yours, but that sounded very much like a body not only hitting the ground, but being thrown down onto it.

What you saw then was an image that etched itself deep into your brain for the rest of your days.

Joel, your brand new, stoic bodyguard who hardly gave so much as a grunt to you or any of the girls he was hired to protect, had a half-naked man pressed to the old floorboards, knee digging right into his back to pin him down, a large hand keeping a tight grip on his neck to stop him from moving.

But what got your attention even more than the struggling client who Joel was snarling at as he roughly kept them down, was the girl who was standing behind him, arms wrapped around herself and subconsciously shifting to stay behind the bodyguard, eyes wide and relieved at the sight of him catching the out of hand customer.

You walked towards the scene that had drawn spectators in the form of clients and workers alike, peeking their heads out into the hallway to watch as you slowly knelt down in front of where the bastard was pinned so roughly to the ground that you weren’t sure he could even breathe.

Good.

You glanced up at Joel then, meeting his hard gaze with one of your own, and you gestured with a jerk of your chin towards the staircase leading down and out of your establishment that he could throw them out.

After rising to your feet, you paused next to Joel, watching from the corner of your eye as he grabbed the man roughly, yanking them to their feet and halting in his task only when you briefly laid your hand on his shoulder.

“Let him know not to come back,” you muttered under your breath, sending a sidelong glance full of unspoken things towards Joel, a tiny smirk curling onto your lips as the whimper of fear from the sick bastard and your bodyguard’s short nod let you know you’d been heard.

You walked straight towards your girl who had nearly been treated in a way you would not tolerate towards any of your women, wrapping your arm around her shoulder and pulling her against you, letting her sink into your warmth as you addressed the rest of the brothel that everything was fine, to resume their activities while Joel shoved the guy down the stairs as they started to beg for mercy.

Luckily, there weren’t many similar incidents after that one, letting you know the investment into a well-abled bodyguard for your girls had been more than worth it.

Because more than the concrete evidence of their safety, it was the palpable shift in energy at the brothel that reassured you that you had made the right choice not only in having a bodyguard, but in who you hired.

Joel never really warmed up to anybody, but all the girls had certainly grown fond of him. There were more than a few crushes on the emotionally unavailable older man who stood like a statue in the halls, ranging from innocent love to lustful fantasies.

There were a handful of times one of your girls had offered their services to him, some even trying to get him into a room free of charge, but Joel turned down every one—interestingly enough, it was never without kindness. Each time a proposition was offered, the detached bodyguard would give a slight shake of his head, mumbling a “no thank you, ma’am” in that deep Southern drawl that soon made almost every girl in that building buckle at the knees.

The fondness your girls had for Joel Miller became ingrained in the way the brothel functioned, and you knew that you couldn’t get rid of him even if you wanted to, even if that meant continuing to share a large portion of your personal livelihood with him.

And maybe you were crazy, but you thought that maybe Joel had a bit of warmth in that tiny, shriveled up heart for your girls, too. Sometimes he’d eye a client up and down before giving the girl with them a respectful nod and a polite murmur of their name as a greeting, and you didn’t know why the familiarity of the stoic man warmed your own barbed wire heart, but it did.

Maybe it was because after all the shit they’d gone through to survive long enough to reach this point, they deserved to experience an ounce of genuine kindness from a man, without having to think about what they had to offer him.

Still, Joel irritated you. Any hint of kindness he had for your girls was never shown towards you, but you didn’t let it get to you. You were his employer, and the only times you ever really interacted with each other were the few short seconds it took him to head up the stairs to your office, collect his payment with you and leave.

Besides, you weren’t exactly the most gentle with him either.

You’d taken up a habit of poking fun at your bodyguard, a little teasing here and there about things like his face getting stuck if he never unfurrowed his brow, a comment that only made him scowl further, the sight pulling forward again that urge from deep within your bones to laugh.

But you never laughed, even as you smirked up at him before turning on your heel and going on about your work keeping the place running smoothly.

That work mainly involved management and finances, but when you began to realize you soon wouldn’t be able to keep supporting yourself with keeping Joel on as a bodyguard, you knew you’d have to start doing something a little extra.

Time to go back to your roots.

For all his time working at the brothel, Joel had never seen you take a client.

In fact, he could probably count on one hand the amount of times he had seen you in the hallways, only to check on a few of the girls from time to time.

But most of the time you were holed up in that small office upstairs, the one he entered for a minute or two at a time, long enough for you to gather his payment and give it to him so he could be out of your hair—or, more accurately, to get you out of his.

Because fuck, you were irritating. You knew exactly how to get on his nerves, and Joel suspected you actually enjoyed doing so, for whatever goddamned reason.

Still, the job paid well. He was living with a bit more comfort in the QZ than he ever had before with those cushy extra ration cards.

And besides, he was actually, maybe a little bit attached to the girls who worked these streets. They were kind, just making a living in the best way they could, and needed somebody to protect them.

Maybe there was also a part of Joel that needed somebody to protect.

He had to admit though, for all his aggravation towards your mere existence, Joel did respect you. You were the person who kept this place up and running, the one who looked after every need of each woman, the lady who had cared for them enough to search for a protector to keep them safe.

Joel had honestly assumed that you didn’t do sex work at all, just judging from how you were never in one of those rooms.

But tonight, you were walking up the staircase from the base floor instead of down from your office, drawing Joel’s attention and subsequent confusion when he saw what you were wearing.

Gone were the baggy jeans you usually wore around the brothel, replaced by thigh-highs that enveloped soft skin he had never seen before. There were just hints of lace at the top of the hosiery from where the tight black dress hugging your curves rode up with each step you took.

It had to have been one of the least scantily clad outfits he’d seen down these halls, but something about the sight of you wearing it caused a lump to form in Joel’s throat, an itch curling inside his veins that needed to be scratched when you turned your head back, offering a sly smile different from any you had sent him towards somebody behind you.

When you ascended to the top of the stairs, Joel saw the man following you, his back stiffening for more than one reason.

The first reason was that he knew this man. Not personally, but he had seen them around—on wanted posters, specifically. They were a higher up in the Fireflies, one who had their eyes on every covert deal around the city, a puppet master pulling the strings.

But it was clear now that you were pulling his, a coy batting of your cunning eyes tugging him after you down the hallway, your body turned slightly towards him in a way that accentuated every curve of your body in its side profile, illuminated in the lowlights of the hall.

When you passed by Joel, eyes meeting his as they shifted into something darker—not lustful, but with clear intent—he knew the other reason he had suddenly snapped to attention.

This man was your customer.

That look you had given Joel, it was an unspoken order to keep you safe in case anything went south with this considerably more…“exclusive” customer, for lack of a better term.

You didn’t spare another glance back as you moved to a door at the end of the hall, one Joel didn’t think he had ever seen another girl enter, slipping into the room as the man followed behind you, and the door quietly clicked shut.

Joel stared at the spot where you had just been in the hallway, feet frozen to the ground until he slowly stepped forward, moving down to lean against the wall next to the room you had entered, following your silent order to stay close and keep an eye out for trouble.

All his time working in a building full of the sounds and smell of sex at every moment, Joel had been unbothered. The moans, the grunts, the cries of “oh fuck” and “I’m coming!” that would echo through the halls, the overpowering scents of sweat and cum when a door next to him would open and a satisfied client would walk out—he couldn’t give less of a fuck. It neither bothered him, nor turned him on to any degree.

But at the very first soft, breathy moan of yours that drifted through the thin wall his back was pressed to, Joel’s breath was catching in his throat, entire body stiffening at the alluring sound.

A few seconds later, there was another moan, longer than the first, and Joel’s head tilted back, resting against the wall as his jaw clenched to the point where it was almost painful.

He didn’t care, he told himself.

Joel had never cared before, he didn’t care now.

But it had never been you before.

You, the stalwart image of the establishment, all business and no pleasure, putting every other person’s needs before your own.

So at the thought of you giving into pleasure now, satisfying your own needs as the sounds of slow, rhythmic squeaking of a bedframe carried towards him through the door, your whimpering echoing the steady echo of skin slapping against skin—

“Fuck,” Joel whispered under his breath, eyes fluttering shut at a particularly loud moan of yours that reached his ears that had tuned in through the walls, and he snapped his eyes back open, straightening back up and realizing with a quiet groan from the movement how painfully hard he had grown in his jeans at the sounds of you being fucked.

He reminded himself then that this was your job. There was no guarantee you derived any real pleasure from it—to think that you did was a delusional male fantasy, and made him no better than the rest.

But his dick wasn’t listening to logic, only growing harder in his pants with the more lewd sounds that you made, and Joel sucked in a deep breath, rubbing a large palm over his face and shaking his head to himself.

You were no different from the others.

Just another girl to protect.

Joel didn’t want you.

“Oh, god, yes!” you were gasping in between keening moans now, and Joel bit down hard on his lower lip, feeling the chapped skin break and bleed a bit as his hand twitched at his side, the urge to do something about the erection straining against his pants so incredibly strong.

He could do it. None of the other girls were close to finishing with their clients. Joel could pull his cock from his pants right now and fuck into his own hand as he listened to you having sex, get himself off from the sounds you were making, imagining he was thrusting into you instead of his palm as you—

“Yes,” you whimpered, the sounds of skin slapping against skin rapid now, the bedframe inside your room slamming against the wall as you repeated yourself louder and louder, higher and higher, “Yes, yes, yes!”

Then you were crying out at the same time your client did, and Joel grunted, hips bucking up into his palm at the same moment he realized his hand had drifted there, subconsciously seeking relief from the ache of burning desire before he snapped his hand away.

“Fuck,” he huffed, shaking his head sharply and cursing himself at how he had nearly jacked himself off at the sound of you having sex without even realizing what he was doing. “Get it the fuck together.”

But his erection hardly eased up even as the minutes passed, and Joel had to fold his hands together, trying to casually hold them in front of the obvious bulge constrained by his jeans when your door opened.

The client walked out first, and Joel stared straight ahead at the wall opposite him, jaw clenching painfully once more as the man walked down the hallway, glancing back to send you a wave as you leaned against the doorframe, bending forward out of it to wiggle your fingers back towards him in goodbye.

Joel’s eyes snapped from how relaxed the gait of the man now was before looking over at you, sucking in a sharp breath at the tattered silk robe you were wearing, seeing the dip of your collarbone down to the soft curves of your cleavage, nearly catching a glimpse of the tempting pillows of your tits from the way you were leaning forward before he forced his gaze away.

You were watching him now—he could feel the familiar intensity of your gaze on him, and Joel resisted the urge to swallow thickly, struggling against the lump in his throat as you pushed yourself off the doorframe.

He expected you to head back up towards your office, preparing himself to keep his gaze off you when you walked past him in that temptation of thin fabric, when you surprised him by speaking.

“Want a smoke?”

Joel froze, his head tilting towards the sound of your voice subconsciously before your words even dawned on him.

When they did, he glanced towards you from the corner of his eye, seeing you were watching him with a thumb pointing back over your shoulder towards the room behind you.

The room you had just fucked a client in.

Oh fuck.

Joel cleared his throat, brows furrowed deeply as he looked back at you, and he half-expected you to make a comment about it like usual, but you were simply watching him with an impassive look, not a hint of emotion or motive he could try to decipher.

Before he knew what he was doing, Joel nodded, feet automatically moving after yours when you walked into the room.

“You can close it,” you said over your shoulder as you walked towards a nightstand next to the bed where—

Joel spun around, trying to control how rapidly he was breathing as he grabbed the door handle, pulling it shut behind him before slowly turning back to face the room again.

He had never actually been in one of them before, but he still should have expected the smell to be so much stronger in one—especially right after it had been occupied.

Still, the scent of sex pulled his attention right back to the bed you stood next to as you perched a cigarette between your lips—one he thinks Tess got you, he realized somewhere in the back of his mind—and Joel’s eyes lingered on dark spots on the mattress, forgetting how to breathe for a moment before your voice brought him back.

“Mr. Miller?”

His head snapped forward, eyes meeting yours to see you looking at him in a question he didn’t know that you were asking.

“Huh?” he mumbled so eloquently, wincing internally as your lips twitched into a small smirk around the cigarette in your mouth before you pulled it out, blowing it into the heady air of the room, nicotine joining the smells of sex and making the space tighter, hotter, before you paced towards a window on one wall.

“I asked if you wanted one,” you said slowly, and Joel just then noticed how scratchy your voice was—from the cigarette, the moans you were making not that long before, or maybe both.

“Uh—no,” Joel shook his head, watching with bated breath as your smirk towards him grew. “No thank you.”

His heart skipped a beat in his chest as you beckoned with the cigarette held delicately between your fingers for him to join you at the window. 

Joel did, almost automatically, cursing himself internally at his blunt eagerness to be beside you while you lifted the window to let some fresh air in, and he turned, resting his back against the open window pane, arms crossing over his chest as he watched you instead of observing the room any longer.

Not all that fresh, considering the perpetual staleness of the QZ air, but it did cut down on how overwhelming the aroma of sex currently was in that room.

If somebody was going to break the tense silence that had fallen between the two of you, Joel had expected it to be you, so he was surprised when the quiet words fell from his lips, “Didn’t know you took clients.”

You huffed out a laugh then, the stream of cigarette smoke leaving your plump lips in puffs with the action.

“The Mistress has to earn her keep somehow,” you muttered, pulling in another drag of nicotine to blow back out the open window, and Joel’s gaze snapped back towards you.

“The Mistress?” he repeated, eyes flickering over your face as he recognized that name in an instant.

Being a man in the Boston QZ, it was impossible not to hear about The Mistress. An elusive sex worker who was very selective about her clientele, but even still, the stories about her stretched far, the name representing the countless fantasies of every horny man who dreamed of a chance to get their cock wet with her.

His recognition must have been noticeable in the tone of his voice, because you lazily rolled your head back to look up at him, smirk growing fully across your lips, swollen from whatever you had been up to, and Joel nearly swore under his breath as he felt his cock stirring in his jeans again.

“You act like you’ve heard of me,” you murmured, tongue darting out to wet your lips before you placed the cigarette between them again, and Joel’s brain short-circuited for a moment before he could find the words to reply to you.

“I just—” Joel cut off, brows furrowed as he shook his head, as if trying to jumpstart his mind, get it to string coherent thoughts together again but Jesus fuck why were you looking at him like that, with dark hooded eyes he’d never seen from you before. “I mean, I’ve heard about her, but I didn’t think—”

“Why not?” you interrupted him before he could finish. The cigarette was back between your fingers, gesturing with it up towards the scar that stretched down one side of your face. “Because of this?”

Joel frowned then because, to his own surprise, he was offended that you would think he’d care about such a thing. That he’d judge your attractiveness off something as inconsequential as a scar, especially in such a time where such marks on your skin were proof of hard-earned survival.

Attractiveness. 

No, no, oh, fuck.

“Just didn’t know it was you,” Joel muttered gruffly, shrugging in a way that he knew must have looked incredibly stupid as he turned his face away from you, only to see the mess of shabby sheets on the bed, and those same dark stains on the fabric.

“Oh, so you have heard of me,” you were nearly goddamn purring the words now, in the same moment his mind was recalling those sweet, sweet moans you were making, the ones that had left your lips and resulted in the cum stains he was now staring at. “What have you heard?”

“They say you have the ti—” Joel cuts himself off again, feeling blood rushing towards his cheeks and somewhere lower, somewhere he should not be feeling any heat as he realized what he was about to say without thinking.

That you have the tightest, hottest cunt you could get in the whole QZ.

“They say I…?” you trailed off as you quietly repeated his words, and Joel’s attention flashed back to you to see you drifting closer to him, one arm crossed over your chest to prop up your elbow as you smoked your cigarette.

The way your arm pressed to yourself pushed your cleavage together to make an alluring dip, lifting your tits so they were almost spilling out of the open collar of the silk robe. Although the fabric was faded and tattered from the years it had survived, it may as well have been the richest texture in the world with the way it caressed your soft skin, taunting Joel as he struggled to look away.

When you shifted just an inch closer, one of the sleeves of the robe tumbled down your shoulder, and Joel sucked in an audible breath as more of your body was revealed, tempting him with how bare you were under that flimsy fabric.

He tried to look back up towards your eyes then, he really did, but the sleeve slipping down to hook around your elbow nearly revealed half of your chest to him. The only thing keeping him from seeing one of your tits completely was the way your forearm was pressed against your nipple.

Was it a peak right now? Were you as aroused as he was? Did you need him like he needed you?

Joel finally pulled his eyes up to yours, and when he saw the smug, knowing look in the heat of them, his desire flared into a fever pitch.

“They say you make sex an art,” his voice rumbled out from deep within his chest, and Joel hardly recognized it with the way his every word was coated in a thick need. “That your body feels like heaven, and you taste even better.”

You laughed at that, head tilting back with the action, and Joel was as distracted at the gentle, husky cadence that left your soft lips—how soft exactly, he wondered—as he was focused on the curve of your exposed neck as it led his eyes down your collarbone to the valley of your breasts.

There was a thin layer of sweat there, he just realized, and he wanted to dip his tongue between the soft pillows of flesh, tasting and tracing you, when your words pulled him out of his fantasizing that was quickly spiraling out of control the longer he was in this sex-tainted room with you.

“Those men don’t know a single fucking thing about how I taste,” you muttered, not bitterly, but simply matter-of-fact as you gazed out the window towards the dark lit streets of the QZ, taking another long drag of the cigarette.

Joel’s brow lifted, glancing over your side profile, noticing the way the deep red lipstick you had been wearing was almost completely faded, smeared a little at the corner of your mouth and down your chin, and coupled with the confession you had just made, he struggled with a sudden surge of an emotion he couldn’t name—or didn't want to, as it would surely become dangerous if he dared to entertain it.

“Seriously?” Joel found himself saying, and you turned back to him, your own eyebrows arching at the odd tone of his voice—almost appalled, but not towards you. “None of them?”

Your lips pulled back then, showing teeth in a grin that was nearly predatory, and Joel’s pulse raced as you answered with your own question, “You really think any man still alive wants to pay to go down on a woman?”

“I would,” Joel said in a heartbeat, and you blinked, surprise flashing through your eyes, and Joel hated the way his stomach flipped at the knowledge of catching you off-guard, as you were usually the one doing so to him.

“You’d pay for sex,” you repeated slowly, and although it was a question, you said it in a flat tone, disbelieving as you glanced up and down his body. “You. Mr. ‘I hate everybody and wish they were all fucking dead’ Miller?”

What surprised him the most out of everything tonight was the way you just made him laugh.

The sound was pulled from him so easily, tugged from his lungs towards you, and he sucked in a breath, as if trying to pull the sound back in as a dark look twinkled in your eyes from where they had fixed on the front of his jeans.

“Maybe you would pay for it, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, and Joel stiffened, his mind filling with a variety of curses in every language he still knew as you surely noticed his erection that still hadn’t fucking gone away.

Your eyes flashed back up to his, long eyelashes fluttering as you leaned forward, and Joel struggled to breathe as the forearm still covering the nipple of your almost completely revealed breast grazed against his chest.

“How would you prefer to take me, sir?” you asked breathily, and Joel’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly, brushing with your own nearly exposed chest with every fast breath he took as he tried to reign himself in, even as you started fucking seducing him. “Are you a fan of foreplay? Would you take your time and go slow with me?”

Your head tilts oh so slightly, hair tumbling down in a way that begged Joel to wrap it around his fist, as you continued to mercilessly tease, “No, I don’t think you’re one for taking it slow. Are you, Mr. Miller?”

Fuck, if you kept calling him that, he was going to lose his goddamn mind and take you right against that window sill if you would let him. He’d pay you all the fucking food rations in the world for a taste, just a taste of how sweet you’d drip for him when you came.

Because if Joel was fucking you, you were going to come.

“You like it hard and fast,” you whispered, your arm finally dropping from your chest, and Joel swallowed down a strangled sound as he finally saw half of your chest completely, your nipple hardened in the air before you pressed it against him and fuck, oh Jesus fuck, “I bet you’re rough too. Big man like you, you like to be in control. Probably gets off on taming brats, hm?”

Goddammit if you didn’t shut up he was about to show you just how well he could tame you, shutting up that pretty mouth by making you come again, again, and again, until all you knew to do was cry out for him every time he wracked your body with pleasure.

“But you’re not a missionary man,” you shook your head as it tilted the other way, bringing your face to hover inches away from his neck, and Joel shivered, actually fucking shivered when he felt your breath caress his skin as you teased, “You like a cowgirl, don’t you, Joel?”

That was the first time his name fell from your lips.

And at the sound of it, Joel lost any ounce of self-control.

His hands were on you in an instant, enveloping your waist in his large palms as he pulled you flush against him at the same moment he turned to push you against the wall.

You gasped, the dwindling cigarette falling from your fingers, and Joel lifted a foot to stomp it out, using his knee to nudge your legs apart with the motion. When his hips nudged against yours, erection pressing against the spot between your open thighs, he moaned at the feeling of your heat against the impossibly tight fabric.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized the robe you wore was completely open now, and your exposed cunt was pressed right up against his clothed erection, but his entire mind was focused on the way you also moaned at the same time he did.

“You keep running your mouth like that, I’ll show you how fucking good I can tame a brat,” he growled into your ear, one of his hands easily lifting your hip, dragging your folds across the bulge in his jeans, and he sighed as he felt wetness seep against the fabric. “Fuck, you this wet for me already, baby? Just from talking about how I’d fuck you?”

“I-I–”

Suddenly, no words were falling from your lips other than incoherent stuttering, and Joel smirked as he ducked his face against your neck, licking a path along the curve of it, groaning in need and irritation at the salt of sweat from your previous sex that still clung to it.

“Did you come for him?” Joel growled the question against your jaw, now directing your hips to grind against him in a way that put pressure to your clit, his eyes fluttering shut at the soft moan that left your lips—it sounded different than the ones he heard you make before, quieter, a bit huskier as opposed to so high-pitched—before he nipped at the skin just below your chin. “Answer me.”

“No,” you gasped, and Joel loosened his grip on your waist just a bit, wanting to see if you still chased that friction he had been providing against your clit.

When you did, grinding yourself against his clothed erection, Joel smirked against your jaw before asking his next question, “When’s the last time a man made you come, sweetheart?”

A shuddering breath fell from your lips to fan across his face, and Joel pulled back, looking down at how blown-wide your pupils were, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from your face as you muttered, “I—long. Too long.”

Joel wanted to smile at how you were already struggling to form full sentences before he had even started with you, but the anger he felt at you going so long without feeling an ounce of pleasure from being with a man made his jaw tick as he frowned deeply instead.

“Do you wanna come tonight, darlin’?” Joel murmured, his calloused thumb finding your bottom lip to gently pull it out, caressing the wet inner part of your lip while he searched your gaze. “I need you to answer me, sweetheart. I’m not doing anything unless you want me to.”

“Yes, Joel,” your voice nearly broke with the husky whisper, head bobbing in an eager nod, but Joel still waited to hear you say it clearly before he began. “I want you. Want you to make me come, please.”

A shuddering breath left Joel then, and he returned your nod, brushing his thumb across your lip again before pulling it back and leaning down to replace the digit with his own lips.

You were both moaning from the first moment your lips touched, kissing in a way that was much like how you always acted around each other—a battle for dominance, adding gasoline to the fire, but with an underlying respect that neither of you could shake even if you wanted to try.

“Fuck,” Joel mumbled when you allowed him access to slip his tongue inside your mouth, exploring every inch of it with a quiet moan that you echoed with your own. “Taste so good already, sweetheart.”

Every time he tried to pull away, you brought him back in with your lips chasing his, trapping him in another hot kiss, passion he didn’t think he could ever feel again building between you until he needed to taste more.

Joel finally tore himself away from your mouth fully, hands finding the opening of your robe to make sure it was pushed open completely, giving him access to every inch of your soft skin as he pressed kisses down your neck towards the perfect, perky tits that had been taunting him since you leaned out into the hallway.

His large palms cupped them, fingers stroking the soft flesh as he pressed them around his face, groaning into your skin at the feeling of being surrounded by them before turning his face to lap a path up the curve of one with his tongue until he reached that goddamn nipple that had been pure torture to nearly catch a glimpse of during your entire conversation.

Joel flicked his tongue over it, hips nearly bucking up as you gasped at the sensation, back arching to press further against his tongue when he flattened it against the stiffened peak. When he sucked it into his hot mouth, your fingers found his hair, tangling in the strands as you pushed his face further against you, and he moaned through a mouth full of your breast, teeth grazing against the sensitive peak before he pulled back to quickly do the same to the other.

Despite your teasing, he would take his time with you eventually. But tonight he was desperate, a drowning man gasping for air—but no, even that wasn’t accurate.

You were not the air Joel needed, but rather the unfathomable depths that he was drowning in.

He dropped to his knees between your spread legs, grunting quietly at the pain that ricocheted through his old bones at the action, but he couldn’t care less as he found himself facing your hot, dripping cunt.

Joel leaned forward, letting his breath fan across your sensitive folds as he lifted two fingers to run across your wet entrance, dragging the digits up to where you clit was already swollen with the need to be touched, to be pleased by him, and he smiled to himself at the sigh you exhaled above him from the sensation of his touch.

His fingers slid back to your entrance, dipping the rough pads of his fingertips into you just enough to collect more of your desire, spreading it along the lengths of his thick fingers as he swiped them up to your clit and began to rub in slow, tight circles.

You gasped quietly, hips rolling into his gentle ministrations, and Joel smiled against your skin when he ducked his face forward to press soft kisses along your inner thigh and up.

“Gonna take care of you, darlin’, don’t you worry,” Joel murmured against the mound of trimmed hair above where his fingers were slowly working at you, his lips moving down to replace them as he added breathlessly, “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Your hips bucked against his face when his tongue found your clit, a louder, breathless moan tearing from your throat at the heady sensation of his hot, wet mouth sucking around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Joel,” you gasped, nails scraping against his scalp as you grabbed his hair tighter, and he groaned around your clit at the feeling, pulling a delicious whine that sounded so much more real, more feral, more needy than the perfect, practiced ones you had made through the wall. “I—oh, fuck, that’s so good…”

He hummed around your clit before flattening his tongue against it, alternating motions until he found the rhythm that made you grind yourself against his face, and his palms found your hips to pull you up against him further, encouraging you to ride his tongue until you found your high.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured in between the moments when he’d suckle your clit, teeth gently grazing it as he resisted the urge to palm himself at the steady stream of moans and muffled curses that were echoing above him. “You can do it, come on. Soak my face, wanna taste your sweet cum.”

When you did just as he told you, Joel thought he really did see the gates of heaven, a sight he was convinced would never grace him after the lifetime of hell he had lived and caused.

He lapped up every gush of wetness that dripped from your folds in your release, dipping his tongue inside your entrance to drink you up, his thumb replacing his tongue on your clit, rubbing gently to prolong the waves of your pleasure.

Once the gyrations of your hips against his lapping tongue slowed, Joel pulled back from your cunt, your release glistening on his mouth and down his chin as he gazed up at your slack-jawed expression.

Your head tilted down, gaze meeting his as a lazy smile curled onto your lips, and Joel tried to ignore the way his heart lurched in his chest at the sight combined with the feeling of your grip loosening on his hair, fingers combing gently through the strands.

“Good?” Joel mumbled, turning his face to press a soft kiss on your inner thigh, and your head dipped down in a nod, humming in satisfaction as Joel smirked against your skin. “Good.”

His mouth opened, teeth gently nipping at your soft flesh, pulling an endearing squeak of surprise from you as he rasped, “Not done with you yet, though, sweetheart.”

When his tongue found its way back to your clit, his fingers went back to your entrance. This time, when he dipped one fingertip in, he didn’t stop, sinking into your tight, wet heat until the first knuckle, smiling against your swollen bundle of nerves as you rolled your hips into him at the sensation of his digit slowly filling you.

He gave a few slow pumps of his finger when he had sunk it in completely before pulling it out, chuckling around where he had sucked your clit back into his mouth at your whine at the loss of his finger before he added it back in with another.

“Fuck, can you feel you squeezing my fingers, darlin’,” Joel grunted against your cunt, lapping desperate licks against your clit, eating you out with increased fervor as his fingers pumped you faster at every mewling moan that left your lips, encouraged by the rolling of your hips to curl his fingers until he found the spot that nearly made your knees buckle.

His other arm wrapped around your waist, giving you support to stand while keeping you pressed to his face, not allowing you a moment of peace as his tongue worked mercilessly at you until you were coming around his fingers this time.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel was whimpering against your cunt this time as he continued to fingerfuck you through your high, sucking at your clit and drawing out every aftershock, his arm around your waist the only thing keeping you up now as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Joel,” you whispered hoarsely, fingers tugging at his hair again, and he pulled back to look up at you, his fingers stilling inside your cunt, but not sliding out of you just yet.

“What is it, darlin’?” he rasped, breath trembling as you stroked his lips with your thumb, collecting your own release combined with his saliva on it before raising it to your mouth to suck on, pulling a moan from Joel’s throat at the sight.

“Want you to touch yourself, sir,” you murmured, and Joel’s eyes widened, his fingers finally slipping out of your heat, reaching down to fumble with the button of his jeans at your permission he didn’t even know he was desperate for. “Make yourself cum just from the taste of me.”

“Jesus—” Joel couldn’t even finish whatever he was going to groan out as his hand wrapped around his cock once he pulled it out of its fabric constraints, eyes rolling back into his head at the relief of finally, finally doing something about the erection that had plagued him since he guarded you outside the room while you worked.

“Mouth on my pussy, Joel,” you ordered, and he was diving back into your folds without a second thought, sloppily thrusting his tongue inside your wet heat as his hand pumped his cock, your release still coating his fingers spreading across his length as he felt himself already rapidly approaching climax. “That’s it. You like the taste? You wanna come because I taste so good?”

Joel was nodding against your pussy, groaning into your folds as he lost any rhythm towards making you feel good now, but you didn’t seem to care, your hand in his hair still keeping him pressed to your cunt as you encouraged him this time around, “Do it then, Joel. I want to watch you cum for me.”

If you said anything else at that point, Joel couldn’t hear it through the blood rushing through his head as he came harder than he had in years.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had felt an orgasm so intense, his vision darkening at the edges as he sucked mindlessly at your wet folds, hips bucking up into his fist as his cum shot out to paint the wall behind you before leaking out steadily over his hand.

You loosened your grip on his hair, allowing him to pull back with a gasp, sucking in air he needed to not black out as Joel’s blurry vision focused back in on your face above him.

There was a small smile on your face, satisfied in more ways than one, and Joel couldn’t help but match it with his own half-smirk as he focused on catching his breath before slowly pushing himself back up to his feet.

“Mm,” Joel moaned quietly as his lips met yours in a lazy kiss, one he wasn’t sure who initiated as he mumbled against your mouth, “Heavenly.”

You laughed then, and he felt himself brighten at the sound, though he tried to ignore it as you gently pushed him away from you.

“Come on,” you sighed, straying away from the wall towards the door on shaky legs while you tied your robe back up, making yourself decent enough as he tucked his dick away and zipped up his jeans. “I’ll get you your payment for today.”

There was a brief moment where you made sure nobody was lingering in the hallway before beckoning him out, and you both made your way towards the staircase towards your office while Joel tried to ignore the foreign thrill at the chance of being caught with you after what you had done together.

When you passed his payment to him, he counted out a generous portion before holding it right back out, earning a scoff from you at the offer.

“You’re not paying me for making me come, Mr. Miller,” you said with a sly smirk, and Joel tried to ignore how oddly disappointing it felt for you to resort to calling him that after tonight. “That wasn’t work.”

Joel slowly arched his brow, but nodded at your insistence, tucking his payment in his back pocket before rumbling out a quiet question of, “One-time thing?”

It wasn’t an offer, nor was he insisting that you did or didn’t do it again.

In fact, he was secretly hoping it would happen again, and Joel felt the treacherous anticipation for even more of you when your exhilarated gaze met his.

“Guess we’ll have to find out.”

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @sinsofsummers

[thelostconsultant]

Take what you want

pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

summary: Oscar shows up to surprise you, then drags you into a relationship that's everything but healthy.

warnings: dark!Oscar, toxic relationship

note: This is probably my last F1 fic, so this is my baby. Be gentle with it, please.

Since Nicole and your mom had been best friends since childhood, she was almost like your aunt, just as your mother was in the same position for her children. This meant barbeque parties on the weekends, big, chaotic Christmas and New Year celebrations, and other freetime activities that lately involved watch parties when Oscar’s race took place at a reasonable time. It was fun, really, like having a big extended family you could always rely on. 

You and Oscar were close in age, and while you were closer friends with his sister, Hattie, the two of you also got along pretty well. He tried to keep in touch despite his chaotic schedule, keeping up a channel for the both of you to vent, because you had both promised to keep whatever you discussed between yourselves. There were things he needed to discuss with someone, sometimes specifically with a woman, and he couldn’t trust his sisters to keep it to themselves. And if one of his sisters told the others, his mom would find out in less than five minutes too. 

Earlier this year he had broken up with his girlfriend, a girl whose existence was kept a secret even in front of his family despite the relationship lasting for a few months, and it hit him really hard when she announced that she was breaking things off. It took long hours of conversations over the phone, and a bunch of messages to help him move on. But then he got better, and he disappeared as the season continued, and you didn’t really notice, because you were just about to finish your studies at university. 

These days you just sent each other memes every now and then, only exchanging a few sentences before disappearing from each other’s lives again. So, when the idea for a graduation party came up, you didn’t even think about inviting him. He lived on the other side of the world, so even if he wasn’t racing that weekend, there was no way he would come. Knowing he thought you weren’t good enough friends anymore for you to consider inviting him felt like a stab in the heart. You should have sent him a message at least, just out of courtesy. 

Today you were planning to avert your thoughts from the conversation that had been plaguing your days, hoping that focusing on something else could make you feel free again. You still had a few weeks until you started your first full time job, so you wanted to enjoy your free time, so when your mom mentioned some new, fancy restaurant that she wanted to try out and secretly reserved a table to months ago, you couldn’t say no. Your dad didn’t like these places, but you did, so you put on an elegant black jumpsuit and did your hair and makeup with an excited smile on your face. 

Even though you offered to pick her up in your old home, she chose to meet you at the restaurant since she had to take care of something first and there was a chance she would be late. Wouldn’t want to lose our table, she said. So, you went there telling the host her name when he asked you if you had a reservation for the evening. There was a strange gleam in his eyes when he heard the name, but it disappeared as quickly as it showed up, that’s why you weren’t really sure if it was really there in the first place. He took you to your table, but when he pointed at the one, you saw someone already sitting there, a man whose face you couldn’t see. 

Hesitantly, but you walked over to the empty chair across from him, your heart pounding in your chest. But when you saw his face, your breath caught in your throat. “Oscar? What–?” you asked, so confused that you weren’t even sure what to ask. 

He flashed a small smile at you, then stood up and rushed over to help you with your chair. While your eyes followed his every move as you waited for an explanation, he remained silent even after taking his seat again. It was only after a waiter came over and poured you both a glass of wine before taking your orders that he leaned back in his chair and truly looked at you. “It didn’t feel good when you said you couldn’t count on me. We had a break at the time, I could have flown here,” he said with his usual flat tone, although you could see the emotions in his eyes. 

After all those years, you knew it meant he was hurt, and it made you feel like shit. “It would have been a waste of time to fly here for one night,” you said quietly as you reached for your glass. 

He leaned forward and rested his forearm on the middle of the table, his palm open as an invitation for you to take his hand. For a few seconds your gaze shifted back and forth between his hand and his face, but then you decided not to play along. There was a voice in the back of your mind telling you not to fall for this trap–because you had a feeling it was some sort of a trap. It was just so strange that he hadn’t contacted you or asked about you for weeks, and then all of a sudden he just showed up here. Maybe your mothers conspired again. 

With a sigh, Oscar pulled back his hand and wrapped his fingers around his glass instead. “I don’t understand you,” he noted, and his eyes never left your face as he spoke. “I thought we were friends, yet you didn’t tell me about your graduation party and apparently you seriously think I wouldn’t want to be here to celebrate with you.”

“Your life is so different now, attending some stupid party back home is probably not all that exciting,” you finally admitted after a break, immediately feeling guilty when you noticed his reaction. It was barely there, but you knew how to see and decode even the smallest changes in his expression. “Look, this place is really nice, and I'm glad to see you, but why are we here?” you asked him cautiously.

He took a deep breath as he finally tore his gaze away from you. “I just wanted to see you. When Hattie told me how awesome your party was, I felt left out, and then I realized I didn't even think of asking you how things went at university, even though I knew this was your last semester,” he confessed with a heavy sigh. 

“It's okay, you have more important things to think about,” you assured him, even though you did feel a little bad when he forgot to ask about your life when you talked. 

Oscar looked back at you, meeting your gaze again. There was something, maybe guilt that poisoned his usually calm eyes. “Is that really where we got to over the last few years? I don't want you to think you're not important, and I don't want to be an outsider when it comes to your life.”

You wanted to be the smart one, you wanted to be better than this, but the thought that had been on your mind for a long time now inevitably slipped out. This was the sour truth, the only thing that kept returning to you every time you happened to talk.

“I'm the outsider when it comes to your life, Oscar, and I'll always be. Maybe you'll know about what's going on with me, but you barely tell me anything important, and I highly doubt this will change in the future. Your secret girlfriend was pretty much the only thing you told me honestly, everything else was just some sort of inconvenience that bothered you,” you blurted out.

A grimace was the only reaction while he listened to you, and maybe, if you weren't imagining things, his hands gripped the glass a little tighter now. That was something you didn't like about Oscar, the way he could keep his cool even when normal people would be already making a scene. But here he was, sitting there in silence as he carefully tasted your words.

The waiter returned with your orders, and his eyes moved back and forth between you for a second, probably sensing the tension between the two of you. He placed the plates in front of you with an apologetic smile, then scurried away, giving you some privacy. The moment you were left alone, your friend leaned forward and licked his lips as his eyes burned a hole into your head.

“My mum mentioned that you're going to start your new job in a few weeks,” he began, waiting for you to confirm it, which you did with a nod. “Tell them you're not going. Tell them you can't go, then come to Monaco with me. You’re right, maybe I did keep you away from my life lately, so let me change that.”

Your first reaction was to laugh and shake your head as you reached for your glass and took a sip of your wine. With his usual poker face, Oscar slightly raised an eyebrow, as if asking what was so funny about this. What? Well, the whole thing, you didn’t even understand how he could think it could work. “I have absolutely no idea how you came up with this, but as nice as it sounds, my answer is no. I want that job, and when I hinted at not being such good friends anymore, I meant more phone calls and messages, not trips together,” you explained.

A long sigh left him as he shook his head. “Why do you have to be so stubborn? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you away, let me fix it,” he tried.

Looking down at your delicious-looking meal, you had to realize that you weren’t even hungry anymore. What would be the point in forcing food down your throat when you wanted to throw up? So, you pushed your chair back and stood up, not missing the questioning look he sent your way as you grabbed your bag. “I have a feeling we would spend the rest of the evening arguing, and I don’t feel like doing that, because I still consider you a friend, so thank you for everything, but I’ll just go home now. Have a nice evening.”

When you tried to walk past him, he reached out and caught your wrist to stop you. “Don’t do this,” he said calmly, but you pulled your arm out of his grasp. When he realized you were serious about leaving, he let out a groan, then stood up and let his lips crash into yours in a kiss that knocked every coherent thought out of your head. He only pulled away long enough to breathe, resting his forehead against yours as his eyes were locked with yours. “I wanted to wait with this, but you didn’t leave me a choice,” he informed you, the hint of a smile visible on his lips.

The fact Oscar, the very guy who’s been incredibly secretive when it came to his private life, kissed you in front of all these people truly confused you. And he kissed you. He had never shown any sign of seeing you as something other than a friend he grew up with. Yet here you were, his palm resting on your cheek, thumb gently rubbing your soft skin as he waited for your reaction. But you were still speechless, you had no idea what to say. Not until you suddenly remembered an important little detail.

“I’m just about to go on a first date with this really nice guy I met a few days ago, I can’t do this to him,” you told him softly, your fingers curling around his hand to pull it away from your face.

He scoffed, looking anything but pleased with your reaction. “You haven’t even been on a first date with him. Come on, let tonight be our first date. I just don’t want you to say no, then realize you should have agreed when it’s too late.”

Gulping, you thought about his words. And if it didn’t work? If you went on a date, and it would be disastrous, and the two of you couldn’t even talk to each other anymore? “I’d rather keep you as a friend and not risk losing what we have,” you told him after some thinking.

Long seconds passed with his eyes fixed on you, the fact the gears were rapidly turning in his head as he thought being quite obvious. Shaking his head in the end, he picked up his phone and took your hand, dragging you with him as he quickly paid for the untouched dinner then headed to the exit. Your mind was full of question marks, you had absolutely no idea what he was planning, but you didn’t want to make a scene. You were taken to a car that parked nearby, and he opened the door for you so you could get in, but you hesitated.

“Come on, get in,” he said, his voice stern and making it sound like an order. You had never heard him speak to you like that, and it made you worried that maybe there was a side of him that you never had the chance to meet. And if he was like that, you didn’t even want to meet him. You’d rather keep the sweet guy imagine in your head. “Please, just get in. I’ll take you home,” he tried again, his voice hitting a gentler tone this time.

“You know, tonight was actually pretty good for something,” you began, earning a surprised look from him. “You changed, Oscar, and I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, after all it’s only natural for our personalities to change over time, but I don’t really recognize you anymore.”

When you pried his hand off you, he looked at you with the same emotionless face, and this time even his eyes remained neutral. You had absolutely no idea what was going through his head, but then he shut the door he had been leaning on, then walked to the other side of the car. “Yeah, well, you changed too,” he told you before getting in and starting the engine and driving off.

Following the disastrous dinner attempt you sent your mother a message to tell her you would jump in the next day to discuss a few things. All she wrote back was Oscar’s name with a question mark, and you sent her an angry emoji in response. You were a little mad at your mother for not giving you the heads up, for putting you into the position of meeting him in a restaurant full of people after all that time, but deep down you knew she meant well. Right now, you just wanted to tell her how badly things went and ask her not to do this again in the future.

The two of you were sitting in the dining room, drinking coffee and eating some cookies she made that morning, and you didn’t even know where to begin. But then you let out a sigh and said, “It wasn’t fun, mom. I was expecting to see you, and then he was there, and our conversations had been really awkward lately, so yeah, you can imagine how happy that chat was.”

She reached out to wrap his fingers around your forearm in a supportive way. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. When he called me and said he was here, and that he wanted to surprise you, I thought you would be glad to see him. What happened between you? You used to be such good friends,” she asked, sincerely confused.

Without going into details and accidentally spilling something you weren’t supposed to talk about, you tried to explain her how you both changed over the years, and how you were sure his life was now so much different than yours that maybe meeting him like once a year at a family event was more than enough. It hurt you, sure, because you still cared about him, but maybe going no contact would be the best decision to make at this point.

Before your mother could say anything, you heard your dad move behind you in the kitchen. “So much for your plans,” he told your mom with a short laugh as he picked out a bottle of beer from the fridge. You saw your mother shoot a pointed look at him, to which he responded with a shrug. “I’m just saying.”

And with that, he returned to the living room to watch some match, leaving you alone again. You raised an eyebrow in question, now pretty interested in what kind of plan he was talking about. She tried to keep silent and change the topic, but you warned her not to do that, so she took a deep breath and began to explain it. “When we found out I’m pregnant with a girl, Nicole and I began to talk about how nice it would be if you and Oscar got together one day, and when we saw how well you got along, it became kind of an inside joke. It was just a thought, a fantasy, not some super-secret plan,” she said.

It was… Well, it wasn’t shocking. You had always felt like they were trying to make sure the two of you could spend a lot of time together, Nicole even took you on one or two trips when she went to visit Oscar in England, but you always thought they were doing this because your relationship with his sisters was happening naturally, while the two of you sometimes needed a little nudge.

Since you didn’t feel like talking about this anymore, the two of you began to discuss the plans for your father’s upcoming birthday party. You didn’t want something extravagant, just a casual barbeque party with family, and friends, and maybe a few of his work friends, after all he had been clear about his wish for something that let him wear shorts and his favorite t-shirt with a pair of thongs. Maybe it could take place in the evening, so he could go on a fishing trip the day before and only get home early afternoon on his birthday. 

You both heard the doorbell ring, but your dad told you he would see who it is, so you continued your conversation, believing the guest was one of your father’s friends anyway. You couldn’t be more wrong, because he walked into the kitchen and cleared his throat to get your attention, announcing your guest who happened to be none other than Oscar. He flashed a small smile at your mother as he walked over to give her a hug, then he turned to you with a more serious look.

“The plane if waiting for us,” he stated.

Your parents exchanged a confused look, then your mother looked back and forth between the two of you. You had no idea what he was talking about either, so you watched him a raised eyebrow. “Us?” you asked, to which he responded with a nod. Suddenly you remembered the night before, his idea to make you fly to Monaco with him and spend some time with him. “I already told you, I’m not going anywhere,” you told him.

But Oscar seemed completely unimpressed by your resistance. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

You looked out the window, thinking about suggesting the backyard, but something told you your parents would be listening closely. And you weren’t even sure if you wanted to talk to him, but then you saw a fleeting expression on his face that was begging you to agree. “All right,” you said with a sigh, then signaled him to follow you.

The two of you went upstairs to your room, and once you closed the door, Oscar took a deep breath. “I’m only asking for a few months from your life. Just until the end of the season,” he said, his voice completely flat and steady.

“Which is in December, if I remember correctly. That’s pretty far away.”

He reached out to swipe a stray lock of hair out of your face. “Come on, what’s keeping you here? I’m offering you the chance to travel around the world and attend the races with me.” It sounded nice and all, but you didn’t want to leave, not now. “Your job, right?” he asked, apparently knowing perfectly well what was going through your mind. “Well, your boss is apparently a huge F1 fan, and he could be consoled with some signed merch. He even said they’ll try to find you a position when you return. So yeah, you’re free now.”

There were so many emotions running through you that you didn’t even know how to react at first, but then you decided to slap him hard. He put a hand on his cheek, and you didn’t miss the hint of a smile on his face as he watched you. A shiver ran down your spine at the sight. When did he become like this? The guy standing in front of you, with all the manipulations and plans he was ready to force on you, didn’t remind you of the kind person you used to know.

It was him who broke the heavy silence. “Come on, don’t make a scene. Just get in the car so we can go to your place where you pack a suitcase before we finally go to the airport,” he told you, his voice carrying the kind of authority that almost made you do as he said. But he noticed that you were still not willing to agree to the trip, so he cupped your face and leaned down to kiss you, this time being surprisingly gentle. “Just be a good girl for me, okay?” he whispered against your lips.

This was becoming too much for you, and your emotions were running high, causing you to start sobbing with tears running down your cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumbs, even flashing a sweet smile at you. “Why are you doing this?” you asked quietly.

Oscar placed a soft kiss on your forehead before answering. “Because I love you, baby, and I only want the best for you,” he said, somehow making you believe that everything he said was true.

About a month later, you were getting more and more used to your new, temporary lifestyle, even if sometimes it felt like living in a golden cage. Because Oscar wanted to control almost every aspect of your life. He took you shopping so you would wear clothes he approved of, he asked you to join him when he had to do his regular workouts, he picked out what to eat, and you didn’t really have a say when he met his friends from F1 either.

“Their girlfriends will be there, you will have company, baby,” he always said, successfully convincing you to go with him.

Even if you managed to get lost in conversations and start to feel good in your new friend circle, you could always feel his eyes on you, especially when you left the group to bring yourself another drink. Sometimes when a guy decided to try and pick you up, he showed up and pulled you into a messy kiss without a warning to send a message to whoever tried to make a move on you. Every time you asked him why he didn’t trust you, he said he just felt like kissing you, making it seem like it wasn’t related to the guy. But you noticed the pattern. He was possessive, and he didn’t like the idea of your attention ever turning to another man.

There were moments when you couldn’t take it anymore, when you locked yourself in the bathroom and cried for a while, hoping he wouldn’t be looking for you until you pulled yourself together. Moments like this you knew leaving him was the right thing to do, but there were two obstacles.

One, the flight ticket back to Australia was quite pricey, and even though you had savings to use, some money was still missing. Of course, you could have asked your mom to send you the missing amount, but then she would ask why when Oscar was paying for everything, and maybe she would tell Nicole that something was wrong, who would immediately try to contact his son to scold him, and so he would know you’re planning to do something he wouldn’t like.

Two, he always managed to shift your focus back on him. “I love you so much, you know that? It would break me if you ever left me,” he said every time he could sense something was off about you. And you, being the idiot you were, believed him and even felt bad for him. How could you leave when he loved you so much? It would have been cruel; he didn’t deserve to be left heartbroken. Sure, he was a little controlling sometimes, but maybe he was like that because he couldn’t control everything on the track, and he was frustrated when a race didn’t end the way he wanted.

For some reason his fans loved you. All they saw were the photos he carefully chose every time he shared them, and all they heard were short mentions of you in interviews or videos his team posted. And these were all sweet and cute, giving people the illusion that this was the perfect relationship. There were no signs of your struggles, no one knew what you had to go through next to him. Because every time you went somewhere public, you put on your brightest smile and acted like you were madly in love with him.

Even when you weren’t.

“Why aren’t you sleeping, hm?” he asked you softly when you rested your chin on his chest and looked at him.

His hand was drawing circles into your back to soothe you, but it wasn’t enough to calm your racing thoughts. You let out a troubled sigh and thought about how to say what you wanted to get off your chest for days now. It was the weekend of the US GP, but even though the end of the season was close, you didn’t feel like sticking around any longer. You’d been gathering your confidence and strength to tell him what was on your mind, you were getting yourself ready to tell him it was over, that you wanted absolutely nothing from him, but you just never knew how to say it.

In the end, after a minute or two of complete silence, you finally got yourself to speak up. “I want to go home. To Australia, not to Monaco, before you say,” you clarified.

Oscar drew in a sharp breath, his eyes fixed on you the whole time. “What’s back home that you miss so much? But fine, I guess we can travel there after the Brazilian GP,” he said, making it sound like he was doing a huge favor.

“Why do I have a feeling that you simply don’t want to understand what I’m saying? I want to go home. Alone. For good. I hope I don’t need to literally spell it out for you,” you said as you sat up, unable to keep the venom dripping from your voice.

He watched you in silence for a while, his eyes giving away that he was displeased with your sudden resistance, but you couldn’t care less. You finally had the strength to speak up, you weren’t about to let this chance slip away. So, you just sat there and waited, hoping he would yield and let you go, even if you had your doubts about the chances of this result.

Just as expected, he also sat up and curled his fingers around your throat, his thumb putting some pressure on your windpipe. He didn’t want to hurt you, he just wanted to make it clear he could hurt you if you gave him a reason for that. “I thought you were my good girl,” he began, his voice quiet but threatening. “And now this is what I have to hear? That you want to leave me? I give you everything you want, baby, why would you leave? Come on, you’re smarter than this.”

Your heart was about to jump out from your ribcage as you listened to him, which made it impossible to speak up without your voice breaking. He was trying to manipulate you again, using the delicately balanced mixture of a love confession and a threat to convince you to stay with him. Every time he sensed you wanted to leave, he pulled this sickeningly sweet voice, using it as if it was a siren’s song to keep you chained to him.

“Let’s just go back to sleep. You’re tired, I’m sure you will see clearer in the morning,” he said as he placed a kiss on your lips, then pulled you back with him as he lied down again.

This was the moment you knew there was no escape, and he wouldn’t let you leave even after the end of the season as you had agreed in the beginning. You couldn’t stop the sobs that wanted to emerge, and soon you heard Oscar’s attempt to soothe you, talking to you quietly and softly as if you were an upset child. “I love you,” and “It would break me if you left,” and “We are so perfect together.” It was truly sickening, but a very, very tiny part of you still wanted to believe him.

Maybe this time things will be better.

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | eight

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: the one where they get caught. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, domestic bliss, gratuitous descriptions of joel reading, joni mitchell, explicit unprotected piv sex, delayed gratification, dirty talk, finger sucking, biting, academic praise kink, cream pie, who's in the pic on joel's desk??, angst, confrontation, an orpheus and eurydice metaphor uh oh, those blue panties from 3 come back to haunt us. word count: 6.9k nice series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: i need someone to make me write [or not write] the way j miller phd does in this... also sorry and i hope you like it and sorry again follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part eight of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Winter descends over Maine not with a bang, but with a whimper.  

The days and weeks fold together in a blurring mess of sleep ins and papers and coffees, until suddenly a month has passed, and you hardly noticed it slipping through your fingers.

You spend less time at home, and more tucked on one side of Joel’s couch, your feet in his lap as he lounges down the other end. You dip pale toast in runny yolks at the table, listening to him on the phone to Sarah in the other room. Hear him say I’m good, baby girl… I’m really good when she asks how he is.

You ride shotgun in the truck between his place and the university, slipping out the passenger door a little early every time. Walk the final stretch lest someone notice his glasses, your hair through the windscreen.

On campus you watch him up there on his stage, a burn in your chest, and see how he seeks you out in the after. How he props you above him and returns your gaze finally. Curls his body around yours and repents for every time he had to look away.

It's warm and it’s kind and it’s trading books with scribbled notes in the margins.

It’s rain smacking against the windows as you read, his scruffy chin nesting in the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, two sets of eyes staring at the same words.

It’s nodding off in his bed where the sheets have started to smell like your perfume, eyelids heavy as you wait for him to get home. It’s wearing only his clothes and being woken up by his face between your thighs, pupils blown and lips slick.  

It’s finding each other at the end of a long day and hearing him say, I thought about you all afternoon.

And this feeling of familiarity writhes between the slats of your ribs. A comfortable, quiet fondness that you see reflected in his eyes when he looks at you; that you hear when that tender mouth forms your name.

You gorge yourselves on it. Put lips to the crooks and thorns in each other’s bodies and suckle on that fondness, swallow, swallow, and watch the well never run dry.

The bleed is endless. Beneath the stain of time it floods and flurries, melting the two of you together until you start to feel certain it could never end.

Until, of course and at last, it does.

Sunday.

It’s late, you think. Somewhere in the mess where time blurs between sunset and midnight, Winter stealing hours that feel like minutes.

The curtains in his living room are drawn, low yellow light warming the room from a tall lamp in the corner. Blue spins in the on the record player, a gentle sway of sound that fills the room.

I like listening to Joni on Sundays, he’d confessed in the bathroom, bashful as he rubbed a towel over you, drying the wet ends of your hair and the slick skin of your shoulders.

He reads at the table now, strong chin cupped in his palm as his eyes flit across the pages of a textbook.

Something to do with conservation; a Minoan palace in Knossos, you think. He’d explained it earnestly, but his curls were soft and fluffy from the shower and his glasses were resting on the tip of his nose and so you’d found yourself zoning out, eyes going from round to heart shaped as you nodded along from the couch.

Every few minutes he grips his pen and jots down a note before glancing up to check on you. And whenever this happens you avert your eyes quickly, pretending to be enthralled by the half-finished essay on your screen. You have a feeling he catches you each time, because he keeps laughing softly, tutting under his breath as he goes back to reading, foot never stopping its tap-tap-tap in time with the music. The only time he gets up is to flip the record, and soon those little laughs and huffs start to mix with Joni’s bell-like voice, and the opening lyrics to California swell through the room as you type at a glacial pace.   

She sings, I met a redneck on a Grecian isle, and you glance up again, eyes turning wide and doe-like when you find Joel already watching you. He gave me back my smile, Joni sings. But he kept my camera to sell.

“How’s the writing going?”

“Good.” Liar. “Great, even.” Bad liar.

Joel’s eyes narrow behind his glasses, lips twitching in a clear attempt to smother a laugh, but he just nods, looking back down at his book.

He’s wearing home clothes. That’s what he called them. Home clothes.

When he’d said it, still pulling them on, you’d wanted nothing more than to grip his hands and stop him in his tracks, but you’d sequestered yourself to the other side of the room instead, sorely committed to the study evening he’d suggested. But he’s in soft grey sweatpants and an even softer looking white t-shirt, and every time he sips his coffee he hums happily against the rim of his mug, and his bare foot goes tap-tap-tap and Joni sings Oh, will you take me as I am?, and—

“Come here.”

You blink. His eyebrows raise expectantly, lips split into a broad smile now.

“Unless you’d rather stay over there and keep starin’.”

You reach him as The Last Time I saw Richard, the final track on side two, begins to spin.

Joni sings, all romantics meet the same fate, and Joel’s knees fall apart, thighs splayed so handsomely across his chair, inviting you to take a seat. You ignore the woeful lyrics and focus instead on the knowing smirk on his face, taking a step forward, and another, until you’re stood between his open legs.

He doesn’t touch you. Just smiles, all saccharine and easy, leaning back in his chair.

“Much left to do?” He points at the laptop in your hands.

“Maybe another hundred words,” you grumble and put it down on the table. “Today, at least.”

Joel hums, eyes flicking down. His gaze skirts across the bare skin of your legs, the soft sleep shorts you’re wearing; ones he puts on you himself, and knows you don’t have anything beneath.

“Come here.” He pats his thigh; stops you with a soft tut when you try to straddle him. “Naw, baby, like this.”

Soft hands tilt your hips, turn you until your back is to his chest and he’s drawing you onto his lap.

“Oh.” You smile, leaning your head back onto his shoulder.

Nose turned into the side of his face, you brush a kiss to the edge of his jaw and sigh in relief as he wraps his arms around your middle and squeezes.

The space between his chest and the table is a little tight; small enough that if you were to lean forward a few inches your ribs would knock against the wood.

As if he’s thinking the same thing, Joel leans forward. Presses you against the table, one hand coming up to hold your face. His fingers are soft on your skin, offering small amounts of pressure as he grips your jaw and encourages you to look forward.

“Gonna tell me what’s on your mind?” he asks.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up a little, skin prickling at the shift in his tone. Still soft, still quiet, yet with something… demanding, shifting just below the surface.

“You,” you say, cringing at the way your voice takes on a higher quality all of a sudden. Steeling yourself, you add, “You’re distracting me.”

“Wasn’t doing anythin’,” he responds simply. “Just sittin’ over here, minding my business while you burn holes in my head.” 

“You know what you’re doing.”

“I cooked dinner.” He squeezes you again. “Fed you. We showered, and now I’m readin’.”

“You were humming.”

Joel kisses the shell of your ear.

“And tapping.”

He flutters his fingers against your hip.

“S’that such a crime?” he murmurs.

“No, but…” You sigh when his tongue snakes out, tracing the soft curve of your earlobe. “But it…”

“But but but,” Joel mocks, and you can feel his sick smirk against your neck, teeth teasing along your carotid now. “But all you can think about is my cock, ain’t that right?”

Your stomach falls away. Everything firm inside you turns to goo as he laughs, knowing he’s right.

“So needy,” he taunts you, holding your hip tighter as his length begins to thicken against your ass. “Had all day to ask for it.”

You don’t respond, tongue tied and more uninterested in your essay than ever.

“Just lookin’ for a distraction now,” he teases lightly. “The more you put it off, the harder it’ll be to get it done, baby.”

“I know.”

“If you know.” He hooks a finger over the waistband of your shorts. “Then finish it.”

“S’not that simple,” you whine, rolling your hips over his lap. A sharp puff of air warms the back of your neck, so you do it again. His hand tightens around your jaw.

“Just a hundred words, right?” he coaxes gruffly. “Come on now, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You feel his thick cock beneath his sweats, stiff and pressing between the crease of your thighs, melting what’s left of your resolve. You want to grind down against it. To pull your soft sleep shorts to the side and let him sink inside with no more pretence. But you put your hands on the desk, eyes on the screen, and Joel slides his warm palms beneath the hem of your t-shirt. Floats them over the curve of your stomach, the soft flesh around your ribs, waking thousands of tiny hairs that cover your skin until his fingers meet your chest, and he cups your breasts.

You shiver, lids growing heavy as he squeezes and tickles at your skin. Your nipples harden to peaks against his rough palms, and he sighs at the feeling, face resting against the back of your neck as he plays.

“Fuck,” you sigh, voice a broken buzz in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “I thought you wanted me to write.”

“I do,” Joel murmurs unconvincingly. “A hundred words, go on.”

Hands like lead on the table, it feels like an impossible task. Even more than it did ten minutes ago. You force yourself to lift your fingers to the keyboard, vision sharpening as you look for where you left off. You try to shut him out, try to ignore the way his tongue warms the skin on your neck, the way the hairs on his thighs tickle against yours, and begin to write.

But he doesn’t make it easy.

The second you finish the first sentence one of his hands drifts down your stomach to cup your pussy over your shorts. You flinch, heart galloping in your chest when he sighs in your ear.

“Joel,” you whimper, pleading already. “I can’t if you…”

“You can,” he soothes. The warmth of his palm is suffocating, so hot against where you’re already wet and wanting. Thick fingers press against the fabric, nudging it between your slick folds until it goes damp. “Just ignore me, baby.”

“Easier said than done,” you reply. You type five more words, chest rattling with heavy breaths as he paws at you, thumbing at your clit through your shorts.

His breath is hot and heavy against your neck and his soft curls tickle your skin as you try to focus.

“Ignore me,” he repeats, and you squeak as he tilts you forward. A rush of breath spills from your mouth, chest flush to the desk, ass suspended above his lap as he shifts behind you. And when he pulls you back down, you sigh pathetically over the fact that he’s pushed his sweats down.

The full weight of his length presses against you, nestled between the rounded flesh of your ass, and you manage to mumble his name.

“Just—” You’re panting now; considering begging. “—I can do this later. I will finish it later, I swear, just—”

Joel nudges your shorts to the side and presses a finger between your folds. A ragged gasp stutters out of you, finger jammed against the keyboard. A steady stream of kkkkkkkkkkkkkkk fills a line of the document as he smears your wetness up to your clit.

“Fuck,” you mumble, hips tilting forward, trying to chase the feeling.

“None of that,” he tuts quickly, other hand slipping down and pinching the skin at the inside of your thigh. You’ve only backspaced half of the k’s when he slips two fingers inside you. “Come on, now.”

Thirty words fly as he crooks his fingers inside you. Slow and gentle, thumb rubbing messy circles against your clit as he works you open.

“That’s it,” he coos, pressing a third finger inside. Your cunt sucks desperately at his fingers, the skin of your face warming as you catch a glimpse of your reflection on the laptop screen. Jaw hanging low, a silent prayer for relief written across the open slant of your mouth. “My smart girl. Knew they didn’t give you that degree for nothin’.”

You gasp and swat at his wrist, but a satisfied little smile cracks your face for a moment when he laughs. Only for it to fall seconds later when he lays a sharp bite to the back of your shoulder. You moan, voice cracking around his name, rutting desperately against his hand.

“You can do it,” he flatters you, sickly sweet and entirely convincing as he strokes at your insides. Curling and stretching until you’re turning to a wet trembling mess in his lap, wobbling through half-assed sentences that you aren’t sure even match up with your essay outline anymore.

“Good,” Joel murmurs. “That’s good.”

“Don’t look,” you slur out, heart pounding at the idea of him reading anything you’ve written in this state. “It’s f-for your class, you can’t look.”

“Not lookin’.” He noses at the back of your ear. Presses an open-mouthed kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Just lookin’ at you, m’always just lookin’ at you.”

“I’ll finish it.” You switch up your tactic now. Voice low and breathy, the back of your head resting heavy on his shoulder, eyes longing to close. “Tomorrow, I’ll write it—”

“Tomorrow?” His thumb drags harder on your clit.

“Yes,” you gasp, stomach tensing. You feel a bit floaty all of a sudden. Locked out of your own mind, all thoughts spilling from between your thighs as desire grips you, consumes you. “Please, just…”

“What, baby?” he prompts. “Say it.”

“Just let me sit on your cock,” you groan. “Please, I can’t think right now, I’ll finish it, I promise.”

“You fuckin’ promise—Christ,” he grumbles, fingers drifting from your tight clutch. “Just a little more, baby, for me.”

You don’t even really know how it happens after that. Ears roaring, skin tight, everything is a blur as you write and write and write and he presses his leaking tip between your folds works you down onto his length. Hands everywhere, so warm, so rough, holding your thighs, your waist, your breasts, your shorts to the side. Slower when your gasps spin higher, you think, always knowing when to ease up, when the burn gets too much too quick.

Joel grips your thighs, prying them apart until your calves are on the outside of his, and then he’s shifting his legs open wide, giving your own no choice but to follow. You feel the full weight of him in this position. The long, thick stretch of his cock inside you as your legs dangle listlessly over his lap, toes straining and failing to reach the floor. You can do nothing but rest heavily across his thighs, those hands still everywhere all at once, and whine pitifully as your walls spasm and clench around him, coil inside pulling tighter and tighter.

Vision waning, the text on your screen warbles as Joel slips the pad of his finger against your clit and begins to play with it. Soft little rubs that have you going tense and leaning forward on the table, braced on your elbows and grinding down into his lap, desperate for release, for movement, anything. It feels like your brain is splintering into a thousand tiny pieces inside your skull.

“You’re so wet,” Joel rasps, forehead heavy against your shoulder blade as he groans. “Pretty pussy’s drippin’ all over me, honey. You really need it that bad?” 

You say something you think, mouth moving and eyes rolling as his hips shift up in a weak little thrust. Just one.

“Keep goin’.” He sounds pained, half-drunk as the words stumble out of him.

Your mind slips further from your grasp and you’re typing pure gibberish. Slurring messes of letters cloaked in perfect punctuation. Your fingers fly across the keys, painting commas and full stops and semi colons around complete and utter bullshit as your cunt flutters and your belly stirs.

His finger glides and his cock pulses and your vision darkens and you come. Shoulders hunched, table digging into your forearms, you fold forward and cry out as an agonisingly brief orgasm rips through you.

It’s over before it’s even begun, but Joel groans and offers a shallow thrust, your cry turning to a gasp as he grips your thigh for dear life.

“Oh good girl,” he murmurs, fingers slowing against your nerves, not wanting to overwhelm. “Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Joel.” There are tears in your eyes now. Liquid frustration that pools against your waterline and threatens to spill when he still doesn’t fuck you how you need him to.

“How much left?” he asks roughly, rocking his hips against yours in a steady pace now. Gentle, rolling movements that snag on the heels of your orgasm and hold it close.

“Huh?”  

“How many words?”

“I don’t…” Your eyelids flutter. “I don’t know.”

“Shit, sweetheart,” he laughs a little then, rueful but not unkind. “That’s gonna be hell to edit.”

With a furious groan you slam the laptop closed, the sharp smack of metal on metal filling your ears as he grips your hips and really starts to fuck you.

It’s not fast though, not rough. Just deep, lingering strokes that grind against the end of you and nudge you stumbling toward the edge. He pinches your clit between the tips of his middle and ring fingers, rubbing slow drags up and down against the hood like that. Moaning and sweating, you slip your hand over his. Press lower and let your fingers glide around his girth, thick and vascular between your thighs, hot skin wetter every time he pulls out of you.

“Feel that?” Joel pants, teeth nipping at the top of your spine. “You’re creamin’ for me, baby. Fuck, I—I need to taste it.”

“Shit—oh god.”

He grips your wrist and drags it up, chin harsh against your shoulder as he sucks your fingers into his mouth.

The groan he lets out is filthy as his hot tongue snakes out to lick the webbing between your fingers, and you tip your head to watch his eyes roll back. His thighs tremble beneath you, but you can’t be sure it’s not just the vibrations of your own body tricking you.

But no, it’s him. His hips stutter against yours, deep plunges stilting into shallow movements, and he stalls deep inside your cunt for a second on the end of every thrust, as if his brain is short-circuiting.

You hook your fingers in his mouth, the tips digging into the gums behind his teeth, and tug him back to reality. He nips at your fingers and moans, hand falling heavy between your thighs again. And he doesn’t stop now; keeps pushing and pinching and fucking and grinding until your pussy is pulling tight and slick around his length and your fingers are fanned loose and shaky across his face, and you can hardly breathe except to say Joel or please or oh my god.

“Can feel it,” he grunts breathlessly, skin smacking against yours in a sharp staccato beat. “Deep breath, baby, c’mon, let me have it.”

“Your teeth,” you gasp feverishly. “Bite me again.” 

“Fuck,” he snarls and then he’s grating the hard line of his incisors along your shoulder.

The sweet pinch of his canines digging into your back sets your cunt aflutter around him, mouth hung open in silent ecstasy as he fucks you full of his seed and you suck it in deep, tight with longing, still panting and high when it begins to drip from where you’re connected, spooling around his cock and smearing between your thighs and his.

His chest heaves against your back. Chest hair damp wet sweat, dripping through your thin shirt until it can’t decide whether to cling to his skin or yours. There’s an ache at the base of your spine, maybe a muscle pulled, and his thumb presses into the flesh there as if he can sense it.

Sounds come back slowly. Joni’s finished and the needle tracks around the runout groove on the record, a little crackle flaring every few seconds where the two channels join. Joel’s breathing too, rough against your shoulder, harmonising with the wet sound of his lips peeling from your skin.

You tilt your head to the side.

Wild eyed, cunt-struck, Joel knocks his nose against yours. Groans low when you flick your tongue out to graze across his bottom lip. He’s bitten it rough and ragged and red, and you want to soothe the sting. His glasses are on top of his head, smudged lenses tucked amidst wild fluffy curls.

You try to kiss him, hard and wet, but he stops you with a hand to your jaw. Cradles your face and strokes your cheekbone and wipes the spittle from your lips before kissing you lightly. Chaste and gentle, like the two of you are ten and have never kissed anyone before, have never been brave enough to use your tongues.

That invisible bleed in your chest drips heavier. You picture a thick spurt of red against your chest cavity as he kisses the corners of your mouth, the tip of your nose, your eyelids.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

You nod, smiling when his lips catch and drag across your skin with the movement of your head.

A moment passes like this. Searching kisses dotted over your smiling face. The swell of your cheeks, the ends of your eyebrows.

“Sometimes I feel like you aren’t real,” Joel confesses. A bare bones whisper that tickles the skin between your eyebrows, where his lips rest now. “Like you might just melt away if I don’t hold on tight enough. Disappear if I look away too long, and I’ll be stuck tryna convince myself that you were ever really here.”

Twisted up in his arms, you can feel the way his heart batters against his chest, thrashing through to vibrate against your back. He might as well be plucking the admission straight from your own mouth.

“I’m real,” you murmur against his neck. “I’m here, it’s real.”

“Me too,” he says. Something wet tickles your skin, but it’s gone in a second. Rubbed over by his thumb, soothed with another kiss.

I love you, you think, but when you speak it comes out as, “No melting.”

Joel laughs softly. Kisses you again. “No melting.”

Thursday.

“It was too much.”

“It was fine.”

“I said the word grateful three times.”

“Four, actually.” You chew the inside of your cheek and shrug apologetically. “I counted.”

“Jesus,” Joel sighs, reaching up to a drag a hand over his face.

He’s pulled his desk chair all the way across the office. Tie loosened and top buttons undone, he slumps in it a little. His thick knees almost brush against yours where you sit in his armchair.

“Hey, I liked it,” you smile, bumping his knee. “It was nice - shows you care.”

“Well, you ain’t all that hard to please,” Joel smarts, lip quirking up into a sly grin.

Mouth open in a scoff, you feign offence, dragging your laptop from your satchel and making a show of ignoring him.

“How the mighty fall,” he continues, sighing dramatically and tilting his head over the back of the chair. The light coming in through the window hits his face just right, and the grey hairs in his curls shine. “Grateful to have been your professor��� asshole.”

“Don’t be precious,” you laugh softly. “You’re just embarrassed because you said you were going to miss us.”

“That was a lie,” Joel tuts, brushing you off with a hand in the air, biting back that grin. “I ain’t gon’ miss any of you assholes. And when those final papers come in—” He taps a finger against the top of your laptop “—I’ll be sayin’ my prayers that any of you can string a worthwhile sentence together.”

“If you’re lucky,” you drawl, batting his hand away. “You’ll teach some of us again next year. And when that semester finishes, you’ll say all of that shit again, because you’re a sap, Joel Miller.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, face softening, and then clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Smart ass.”

“And you love it,” you quip easily, only balking a moment later when the word hangs awkwardly in the air. Hands pausing on your keyboard, you glance up, neck hot, only to find Joel watching you still. Face suspended in a small smile; eyes light as he nods.

“I do,” he says after a moment. “But you’re on thin ice, wise guy.”

He plucks a book from his desk and spreads it open on his lap, either not noticing or simply not caring as you watch on, slack jawed. I do.

After a moment, Joel taps his foot against yours again. “Write.”

So, sucking in a breath, you do. Time passes and rain starts to drizzle against the window as you write, and Joel reads. Having forgotten to put a record on like normal, he hums lightly under his breath; some tune you can’t place but still nod along to. Every few minutes he turns his page, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You hate the way he holds books. Hate the way he cradles the spines, thumb hooked around the footnotes to hold his page. Hate the way his fingers trace the stanzas as he reads, tender and patient, and always afraid to miss something. Hate most the way the tendons on the backs of his hands flex when he turns the page. How the veins around them go fat and blue the longer he does this, as if all the blood in his body is sprinting towards the words. It’s a dangerous sort of eroticism, watching him read. You hate how much you love it.

In need of reprieve, you focus on your own hands. Crack tired knuckles and stretch out cramps and aches, taking a moment to peer over at his desk. The picture frame you’d once been so curious about is propped on the edge of it once again.

You can see Joel behind the glass panel, sporting a shit-eating grin with Sarah, clad in a graduation gown, tucked proudly against his chest. Taken the day she finished high school, you know now. And you’d never noticed it that first time, months ago, but Ellie’s face rests in the corner of the picture. Pink tongue stuck out and eyes pinched shut; she’d snuck her head into the frame at the last second apparently.

You gaze fondly at it, and feel that familiar warmth in your chest over the fact that he’s put it back out. No more hiding.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Joel glances over his shoulder, and then smiles.

“It’s a good photo,” you say. “You look so happy there.”

“I was. It’s one of my favourites,” he nods, adjusting his glasses on his nose. He seems to consider you for a moment, eyes flicking around your face, fingers fidgeting with the corner of his page. “Hey, I uh… Sarah actually called yesterday.”

He pauses. Takes an unusually deep breath and folds the book shut.

“Okay.” You blink, confused. “Is she alright?” 

“Yeah.” He nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah, she was uh, she was askin’ about the holidays, and if—”

The office door creaks open, and Joel’s mouth seals shut as Rachel walks hastily inside, rushed words filling the small room.  

“Joel, sorry, I need to grab—oh.”

There’s an odd pause after the words catch in her throat. A moment of uncomfortable stillness as the three of you inhale all at once, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

You and Joel aren’t touching, but your knees rest close, one of his feet in the space between yours on the carpet. Laptop propped on your knees, your final essay still lays open with a stream of edits pasted through the margins, cursor blinking at the end of the word nostos.

Joel, tie undone and sleeves rolled up, looks painfully casual in your presence.

“Sorry.” Rachel blinks, hovering awkwardly as the door clicks shut behind her. “I didn’t realise you had a… a meeting today?” The end of her sentence flares up, as if she’s confused, phrasing it like a dubious little question.

You offer a smile in her direction and hope it comes across as relaxed, a little encroaching even; as if you are the one who has interrupted; the one who should not be here.

“It’s fine,” Joel supplies easily, straightening in his chair to give her his full attention. His face gives nothing away. Stoic and calm, the way you’d imagine him to be if you weren’t here at all. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” she says, frowning like she’s affronted by the question. Looks between the two of you again, listless fingers curling at her sides. “Just came to get that Livy copy back

You look back at your screen and will yourself to type something. To appear casual, studious, as if your heart isn’t lodged in the base of your throat.

“Sure,” he nods, gesturing vaguely toward his desk. “It’s in one of the drawers on the left.”

Rachel nods, walking over to the desk, and as her back turns you spare a glance at Joel. Find him already looking at you, eyebrows pulled down a little. Pink lips mouth It’s fine, married with a soft nod of his head, and for the second time in seconds you attempt a smile. 

There’s the sound of wood sliding against wood, and then a soft, tired kind of silence. The lack of sound seems to swell, the air in the room thinning, your eyes focusing on Joel’s fingers on the armrest of his chair, tap tap tap, Rachel’s unruly curls somewhere past that, her face downturned, looking at something. Wary breaths held in unison, synced heart beats racing. It’s fine, it’s fine, no melting.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Your head snaps up. Joel turns in his chair and begins to ask what’s wrong, but all that ends up coming from him is a sort of choked noise, rough around the edges, and breathless in the middle. Chest on fire, you let yourself look past him to where she stands.

Her gaze is hard as she stares Joel down from across the room. A slip of blue; soft material visible between her fingers, held up for a stunned chorus to see.

Your hearing deafens a little as you look on, motionless, a vague memory of birthday boy and got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock? playing in your mind. Of a damp patch on his shirt as he tucked blue into his desk drawer.

Joel says Rachel’s name, you think. Can see the way his jaw moves, the way her dark eyes sharpen, flitting back and forth between the two of you. And then, like a volcanic eruption or the swell beneath a wave, realisation crests the hill and It’s fine cracks and crumbles and turns to dust in your grasp. You don’t know what she knows, or how she knows, you just know that she does.

“You… what is this?” Rachel’s face shifts into something uncomfortable. A warped, grotesque shot at a smile. But as her lips curl upward, eyebrows down, it’s nothing but a contorted mess that blurs endlessly between confusion, surprise, and then horror. “This… her? She’s the reason you—”

“Rachel.” Joel’s entire body is wound tight. You can see the edge of his jaw from where you sit; the way his shoulders pull back, tight he watches her.

Your body seems to hold itself together for a moment. Breath caught on an inhale, lungs expanded, eyes frozen on the hard line of his nose, the arm of his glasses—places you feel safe to hover. But then she speaks again, and everything lurches back into focus. Like a needle scratching on a record, or tires squealing as a car pulls to an abrupt stop at a red—the words make you cringe, chest deflating and face crumpling.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” she’s saying, and her voice raises, louder to match the disbelief in her tone. “You… she’s a fucking student.”

When the fear hits it doesn’t come slowly. It strikes hard and solid; an icy sheet of dread that sucks at your fingers and numbs your extremities. Cool and abrupt, it sinks to your bones and promises that you’ll never again feel anything but this. It laughs in the face of your warm kind month, pressing its chilled ice picks to the back of your eyes until they burn.

Her words hang heavy in the air, thick weights that press down on three sets of shoulders, and you have never wanted anything the way you want to see Joel’s face right now. To look at him and believe that this isn’t as bad as you know it to be. See that mouth tell you it’s fine and remember how it tastes.

Instead, a fear-stricken Orpheus, you will yourself not to look at him. Despite that longing, the way your arms beg to stretch out, to hold and be held, you do not look. No, you don’t think you could suffer the double death of both knowing this is happening and seeing him know it too.

In his place, you let your eyes turn to Rachel, and find that she already stares at you, small mouth cracked ajar in incredulity.

Mind whirring, racing, stumbling; fumbling to pin back together the pieces of who you once were in her eyes and who you are now. This woman you admire so, whose career path you’ve dreamt of, whose wit and quirk has propelled you, invigorated you.

It’s agonising to watch—the way her face morphs into something so unfamiliar as she looks at you now. An expression that once held only admiration, kindness, marred here by an inexplicable sense of pity. Not hate, or contempt, which perhaps would be easier to handle. Easier than the way those dark orbs go round and solemn with worry as they fall upon your anguished frame. It’s a slap in the face; camaraderie washed down the drain like the dregs of a long overdue bath, as she grips your soiled underwear in her fist.

Joel says her name, you’ve lost count of how many times he’s said it now, and she spurns his attempt at placation like a snake. Fast and deadly, venom dribbling from her tongue. 

“Someone else?” she says, and her voice is like never before. Mirthless and cold, fury laced through every word. With a sharp jerk of her elbow, she tosses the underwear across the room. They land against Joel’s chest, caught silently in his fist. “You’re fucking sick.”

“This isn’t what you think it is—” Joel starts, and you think you hear his voice shake.

“It isn’t?” She laughs cruelly at that. “You haven’t been sleeping with one of our students?”

The cursor blinks on your screen. Nostos, nostos, nostos, nostos.

“Listen, can we talk about this somewhere else?” he asks. “Not like this, I—”

“Oh, is this not a convenient time for you?” she scowls. “Jesus Christ.”   

The urge to speak bubbles in your chest. You don’t even know what you’re going to say until the words are spilling from your lips, disjointed and warbled, a voice that doesn’t even sound like your own.

“I pursued him,” you say.

You can feel them looking at you. Can hear the way you must sound to her, like some kid and not a woman who’s almost thirty years old and just as much to blame. But you can’t stop it.  

“We’re both adults. He never made me do anything I didn’t—”

Joel says your name sharply. His fist, in the periphery of your downturned gaze, grips your balled up underwear so tight that the blue is entirely invisible within the thick masts of his fingers.

You suck in a breath, and it feels like the last bit of air in the room disappears into your lungs, so you hold it there. Keep it safe inside and figure that if all three of you were to suffocate then at least the truth, and all the foul consequences that come with it, would die here with you.

“Can you give us a minute?”

Silence falls in the lull after those words, and it takes a moment for you to look up, finally. To realise that the double death wasn’t in looking at Joel, but in understanding that he’d spoken these words to you, not her.

Eyes locked with his, you feel the fear move to your side. Hang low until it ebbs and flows in the space beneath your ribs—a sharp ache with no end in sight. He looks tired; resigned. Mouth thin and downturned, cheeks splashed with red.

You think you must say something. Some fumbling, awkward acknowledgement, because Rachel is giving you that look again and you can’t bear it. Can’t stand those eyes, that misplaced pity.

You collect your things, hands numb as you pile them into your bag and head for the door, skin prickling in defence against the silence that follows your movements.

Outside his office, alone in the long corridor, you know you should go. Should follow the wall down the stairs, out to your car, and not look back. Can you give us a minute? But that sharp ache leaves you cowering against the wall, limbs heavy, ear to his door. 

“Rach,” Joel says softly, and it’s so familiar that your stomach rolls, lids fluttering closed. “It isn’t what you think, just let me explain, alright? We met before the term began; before she was my student. Before.”

“And then?”

“What?”

“I said, and then?” Rachel’s voice is steely. “You met her before and, what, you saw her in class and decided it was fine to let it continue? You—”

“Everything was consensual. You know me, I would never—”

“It’s not as simple as that, and you know it. Did you not think about what would happen if you were found out? Her credibility will be destroyed, Joel.”

“I know—”

“I mean for fucksake, her first major presentation was given at a conference where you were the keynote speaker. How do you think this will look?”

“Fuck, I know. Can you keep your voice down, please.”

There’s a brief silence. You hear shuffling, feet against carpet, and a dull spike of fear flares in the back of your mind. The idea of getting caught a second time, eavesdropping from outside the door. Against better judgement, you don’t move, and Rachel speaks again.

“You’re wrong,” she says. “I don’t know you. I… you aren’t the man I thought you were.”

You don’t hear Joel’s response over the drumming in your ears. Hot blood thrashes and roars inside your body, veins pounding with terror. Hands shake damp and weary at your sides, thinking hard, hard, grasping for solution, for the chance to say I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.

But he must have said something because then you hear it. A low fragment of a human voice, words spoken clear as day. They slice through your ears and have you peeling away from the door, swallowed by a white-hot longing to disappear as you stumble down the hall, the stairs, until you’re sucking in cold air on the pavement outside.  

It’s raining hard now. Thin spray that comes at you sideways, lashing at your face and blinding you. You curl your back to the downpour and search thoughtlessly for your car, hands outstretched, those words of hers ricocheting off the inside of your skull.

When you find it, you press your key into the door and slump inside, and you still can’t avoid it. She might as well be standing right by the door, peering in at you. Shock in the jut of her brow, disappointment in the slant of her mouth as she whispers those words over and over through the crack in your window.

"I don’t care if you love her, Joel. I have to report you.”

refs:

joni mitchell's 1971 Blue album. [life changer]

the hollow men by t. s. elliot [fat juicy banger of a poem]

orpheus and eurydice from metamorphoses by ovid, tr. by a. d. melville

thank you for reading x

[sommerbueckers]

hiyaa might get real specific with this one but can u do one where paige n r get a piece of furniture from ikea for their flat and paige is complaining that its not like lego at all. it takes them so long to build it and they just keep bickering and in the end they finally finish but find a whole bag of screws or sm

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

___________________________________________________________

✰ 𝐰𝐜 :: 𝟏.𝟔𝐤

✰ 𝐢 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨, 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟𝐟

___________________________________________________________

YOU AND PAIGE HAD been shopping around for hours, neither of you seemingly able to agree on a theme for the empty room in your flat. Paige wanted to turn it into a game room; colorful furniture, sports posters littering the walls, an obnoxiously large TV accompanied by a PlayStation 5 with an obnoxious amount of controllers. You, the more reasonable and mature one, wanted to turn it into a mini library/guest bedroom for when family came to stay. Paige thought that was absolutely ridiculous.

She had nitpicked every piece of furniture you picked out; the bookshelf looked too old, the bed looked too small, the dresser 'just wasn't appealing to the eyes'. Your eyes narrowed with every 'no' she gave you, but nonetheless you let her have her way. Just like always.

Several furniture stores later, the two of you landed in the middle of a high scale Ikea. The cart you pushed in front of you was empty, save for your handbag which sat in the built in baby seat. You slowly turned your head from side to side, scrutinizing things in your head as you passed. Paige did the same, trailing closely behind you with her hands stuffed deep into her pockets.

You had slowly but surely found yourselves in the bedroom department, bed frames and nightstands surrounded you. Your eyes fell onto an ample-sized couch, the description reading 'Sofa Bed' in large, bold letters. You pushed the cart toward it to examine it closer, Paige's sighs growing faint as you left her behind. It was decently priced, and you discovered the material to be quite soft as you ran your hand over the armrest. You abandoned the cart, plopping down onto one of the cushions and getting comfortable.

"What're you doin?" Paige was leaning against a dresser, her chin resting against her arms.

"Come tell me if you think this is comfortable," you patted the space next to you, your decision-making face present.

"For what?" she asked, coming to join you without an answer. She sat down with a heavy sigh, shimmying in place.

"What do you think?"

She shrugged and made an unsatisfactory noise, "It's okay."

"Paige," you spoke sternly.

"What? You asked what I thought about it and I said it was okay, I don't like it, but clearly you do."

"What's wrong with this one then?" you ask, frustration evident in your voice.

"It's so lame. No colors, no patterns, just plain white."

"Paige, you already have your PlayStation in the living room and your entire side of the bedroom has basketball posters on it. You don't need an entire room for your stuff," you tried to reason.

"But you get to put all your books in there!" she complained.

"That's because my books hardly take up any space, and like I said before, it'd be nice for my mom to have someplace to stay when she comes to visit. Or what about your family, that way they don't have to get a hotel."

"If my family comes to visit, they're not stayin' with us. Ion want them hearing how I tear you up every night," she shook her head.

"Paige!" you slapped her arm, briefly making eye contact with a woman and her son as they passed by, no doubt having heard Paige's inappropriate comment. You gave her an awkward smile, casting your gaze downwards before looking back to your girlfriend. "Keep your voice down. Obviously we wouldn't be doing anything when they're visiting," you told her plainly.

"You expect me to keep my hands off you for that long? Yeah, fuck that, no way."

"Paige."

"What?"

"We're getting the couch."

When we reached the front of the furniture store to check out, Paige opted to put the large cardboard box containing the couch in the back of the car. It wasn't going to fit, and as the logical one of the two of you, you chose for the couch to be delivered to you for a fifty dollar fee. Paige sucked her teeth from beside you, you were always overriding her decisions. But in your defense, yours always worked out for the better.

When the clerk asked whether you wanted a team of men to assemble the couch upon delivery, you said 'yes', Paige said 'no'.

"Paige, we are not gonna put this thing together ourselves."

"Yes we are. Trust me, we got this, okay? I put shit together with my legos all the time, how hard could it be?"

"THIS SHIT IS REALLY FUCKIN' HARD," Paige groaned, her back resting against the wall as she stared tiredly at the mess you two had created, wishing that'd it just magically put itself together. Across her lap lay a sheet of directions, the paper was incredibly creased, finger sized dents on the page from having been passed back and forth between the two of you. You had been biting your lip to say 'I told you so' from the moment you had opened the box and were met with the complexity of the situation.

You were standing with an unimpressed look on your face, a piece of metal in one hand and a drill in the other. You were impatiently tapping your foot against the floor.

"Maybe if you had listened to me when I requested for them to put it together when they delivered it, we wouldn't be sitting here stuck as fuck," you sassed, pursing your lips out at her.

You were met with a glare. "Dude, okay! I'm sorry I overestimated your hard labor skills," she responded.

"I don't have hard labor skills, and neither do you! Seriously, what on Earth made you think this was a good idea?"

"Oh like you haven't overestimated yourself before," Paige rolled her eyes.

"Um, I haven't, thank you. I know my limits," you argued.

"What about the time we went to the gym and you tried to benchpress 150 without warming up?" she raised her brow.

"Okay well that was—"

"Or the time you thought you could make blueberry muffins from scratch without looking at the directions?"

"In my defense I had—"

"And let's not forget about how you bet me your favorite sweatshirt that you could beat me in Fortnite because you had been watching me long enough."

"Okay! Enough Paige, I get it," you seethed, furrowing your eyebrows at the taller girl. She was looking down at you with a victorious smirk, her arms crossing over her chest as you smoke again. "I haven't always been exactly...grounded. But still, in all the losses I've had, I've never dragged you down with me. I feel like there's a chain tied around my ankles right now and you just threw the anchor half a mile underground."

"Oh this is not that bad," she laughed.

"Paige we've been here for hours and we haven't put a single piece together!" you were laughing too.

"That's because you're goin' too slow, if you would've jus' listened to me then we would already be done!"

"Like when you told me we had to buy a mattress first and build around that?" you snorted, your hands on your hips.

"Does it not make sense?"

"Can you just hand me the directions please?" you sighed.

WITH A SATISFIED GRIN, you slapped your hands against your knees and stood, admiring the sofa bed you and Paige had finally assembled. The room was filled with the faint smell of new furniture and the evidence of your hard work—scattered instructions, a few empty screw packets, and two exhausted, but triumphant smiles.

Paige stood beside you, her own smile shining brightly. "I told you we had it," she said, giving your shoulder a proud pat.

You briefly narrowed your eyes at her, feigning indignation. "Yes, after hours of me having to go behind your mistakes and fix them, we’re finally done!"

Paige laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad!"

Just as you both started to clean up, you noticed a small bag tucked away beneath the pile of discarded packaging. Curious, you reached down and pulled it out, feeling the weight of it in your hand.

"Uh, Paige?" you said, holding up the bag for her to see.

Paige turned to you, her smile fading slightly as she recognized what you were holding. "You gotta be joking."

You nodded, your own smile slipping into a look of bewilderment. "I think we missed a step...or several."

Paige’s eyes widened as she took the bag from you, examining it with disbelief. "How did we miss this? We used everything else!"

You both stared at the bag for a moment, then turned to look at the sofa bed, which was standing proudly in the middle of the room. The realization set in, and you could feel a mix of horror and amusement bubbling up inside you.

Paige was the first to break the silence, a laugh escaping her lips. "Well… at least it hasn’t collapsed yet?"

You couldn’t help but laugh too, the absurdity of the situation too much to ignore. "Maybe it’s a miracle of engineering."

Paige shook her head, still laughing. "You think we should take it apart?"

You both glanced at the sofa bed again, then at each other. The thought of spending more hours disassembling and reassembling the whole thing was almost too much to bear.

"Nah," you finally said, tossing the bag of screws onto the floor. "Let’s just pretend this never happened. If it falls apart, we’ll deal with it then."

Paige grinned, relieved. "Okay. Besides, it looks good enough to me."

You both flopped onto the sofa bed, testing its sturdiness. It held up, at least for the moment, and that was good enough for now. You shared a glance, bursting into another fit of laughter. 

___________________________________________________________

[fastandcarlos]

Long Distance Sucks : ̗̀➛ Pierre Gasly

summary: trying to keep your relationship going is hard, especially when there are thousands of miles between you, but somehow pierre always finds a way

Your head shook in disbelief as you closed the door behind the delivery driver, your smile wide at the bouquet of flowers that were in your hands. The smell was divine, they looked picture perfect, everything that you had ever wanted.

It didn’t take long for you to figure who the mastermind was behind them. Pierre had pestered you most of the day to make sure that you were home for the day, desperate for you to be there to receive your delivery, only wishing that he could also be there to be able to see the wide smile on your face.

Once you set the flowers down, you reached for your phone, finding your favourite contact to try and call.

“Do you like them?” Pierre quizzed as soon as he picked up the phone.

“I can’t believe you sent these to me,” you laughed, delicately placing your fingertips under a few of the petals, admiring their beauty.

“I just wanted to send you a little something to remind you that I love you, and that I miss you,” Pierre smiled, sitting down on the bed of his hotel room. You had a clear picture in your mind, you knew that he’d be wearing a smug smile, proud of himself for being able to pull off such a sweet surprise. “It’s not the same without you.”

“Flowers are cool, but you being here would be cooler,” you responded.

“Every time you pass the flowers you can be reminded of me now,” Pierre chuckled, knowing exactly where in your apartment you’d put them too.

“The table in the kitchen,” you both said at the same time, chuckling to yourselves. It was your favourite spot in your home, decorated full of things that reminded you of Pierre.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” Pierre told you, “I’ve got four more weeks until I get to see you again.”

“Time will fly by,” you tried to insist, attempting to reassure yourself more than you were Pierre. “We’ll be back together soon enough, you’ll be fed up of having me around when you get home, I won’t be able to leave you alone.”

Pierre didn’t want you to leave him alone, he wanted you by his side constantly. He loved his career, and he knew how much yours meant to you too, but he was sure that the two of you were cursed sometimes with how mismatched your calendars were.

“I might have to go in a minute love, we’ve got team meeting,” he informed you, hearing a soft sigh down the other end of the line.

“It’s alright,” you replied, forcing a smile to your face.

“I’ll speak to you tonight if you’re still awake,” Pierre told you, yet another ‘if’ that seemed to happen so frequently in your relationship recently.

“I’ll try and stay awake just for you,” you spoke, saying a quick goodbye to Pierre before you heard the line cut off, letting go of a heavy sigh.

Your eyes glanced back to the flowers again. Four weeks would fly by, right?

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Over the next few days you had been surviving on a few scattered texts and calls, trying your best to align your time zones. Your conversations were broken, half the time you were sleepily reading messages, barely able to understand exactly what Pierre was saying to you.

It was the same for Pierre too, he continuously looked at his phone, dejected each time there was no message from you.

Like always, you were counting down the days to Pierre returning home to you, busying yourself with work. It was almost night by the time you returned to your apartment, lost in your own world when you felt your foot hit against something when you got to the door, glancing down at a cardboard box.

You picked it up as you entered your home, taking it with you as you sat down on the sofa. You quickly tore the tape off of it, intrigued as to what was inside. You had no recollection of ordering anything, but with how exhausted you were, you couldn’t be sure.

A gasp came from you as you opened up the box, glancing down to see an Alpine hoodie folded inside. You carefully lifted it out and held it up, chuckling to yourself, knowing straight away who the hoodie belonged to. The size was perfect for Pierre, you’d washed, and worn, plenty of them to know.

Thought you might want a reminder of me, I wore this at the race this weekend, hopefully it still smells like me too. P x

You brought the hoodie to your nose, inhaling deep as you smelt Pierre’s familiar scent. It felt like home as you threw the hoodie over your head, allowing it to fall over your body, knowing that you had no plans to take the hoodie off until the day that Pierre was home again.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

“I might have to go to the garage for a couple of days before I come home,” Pierre spoke, watching your smile drop.

You were only days away from being reunited, only for another obstacle to get in the way. “It’s work, you’ve got to do it, I’m sure I’ll survive another few days.”

“I promise that I’ll be as quick as I can to get things done.”

“Don’t rush, you need the car to be the best it can be for the next race,” you tried your best to assure him, “we’ve done weeks, a few more days won’t hurt.”

“Thank you for being so understanding,” Pierre weakly smiled, “I promise that I’ll make it up to you when I get home.”

“It’s fine Pierre.”

Your voice was far from convincing as you ended the call, laying down on the sofa as your hands ran across your face.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pierre tried to keep you as updated with his plans over the next couple of days, but each day his estimations changed. One day you were told he’d have to be there for a week, the next day he’d insist he only needed two more days, you somehow found yourself wondering whether Pierre would even be home at all.

You kept keeping yourself busy, heading out around the city, exploring as much as you could. You were busy scrolling on your phone as you headed into one of the nearby clothes shops, finally deciding to treat yourself to the item of clothing that you’d spotted in the shop window several times in an attempt to cheer yourself up from the feeling of missing Pierre.

Your shop was soon interrupted by the sound of your phone buzzing in your pocket.

“Hey, how’s it going at the garage?” You quizzed as soon as you saw Pierre’s name appear, using your free hand to take the top off of the railing.

“I don’t know,” he chuckled, “but what I do know is that that top you’re holding will look beautiful on you.” Your eyes darted around as Pierre continued to laugh down the line. “Look back at the door amour.”

You almost dropped everything as your body turned around as fast as it could, chuckling in disbelief as Pierre stared back at you, the biggest smile on his face as he beckoned you over, waving his hand across at you.

You could hardly move fast enough, desperate to have the feeling of Pierre’s arms wrapped around your frame again. You’d both completely forgotten that there were other people around you as your bodies crashed into each other, holding one another tight out of fear that somehow the other person would slip away again.

“Y-you’re home,” you smiled as you pulled away, cupping either side of Pierre’s face. Your eyes studied him closely, making sure that it really was him in front of you. “I thought you still needed to fix some things at the garage?” You scolded, hitting gently against his chest.

“I told them I couldn’t wait any longer, I couldn’t stay away from you any longer my love,” Pierre whispered, pressing a kiss against your lips. “It’s been torture being away from you for this long, but I couldn’t resist the temptation to surprise you,” he sniggered.

“How did you even know where to find me?” You quizzed.

“Trust me…I’ve got my sources.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[ch4mpagnedrought]

compensation

[full series]

mdni ! art donaldson

summary: you and art cant help but try and compensate for everything you’re missing out on now that tashi and patrick are together.

ever since tashi had suggested a game of tennis for her number and patrick won, its left you and art to roam around the stanford campus like two little lost puppies, begging for their attention when patrick comes to visit tashi.

patrick has made it impossible to get a hold of the girl, her dorm room always locked and her absence in the daily work-outs the two of you usually have made very obvious. not to mention the betrayal art must be feeling, having his best friend be only in the adjacent building to him, but never coming to actually see him.

you’ve had to find ways to preoccupy yourselves, and stop you from going on an angry rampage, like;

hitting racket to ball in the middle of the court, not even bothering to play a real game. “my prof is making me rewrite my whole assignment this week.” you complain, aiming the ball at the green fencing at the sides and watching it bounce back in art’s direction for your own botched version of squash. he laughs loudly, “who knew you were so bad at everything besides tennis.” you shoot him a scowl and his eyes widen, shoulders shrugging unapologetically as he swings his arm once again.

spring fading into summer means that evenings still have a little light in them, and you fight the urge to lie straight down on the tarmac and look up at the greying sky. the light breeze washes through art’s strawberry blonde hair, swaying it to the side to expose his brows that furrow when you let the ball bounce away between your legs, looking at him with a tense expression. the thought that tashi and patrick were somewhere doing god knows what (you knew what) and completely ignoring you made a reappearance in your head suddenly, and it boiled your blood. “ugh! im gonna kill them!” you huff out, grabbing the ball from the ground and stomping to where you left your stuff. art’s arm finding the both of your shoulders, “ditto that.”

having lunch at the food hall together: waiting in line for the same exact salad that you get every day, curtesy of your game-preparation meal plan and taking a seat on the bar stools that overlook the rest of the campus. stabbing your fork into the frail pieces of lettuce in your plastic bowl, art taking another bite of his churro in silence and licking away all the rouge sugar particles from his lips. “you know, patrick didn’t even bother to call me about his visit.” art says, taking off his red baseball cap just to put it back on his head again. “what a dog.” you scoff, shaking your head and taking a sip of your smoothie that tastes a little grainy from the protein powder. you would’ve continued to rant if you hadn’t spotted tashi and patrick walking hand-in-hand in the distance, all smiles and giggles; it makes you sick. “look.” you point it out to art and he mocks patrick in a high-pitched voice, “hey tashi aren’t i so cool? i play pro and i’m totally not cheating on you.” you chuckle, leaning over to snag a bite of his churro.

and confiding in each other in art’s dorm late at night, when the haunting noises coming from the other side of your wall get too much.

his room is surprisingly so…boyish. a couple posters of tennis stars on the walls that seem so out of place, like he put them there for the sole purpose of taking up space. his medals are hung up on the corner of his wardrobe, tinkering on the edge and there is an unidentified pile of clothing in the corner.

his sheets are a deep maroon colour and you lie flat across them, both of your heads leaning on the single flat pillow he owns, legs crossed. his ceiling has remnants of a water leak the university tried to paint over and you study it from below. “i wonder what they’re doing right now.” art hums, putting his hands behind his head, and letting you rest your head on his bicep.

you shoot up, glancing down at him, one brow lifted and eyes narrow, “i can tell you exactly what they’re doing right now,” you say, scrambling up onto your knees, “’patrick i need your racket right now!’’’ you moan tauntingly, rolling your eyes back and crossing your arms over your chest. art cackles, stomach contracting and grabbing onto your shoulder for support. his hand is pumping warm with blood, hovering over your skin for longer than socially acceptable, and his fingers caressed by the long strands of your curly hair that fall at your sides.

running over to his room meant that you hadn’t had enough time to grab a change of clothes to sleep in, so he graciously lent you one of his t-shirts, a navy one with white embroidered writing that you hadn’t bothered to read, which prods at the aching in his head to see you without it.

“when was the last time you slept with someone?” your question catches art off guard, lying back down next to him and watching the blush creep up onto his cheeks, eyes darting away somewhere to think of an answer. “oh come on, was it that unforgettable?” you laugh. he knew when exactly when the last time was, but the thought that him sleeping with someone had crossed your mind, putting the idea of the two of you together into his own had clouded his head, making it unbearably difficult to think, or speak.

“maybe last month” art estimates when the last time he saw the girl in one of his classes that he casually slept with from time to time, your expression remaining unchanged, which whirls something inside of his stomach. you nod, smile spreading across your lips, and eyes glancing down to art’s partially parted ones. art adjusts himself, propping his head up with his hand and looking down at you, “when was the last time that you slept with someone?”

its unclear to him whether you're joking with your response. “ask me that tomorrow.” it spins his head until he sees double, having to shut his eyes for a second to regain consciousness. your nonchalant smile quite frankly irks him, because you seem so unaware of how he is sliding the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, preparing just incase you decide that you want to kiss him. or the fact that he moved his leg upwards along the bed to cover his raging boner at just the mere idea of you and him together.

the shirt he lends you rides up on your hips, obviously showing off the black panties that you’re wearing and the neck-line hangs low enough to show the indent of your collarbone that he imagines licking a stripe over.

you thrum, looking up at art through dark eyelashes, “isn’t it so unfair how tashi and patrick can ignore us just to get at each other?”

he got the hint, every crumb you’ve put down he’s followed and scooped up all in one go, sighing out a weak, “yeah” that sounds more like a whine, and leaning down to kiss you on the lips.

the taste of your lip gloss he had missed sweetens his mouth immediately and the faint smell of a chocolatey lotion on your skin sends him into complete overdrive, left hand desperately reaching for the side of your face to take you deeper into him. he sinks himself down, pressing his chest into yours and disconnecting his lips to breathe out a groan at the sensation of your boobs against him like a boy who's never felt them before.

his face is burning hot, lips even hotter as they move simultaneously with yours, covering the perimeter of your mouth with long and drawn out movements to fully get the taste of you hes been dreaming of ever since that hotel room. his hands roam down to the curvature of your waist, taking a strong grip to it to make sure his fingerprints forever remember it, then down to your hips, kneading the flesh.

with him over you, he pulls away from your arms that are wrapped around his neck, pulling the hem of his shirt to unveil your midriff and the black lace that frames your lower waist, your thighs pressed together to catch the heat that he manifests within you, “oh my god.” it might just be the lewdest sight he has ever seen, along with your swollen lips that are glistening with his saliva.

he can barely keep away the moans that try to escape his mouth when he lowers himself down to you, eager lips pressing into your hip, lapping at the surface of your skin with a desperation only art could have, along the hem of your panties, and back up your stomach while your fingers entangle with his blonde locks.

your pulse quickens, exhaling his name out when his finger pulls your underwear to the side, letting the air hit your leaking core, a smile playing at art’s lips. “please, please art.” you moan out, squeezing your eyes shut and letting the sensation of one of his digits swiping through your folds overcome you.

he nibbles at your inner thighs, soft licks soothing the area as one of his fingers slides inside you, while the other gropes at your breast through your shirt. his mind is completely consumed by you, watching every change in your expression with his fingers pumping in and out of you, flush on your face and brows knitting every time he draws back.

your legs instinctively move over his shoulders, trapping him around you to continue the motion and giving him the chance to tilt his head to the side, pressing a kiss to the thigh that is thrown over him. “is this okay?” he asks, caressing a hand down your calf and watching the way your hand reaches out to grab him by the wrist.

“lie down art” you keen, his eyes narrow and he pulls back with a sense of confusion that is overrode with your impatience, ushering him below you. so he does, leaning against the headboard whilst you throw yourself onto his hips, his jaw tilting upwards to unconsciously fulfil the want of his lips devouring the whole of your figure.

the shirt he lent you doesn’t last long, ending up in the pile on his floor and letting him ravish in the sight of your bare torso. he gasps out your name, wandering hands reaching out to massage your breast, flesh filling out the gaps between all five of his fingers. “take this off” you strangle out, gesturing to the shirt he is wearing, disheveled hair falling back into his face that burns hot when you let your eyes roam down to his abdomen. even the weight of your ass pressing into his dick through his shorts is teetering him to climax, hands not knowing where to put themselves when he wants to grab a hold of all of you.

your fingers wrap around the waistband of his shorts that he is wearing, pulling down his boxers at the same time and freeing his erection to slap back onto his stomach, recalling something patrick said about the time he taught art to jerk off. the palm of your hand ghosts his cock, restraining yourself from taking it into your hands there and then, “can i?” even the way you sigh out the question has the hairs on art’s arms standing up and mouth swallowing saliva in anticipation. “yes, yes.” he whines, brows furrowing up at you and all of his muscles tensing.

with a gentle touch, he guides you above him, his hands at your sides as you spread yourself open for him, sinking down only to the tip before he grabs your waist and pauses in the position. he looks like a little helpless, bottom lip between his teeth and an alarmed look in his face that says if you go any further he’ll come right now. “i’ll go slow,” you whisper, a small smirk on your face that’s hard to resist when his shimmering eyes try to find the last slither of dignity within him, “i promise.” you smile reassuringly and he glances away, the flush in his cheeks getting a little deeper.

you keep your promise, slowly lowering yourself down onto him, goosebumps fevering your skin and palms laying flat across his abdomen to steady yourself.

taking him in completely, you whimper out his name and his hands journey to graze your back, up to your shoulder blades where he presses them into you to pull you into him, mouth suctioning down the valley of your breasts. his moans vibrate back into your skin when you pull back up from him, stimulating every single nerve ending in his length like it never has before. you set a pace, slow and steady for art, snapping your hips down onto his in a way that knocks the wind out of you each time, gasping for air. he keeps you close to him, rolling his hips to meet you in the middle and put some of that athlete stamina to use and murmuring your name with every movement.

his finger moves your hair from your shoulder, so he can press soft pecks onto the surface, whilst you clutch the wooden headboard, growing impatient and consequently pounding him into you. his moans purr into your ear, grabbing onto your ass to keep you still as he thrusts himself into you from below and shakily calling out an, “im gonna come.”

you nod, clasping around his biceps and leaning down to nip at his neck, losing composure the more your walls contract around him. you ignore the muscles in your legs that ache and your lungs that can’t seem get a hold of the air that is shared between you to continue to mercilessly plunge him deeper into you until it feels like you’re melting into one another, a shudder sending itself down your bare back and deepening the heat that builds in your core.

art is panting, popping your tit into his mouth one last time before falling still, twitching inside of you and releasing all of his seed into you until it overflows from below. your name echoes out of his mouth, whimpering and whining it out until he can open his eyes back up and centre his vision on you burning every last bit of energy to bounce on his dick.

you lean forward onto him, eyes rolling back into your head when reaching your climax and pressing your burning cheek against his face to feel all of him. he brushes his hand down your back comfortingly, you heaving into the crevice of his neck that glistens with sweat and feeling your walls contract around him the last couple times.

art sighs your name out, pressing his lips into your cheek and letting a smile spread across his face when you brush the dampened hair out of his forehead to get a better view of his eyes.

your body feels limp, falling back down next to him with a post-sex fatigue that follows you all the way into the next morning, where you sit at a table in the food hall, thanking art for bringing you some breakfast and trying to ignore the echoing of all the noises he made last night in your head.

“fuck i really need to work on that assignment today” you groan, taking a bite into a slice of honeydew with your head in the palm of your hand. art watches and nods, a false portrayal of an active listener when what he’s really focusing on is the way your lips curl around the slice, biting off a chunk and closing your lips around it in a way that makes him reminisce that he was right there too only a couple hours ago. “i can help.” he offers, truly from the kindness of his heart that kindly wants to spend the rest of his life looking at you.

“you wish.” you scoff, “i’m not allowed to be alone in a room with you anymore.”

art takes a swig of his water to hide the grin that spreads on his face, and when he makes eye contact with a random student from across the hall he feels like they heard that too. he wishes they could hear, and know that you, the best tennis player stanford has probably ever had, are having to physically restrain yourself from him.

“what are you smiling about?” the familiar voice of patrick calls out from a few strides away, in a pair of indigo levis and a white tee, grabbing onto arts shoulders and lowering himself down to his level to grab his chin playfully. art swats him away immediately, pushing patrick down into a chair. and tashi grazes your shoulders softly with her hand when taking a seat next to you and stealing a piece of your fruit from your bowl, “good morning.”

“morning.” you sigh out, taking a sip of your tea and hoping that it isn’t totally obvious that you slept with your friend. but tashi takes notice of the slight frizz in your hair, a dishevelled-ness that is never usually there, so it wasn’t her intention to call you out in front of the four of you when she asks, “why do you look hungover?” she even moves a piece of your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear to get a better look at the colour under your eyes. your brows furrow, eyes glancing to the left of you at the two boys whose expressions couldn’t be anymore different. art’s poker face is awful, he’s trying to keep his face composed but his posture slumps under the weight of patrick’s hand that spreads across over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk.

you shrug nonchalantly, taking another bite of your breakfast to act like your lungs aren’t constricting and you aren’t going into fight or flight, “late night i guess.”

theres a moment of silence, everyone in their heads peacefully while you wish you could get into art’s and find out what he’s thinking about your pathetic lie.

“nice shirt.” patrick says.

“thanks." you reply, swiping over the embroidered ‘mark rebellat tennis academy’ with a finger and looking up at patrick, who meets your eyes with a knowing smirk that makes you feel silly for not assuming that patrick would have memorised art’s whole closet, or recognise the school they went to.

and when patrick squeezes art’s shoulder and asks whether he is “up for a game?” you suddenly become hyper aware of how much his gaze slips past art’s eyes and down onto you as they stand up from the table, eyes squinting and a stupid smile on his face. the combination is so piercing you’ve become aware that even if tashi believed your lie, and art thinks he’s got away scott free—he knows, and he’s letting you know.

his hand ruffles the hair on art’s head, arm falling over his shoulders and drawing him into himself, “we have a bunch of catching up to do, art.” he keeps art close to him as they walk away towards the tennis courts, leaning in to whisper something into his ear after the both of them briefly turned around to wave you and tashi goodbye.

tashi seems unphased by their behaviour, continuing to braid a small of piece of your hair that she unconsciously started. “you know patrick’s about to tell art all about your get together.” you chuckle and tashi scoffs, leaning back into her chair, “he wouldn’t say anything” she reassures, “also we didn’t even do anything.” she adds in quickly, stealing another piece of watermelon from your bowl and taking a bite to avoid talking about the topic like you hadn’t just done that. you smile at her, and she widens her eyes to let you know that she’ll tell you all about last night later.

“i wouldn’t be so sure.” you shake your head, stealing back the half-bitten melon from in between her fingers and finishing it off.

[reareaotaku]

Superboy vs Robin

Summary: The life of 3 best friends that get confused when realizing they have a crush on their other friend, Y/n Prince, daughter of Wonder Woman Pairings: Jon Kent x Fem! Reader, Damian Wayne x Fem! Reader Tw: Love V [NOT TRIANGLE!!! IT'S A 'V'], Slow Burn? Taglist: N/a

Pt II: Love in High Places | Pt III: Apple of My Eye

[This probably would have been better to write as a multi-part story instead of a one-shot, so I can really get the slow burn and such... Might make a part 2 if yall like this? Also hope this isn't bad because I've been wanting to write this for over a year....]

You had met the two boys when in the league's spaceship. Your mother was on business and sent you off to do, as she put it 'Children things', before taking off with Batman and Green Lattern. You rolled your eyes at her dismissal, but decided to find something else to do. Besides, hero work was boring anway. Nothing interesting about discussing rules and such anyway.

You walked around the large spaceship, before coming across a particular room. In the room where two kids, boys, around your age you didn't recognize. One of the boys, the one in darker clothes, must have felt your presence, because the second you stepped in he turned around.

Damian knew who you were. He knew who everyone was. He would look like a real fool if he didn't know the daughter of Wonder-woman. Too bad the same couldn't be said for Jon.

You awkwardly stand at the door way, now having both the boys' attention on you. You awkwardly wave, "Hey."

Jon's face lights up and he rushes to you. He loved meeting new people and you were nothing short of pretty. "Hi!" He grabs your hand, engulfing it with his own. "I'm Jon, Jon Kent."

"Y/n Prince." You tried to keep up with his handshake, but he was fast and strong, and by the time you could gather what was going on he had already let your hand go.

You looked past Jon back at the emo boy, but he was just staring at you. Jon looked over to see what you were looking at, before gesturing towards his friend.

"Oh, that's Damian. Don't mind him. He's.... Shy."

"I'm not shy. I just don't have any reason to speak to her."

Jon gasps, before glaring at his friend, "That's rude, Damian." He turns back to you, his face flushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry about him. He's not good with people."

You nod, still staring at Damian. "He's Batman's kid, right? The son of those assassins?"

Damian's eyes widen, but only for a brief second. He could let such an emotion out.

"My mother mentioned it a while ago. She didn't say much, just that you were... Different."

"Yeah, he is different." Jon jokes, causing you both to chuckle, but Damian just rolls his eyes.

---

You and Jon stuck your faces to the fish tank. Neither of you had ever seen a fish tank before. You were both stuck in the house by your parents in fear of you revealing yourselves on accident. Your parents have isolated you both- Even Damian was isolated, but he wasn't as naive and foolish as you and Jon.

"Oh, that one's purple," You point to a triangle-shaped fish.

"No, it's a dark blue," Jon argues, causing you to side-eye him.

You rolled your eyes, but don't respond.

"Hey, Y/n."

"Yeah, Jon?"

He looks over at you, wide eyed and excited, "You ever been Tire-rolling?"

"Tire-rolling?"

---

"I don't know if this is a good idea, Jon-" You try and reason, as your hands grip the tire's rubber.

He smiles, his hands gripping the tire, "Oh, it'll be fun. Promise!" He then pushes you, but instead of pushing you at a normal strength, he accidentally uses his super strength and sends you flying. His eyes widen as his mouth drops, before he runs after you, hoping you don't get hurt.

You scream as the tire jumps and hits multiple things while going faster than you've ever gone before. You grip the inside of the tire so hard, that you can feel your nails digging into your palm. You hear cars honking, but there's nothing you can do, without using your powers.

Though, luck must have been on your side, because while you're mid way in the air, something goes through the tire and harshly pulls you down. Your face slams into the tire, your hands ripping the tire's rubber. The tire falls flat on the ground and you sit up, rubbing your head.

Above you was the one and only, Damian Wayne. He was in his school uniform and he was looking down at you annoyed. In his hand was a grappling hook, which you assume he used to save you.

You quickly stand up, brushing off your clothes, "Uh, thanks."

Before Damian can respond, like he would, you hear Jon calling out to you.

"Y/n! Oh my god, Y/n! Are you okay?" He's nearly out of breath as he runs up to you before he stops. "Oh. Uh, hi Damian."

There's a moment of awkward silence, before Jon goes back to his normal self.

"What are you doing, Damian?"

"Nothing." Damian is quick, calculated even.

You had only known the two boys for a few months, but it felt like you had known Jon your whole life and this moment felt like the first time meeting Damian. Though, Damian was busy, so you couldn't really blame him. He was the son of a man with an empire and an assassination group. He was bound to be tied up from time to time.

"Uh, do you want to hang out, Damian?"

Damian is taken by surprise. You wanted to hang out? With him? Why?

Jon went to speak for Damian, but Damian interrupts him, "Sure."

"Really?" Both you and Jon speak at the same time, before you both blush out of embarrassment.

"I mean, great. Wow, okay. Yeah, let's hang out."

---

Damian groaned, before laying down on the roof. He could hear Jon and Y/n snickering to themselves, probably over something stupid. He closes his eye, their voices slowly fading from his mind. He didn't know how you had convinced him to hang out with you on a roof in the middle night.

He didn't like you, so he didn't know why he listened to you. He had no reason to care about what you said or thought, but yet here he was.

You had some kind of pull over him and he didn't know why. There was nothing about you that was different from the other superheroes. Sure, you were pretty, but so was Starfire, Raven, Super-woman, etc.

He looks over at you as you lean on Jon's shoulder, whispering some secret into his ear. He wondered what secrets you two were sharing. Maybe if he asked you'd let him in? He didn't know.

He takes his eyes off of you and looks back at the sky. It was a dark and cloudy night, like most nights in Gotham. Though, unlike most nights, it was quiet; Almost peaceful.

It bothered Damian. More than he'd like to admit. He felt an ich in his skin, like he was supposed to be doing something, but there was nothing to do. There was no fight to fight or crime to solve. It was peaceful for the first time in a long time.

---

Jon liked you, a lot. Like more than he's ever liked someone in his life. He feels immense emotions when he's around you, even if your mother doesn't like him. Though, your mother didn't like men period.

He was thankfully you didn't receive that quality from your mother. You were much nicer and happier than your mother. But that could be because you weren't tortured in the same way your mother was by the women of Themyscira.

In fact, they adored you. They treated you like some kind of goddess and cherished you. Jon understood though. You were perfect- At least to him you were. He thought everyone should treat you like the perfect person you are because you deserve nothing less.

---

You were alone with Damian for the first time in all the years you've known each other. You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut. You didn't know how you were going to tell them you were going to be leaving for Themyscira.

Your mother wanted you to be trained by the Amazons to be able to control your powers and abilities. While she herself was banished, she knew they would welcome you with welcome arms.

You knew Jon would take it hard, but it was only going to be for a year. Just a year. A year you'd be away from your best friends. So, there was a part of you that hoped if you told Damian first, it'd be easier to break it to Jon.

"So, when do you leave?"

You looked over at Damian, confused, "Leave?"

"I heard your mother talking to my father. She said she was sending you to Themyscira to train. So," He sits up on his bed, making direct eye contact with you, "when do you leave?"

"Next month. I'll be gone for a year."

"A year?"

"Yeah. My mom wanted me to stay for 3, but I was able to talk her down from it."

"Have you told Jon?"

"No..."

"Well, you know he's not going to react well."

"Yeah. That's why I've been procrastinating it."

"Can I write you?"

You frown, "No. The island is cut off from the world. So, no contact at all. Not even with my mom."

He now frowns, but says nothing more.

---

You sigh, leaning on your hand, your sword tossed on the ground. Before you stood Philippus, your mentor.

"Princess Y/n, what is bothering you so?"

You couldn't tell her you missed your friends. If she knew they were boys you knew you would get scolded. The Amazons didn't like men, because they were chaos and destruction and they were peaceful. A part of you understood, because you've seen the terrible things men can do, but your friends- they weren't like those men.

"Nothing... Just tired."

She takes your answer, even though she knows you're lying. You were frustrated and annoyed. You had been here for a month and found yourself making no progress. This was pointless.

You could have been with your friends, but here you were on some stupid island. You wanted to your friends.

"You know, if you don't get these down in the upcoming year, you'll have to stay."

You straighten up and glare at the woman. "No, I won't-"

Philippus quickly turns around, looking at you offended, "Excuse me?"

"Nothing." You quickly respond not wanting to repeat yourself.

She huffs, rolling her eyes, but decides to leave the conversation.

---

It had been a year since you were forced, by your mother, to train on the Themyscira Island. They wanted you to know how to use your powers to the fullest potential. It was fine... But you missed your friends. You wondered what they were doing. You wondered if they missed you too.

---

Jon was estatic. You were finally going to return from the island. Though, there was a part of him that was worried that you wouldn't remember them or even worse, you would hate them.

"You worry too much," Damian told him.

Jon sighs, trying to collect himself, "I'm just worried." Jon fiddles on his toes, as he repeated looks out of the window, hoping to see you pull up. Though, you were no where to be found. He walks away from the window, his shoulders dropping. "How far is that place?"

"Themyscira? It's a few weeks by boat, but she'll be here soon. She's home now."

Jon lightens up, "Home?"

"Yeah, she won't be here for a few more hours."

Jon glares at Damian, "You had me here looking like an idiot!"

Damian chuckles, "Yeah. I did, didn't I?"

---

Damian wasn't surprised by your appearance, unlike Jon. Damian had already seen you, without you knowing of course. You think he'd let you leave without any kind of contact? He knew everything, thanks to his connections. Though, nothing could compare to you really being in front of you.

Jon was the first to hug you. His arms squeezed you tightly, nearly causing you to lose your breath. He didn't want to let you go- Just hold you forever. He didn't want you leaving forever, but he was forced to let you go.

"You look great, Y/n."

You smile, a blush forming, "You too, Jon." You look around Jon to see Damian, who was avoiding eye contact. It almost reminded you of when you had first met the boys. "No hug, Damian?"

Damian finally looks at you, his natural glare on his face. Unlike Jon, who had let his hair grow out, Damian still had shorter hair, but his features were sharp. Though, that didn't surprise you. What did take you by surprise though is how much he looked like his father.

While Jon looked like a mix of Clark and Lois, Damian just looked like his father. Well, minus his golden skin- He got that from his mother.

Speaking of Jon, you felt him squeeze your bi-cep. You looked at him confused and he blushed.

"Uh, what are you doing, Jon?"

"Your biceps. They're like... Huge." He's fascinated by your arms, even comparing it to his own. While he was naturally strong, because of his powers, you had trained relentlessly for a year and it showed when your arms were bigger than his.

You chuckled at his amusement, before his eyes lit up, "Ah, Y/n you've missed out on so much- Come on," He grabs your arm, leading you inside the headquaters of the Justice League. You are stopped though when Damian grabs your arm that Jon didn't have. Jon looks back, wondering why you stopped when realizing Damian had grabbed you.

"Jon, why don't you head up. I just want to talk to Y/n."

Jon seems reluctant, but you turn to him, "I'll catch up. Promise."

He sighs, but ultimately goes up the stairs and inside the building.

"You look nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That means a lot coming from you, you know?"

Damian avoids eye contact. He's worried that you might see all his emotions, feelings and thoughts. He didn't want you knowing his darkest thoughts. "Yeah.. Uh, Jon missed you a lot... Obviously. Um..." Damian had never been like this- Lost for words. He always knew what to say. He had everything calculated, but now... Well, he felt lost. He felt your stare on him, waiting for him to finish, but he felt his tongue felt twisted. "It's good to have you back."

"Yeah, well, it's good to be back. You know, I've missed you a lot... And Jon. I've missed you both a lot."

Damian finally looks at you. Your eyes bleeding into his own. For a moment it felt like you two were the only ones in the world. Everything else was just dark and all that was left was you. That was until another voice spoke.

"Y/n."

You both looked up to see your mother. She gestured for you to come inside and you looked back at Damian.

"Well, I guess that I have to go."

"Yeah... I'll see yah."

"Yeah... you will."

You rush up the stairs, trying to stop the blush from forming on your face. You were so embarrassed and felt like the conversation was stupid. You wished you could have done it differently, but it was Damian. You were sure he wasn't as pressed about it as you.

If only you knew how much your life was about to change forever- All thanks to teenage boys' puberty.

[http-shield]

you offering?- bucky barnes unhinged!avenger reader x bucky

a/n: this was the first draft of smash (in a loving way) which is why some lines are the same.

Moving day swiftly degenerated into chaos as more and more boxes were unloaded from the truck. Theoretically, Steve and Bucky should not have that many possessions, seeing as neither of them had lived very long lives in the new century; however, as box after box is carried in, you realise you couldn't be further off base.

Steve shouts down the hall, alerting you of their arrival (having smacked headfirst into you with a box full of record hours earlier, you had developed the system of very loudly announcing yourselves before walking into narrow spaces). You turn to the hallway, ready to semi-jokingly tell Steve off for all the free labour he had managed to squeeze of you, but your brain short circuits as Bucky walks in. The long-sleeved shirt had turned up in has long since been discarded. Instead, he is sporting a black tank top showcasing a stunning display of his muscled arms and shoulders. Unable to look away, you follow the veins along muscled forearms, sweat glistening in the afternoon sun, vibranium fingers humming as they glide over the tops of the box, his hair pulled back in a bun sitting low at the nape of his neck and those godforsaken strands that hang over his eyes leave you thinking about the way they would feel brushing over your thighs.

"You're drooling." You jump, startled by Steve's amused whisper, as he stands behind you, cast iron pot in his hands.

"Ha.Ha." The retort is weak, mind too preoccupied with thoughts of your friend to conjure a coherent sentence.

"Seriously. You gotta bit'a...." Steve wipes the side of his mouth with his thumb, smirk growing as he continues to tease.

"You need to get outta here before I punch you in the face." you whirl on him, warning through clenched teeth. "I will fight you, old man."

He backs away, raising his hands in defeat. "Kids these days, can't take a joke."

-----

An Ikea flatpack sits on the floor of the living room. The name and instructions unreadable as the three of your stare a the unbuilt couch frame.

"You bought a box?" Bucky turns to Steve, brows raised as he gestures to the floor.

"It's a sofa, Buck. We just need to build it." the former sighs, crouching down to examine the slip of paper it came with. "We just need to learn Swedish."

Bucky follows suit and squats, grumbling something about knowing 30 languages but unable to put together a stupid piece of furniture.

You debate joining them, adding a new brain to the equation, but as if it were your turn to take that single cell passed between the three of you, you reach for your laptop and begin your search.

30 minutes later, the frame is complete. The cushions, however, are nowhere to be found.

"Did you not order them?" you ask, eyes still trained on the screen as the two super soldiers stare at the incomplete project.

"I didn't know I was meant to!" Steve is quick to defend his mistake. "If you buy the couch, it comes with it."

It's not a completely irrational thought. It's common sense really. You buy a couch it must come with cushions, so why didn't this one?

Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So we have one bed and couch frame? Where am I meant to sleep, Steve?"

"You can sleep with me." You mumble as you scroll through ikea website, searching for the accompanying pillows.

"Is that you offering?" Bucky asks, and for a second, you are confused by the question, but as you look up from the screen, you find both men staring at you. Ah, the super hearing caused by the super serum. Super.

"Offering what?" you play dumb, biting down on the tip of your thumb, hoping he can't hear your heart slamming in your chest.

"Just thought you were offerin' to have me sleep with you but I guess I heard wrong." Bucky smirks and shrugs. "Guess ill have to take all this " he begins to flex, making an obvious show of his muscles. "and sleep on the floor."

You bite down on your finger in a futile attempt to hide the smile that is forming. "Guess so."

Bucky frowns, sad, wide puppy eyes staring at you. "Come on, doll. Don't make me beg."

Heat flashes through you and your heart picks up speed again. "You can beg for it, Barnes, doesn't mean I'll let ya' " your voice shakes a little, but you can hide it behind a smug chuckle.

Bucky's tongue darts out to wet his lips as he begins to retort but Steve's cough stops you both. The Captain's face is crinkled in disgust as he stares.

"Could you save this till I'm not in the room?"

[soubeomies]

꒰୨୧◞ ₊˚ 𝓣𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗈𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽

⤷ 𝓟𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 ﹕ taesan x fem!reader

⤷ 𝓦𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ﹕ mentioned that reader uses makeup

⤷ 𝓖𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 ﹕ fluff

⤷ 𝓦𝗈𝗋𝖽 ��𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ﹕ 738

⤷ 𝓐𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋’𝗌 𝓝𝗈𝗍𝖾 ﹕ omg i wrote this to get rid of my writers block!!!!!! there’s a req rotting in my inbox plz be patient omg

⤷ 𝓢𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ﹕ taesan was always used to his dark and gloomy world. he never thought he’d experience anything different, until you came along.

for all his life, taesan has always adored things on the darker side. such as clothing, accessories and anything you can think of. he was also accompanied with an environment that similarly enjoys the same dark and gloomy aesthetic that he seemed oh-so-familiar with. he constantly avoided people that strained his eyes with all that color, he just never understood them.

well, until you appeared in his life. in his monochrome world, his eyes find yours. your sparkly eyes bedazzled in glittery eyeshadow, your face painted brightly with a big and joyful smile. he was described as dark, cold and reserved. on the other hand, you were always described as bubbly, bright and sweet.

it felt like two worlds crashing onto each other whenever the two of you interacted. whether it was you being friendly, or the both of you getting assigned to be together in order to do a group project.

as the friendly sweetheart you are, you were always trying to get conversations flowing with him. bombarding him with a million questions, only for him to coldly reply with one or two words.. maybe he’ll respond with a sentence on special occasions.

⟡ ݁₊ .

playfully chatting and occasionally nudging him whilst you giggle. usually, he’d shrug you off and find you annoying. but why did he feel warmth? your smile caused his stomach to do backflips.

why did he feel this way? you were the complete opposite of him.. how could he ever like you?

but then, maybe that’s why he likes you. opposites attract, am i right?

“heellooo? taesan?” you say as you snapped your fingers in front of his face, in hopes to get his attention. he snaps out of his trance as he stares at you, “huh? sorry.” he mumbled under his breath before continuing the group project with you.

⟡ ݁₊ .

walking around campus, looking for taesan with the purpose of asking him if he wanted to continue the group project. you find him talking to his friends. you wave at him and call out his name, “han taesan!!” you exclaim.

from a distance, his friends turned their heads to look at you. they couldn’t help but laugh a little, “ya, taesan. is that your girlfriend or something?” one of his friends snorted.

he paused for a little while, recollecting his thoughts before putting them into words. he was not gonna let that slide. “and so what if she is?” he asked bluntly, shooting them a sharp glare.

“.. nothing.” his friends replied in unison, not wanting to start anything with him. his eyes glanced towards your figure in the distance, jumping and waving at him.

he feels a smile tugging at his lips. in a failed attempt of masking the smile, he smiled and walked towards you.

you run over to him as you were about to speak, quickly getting interrupted as you glanced behind his shoulder. seeing the sight of his friends whispering and giggling. you can’t help but stare, are they talking about you?

he realizes you looking behind his shoulder, he whips his head back at his friends before their faces turn dead serious whilst they stopped laughing.

“don't mind them. they are irrelevant.” he scoffed as he looked at you with a hint of affection in his eyes. you reluctantly nod before continuing, “do you wanna continue the project at my house?”

⟡ ݁₊ .

the two of you find yourselves in your house for the millionth time this week, all due to the project that felt excruciatingly complicated. or maybe, the two of you were just distracted by each other's presence.

he can’t complain though, he loved being around you. listening to you talk about your day, hearing your sweet voice and giggles. he could do this forever.

“taesan..” you mumble under your breath, fiddling around with your fingers nervously. he notices your nervous demeanor.

“yeah? what’s up y/n?” he instinctively asks, “don’t you feel embarrassed by me always being around you?” you question.

it was true, you didn’t look like any of his friends. you acted differently, you dressed differently and you thought differently. everything about the two of you felt like polar opposites.

he smiles a little as your question, “why would i?” his voice laced with confusion as if the question was painfully obvious. “.. it’s like, i don’t fit in your world.” he smiles at you gently, “exactly.”

“you’re the only color i see in this monochrome world of mine.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ networks : @kstrucknet @k-nets

© soubeomies 2024 all rights reserved ♡ do not copy/repost my works.

[leahsgf]

Can you write Alessia Russo x reader where reader has known her and Ella toone for years and is always watching their matches no matter what but reader and Alessia fall in love behind Ella’s back and then get found out?!

CAUGHT OUT - alessia russo

since before you could even remember, it had always been you and ella, the pair of you being practically attached at the hip from when you were babies, all the way up into adulthood. your bond only grew with time, and when she introduced you to alessia as young teenagers, the three of you very quickly became an absolutely inseparable trio - falling into eachother’s stride with ease.

you weren’t entirely sure where you ended and they begun.

even as you all got older and couldn’t physically see each other as much as you used to - with them both at the peaks of their careers, and the travel and demands that came alongside that, and you caught up in your own career - you still remained a solid unit. your family.

you didn’t play football, you never had, having always been the scrawny little kid who was terrified of pe lessons, earning yourself the lifelong nickname ‘tiny’, which still stuck even as a fully grown adult. but you were there for every single one of your girls’ moments. rain or shine, no matter what side of the world, or how busy you were with work, you’d be in the stands, cheering them on.

today was no different - finding yourself sat at wembley, a stadium you’d come to learn inside and out, to watch them play. you always adored being at games, seeing your girls flourish always made you want to burst with pride. and likewise, they loved having you there, always playing their best when you were in the crowd- branding you their ‘good luck charm’, and constantly bickering over whose jersey you’d wear to the matches.

-

being such a tight knit group, and having such a set routine when it came to games - alessia’s transfer to arsenal changed things for the three of you. many things, in fact.

for almost the entirety of the time you’d known them, they’d played for the same teams - the only exception prior to this being alessia’s college days. for you, it came as an adjustment, a new team to learn about so you’d be able to fully understand and appreciate her future stories, different games to go to, and the realisation that your two favourite people were going to play against eachother at some point. at multiple points.

this also meant that most of the time when you were going to one of their games, you wouldn’t see the other. this didn’t make a difference when it came to the times you would go to watch ella play, but with alessia, it changed things. it blurred lines that the pair of you had previously forced yourselves to draw, using ella as an almost reason, signifying the fact you were best friends, and that’s all it was.

in fact, you actually had no idea at what point exactly you and alessia became more than friends. from the secret stolen kisses at sleepovers as teenagers for ‘practice’ to the lingering glances and touches that lasted just a second longer than friendly ones should, you weren’t even sure that you had ever truly been just that.

however, with the sudden absence of the pair of your’s best friend, and the physical representation of the walls put between you, said wall came crashing down - within alessia’s first week at her new club.

your relationship very quickly blossomed from that moment, a decades worth of hidden, suppressed feelings from both sides pouring out.

despite how obviously in love with each other you were, you had been terrified to reveal it to the world, specifically your world, not wanting to lose, or even slightly affect your friendship with her.

the arsenal girls had figured it out instantly the first time they met you, and had been sworn to secrecy by a very flustered and panicked alessia, which made matters even worse, and made what you were doing feel like even more of a betrayal to your best friend.

the months of sneaking around and not being able to tell ella about a relationship you were in for the first time in your life was killing you, and the more time that passed made it more awkward to come out and say to her.

there had been many close calls that didn’t help your stressing over her reaction, from the one time you had to climb out of alessia’s bedroom window when ella unexpectedly showed up demanding a girls night after training, and then had to wait twenty minutes outside before going around to the front door to pretend you’d just arrived, to the time you’d had to practically leap apart mid drunken make out when you had hosted a group of your friends at your apartment and one of them stumbled into the kitchen without warning, and thankfully (for you, not for her) it was only leah.

-

your cheeks flushed furiously as alessia spun you around, her and ella both immediately finding you after the final whistle had blown, and the lionesses solidified their well earned win.

“see tooney our little good luck charm always comes in handy!” the blonde patted your head after releasing you from her grasp - giggling when ella immediately latched onto you in response, ordering you to ‘pick her up’ after you’d already caught her in your arms.

“my girls! this calls for celebrations, come on, we’re going out!” she yelled, almost ear piercingly loud - quite literally for you, as you foolishly held her right next to your ear.

there was a group of the younger players who always went out to party after wins, and you naturally went along every time - having known most of them for the same time you’d known your best friends, practically being an extra limb to either one of them.

you hung around the locker rooms waiting for them to change and shower, rolling your eyes at the winks and nudges of beth and leah as they passed you, and shoving them away - catching a glimpse of alessia and ella closely behind them, particularly focusing on the former’s panicked expression.

-

the journey back to the team’s hotel was one that could only be described as loud and chaotic. you were sat on your girlfriend’s lap, squished between her and the seat in-front of you, and ella was sat next to you, so close that it was practically a pile up.

thankfully, she was too busy bellowing an interesting rendition of ‘islands in the stream’ to notice the blonde’s hand on your hip, pulling you flush into her and drawing little hearts and stars onto the exposed skin from where your shirt had risen up.

you and your best friends had always been touchy, so you on one of their laps was a regular occurrence, therefore there was no way in your mind that ella could find out.

-

you were back and being ushered into their room to get ready for the night ahead before you knew it - desperately attempting not to blush furiously as alessia helped you top up your makeup, following ella’s strict orders so you could all match.

“right i need to find mary she said she’d curl my hair! less, remember what i said! i know how clumsy you are just follow what i told you, yeah? mary! mary!” she didn’t even give herself a chance to finish her own sentence before she was darting out of the room, voice echoing the corridor and most likely gaining a future noise complaint in the process.

not even a second after she was out of sight, alessia turned to you with a grin that only you could read - pulling you into her.

“oh i’ve been desperate to get you alone all week, i’ve missed you baby.” she grinned, throwing her arms around you and peppering kisses all over your face before finally meeting your lips.

you melted into her touch, instantly being returned home just by the slightest trace of her fingertips in your hair, and laughing as she playfully pushed you down onto the bed.

you barely had time to register her the feeling of her lips, and the comforting weight of her on top of you before the sound of a door being flung open and a following gasp hit your ears.

alessia practically flew off of you as you threw your head back onto the pillow and scrunched your eyes closed. you knew exactly who it was without even needing to look.

“el we can expl-”

“MARY YOU OWE ME SO MUCH MONEY!”

and she was gone just as fast as she stumbled in, cackling as mary groaned from the next room.

[verstappen-cult]

# WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF I WENT TO TOUCH YOU NOW? | CL16

Or. . . 5 times you and Charles reach for the other and are oblivious about it + 1 time you aren’t.

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader.

Content Warnings: Smut, fingering, unprotected sex. Just two oblivious in love. This one is long, so, prepare yourself, go grab a cup of coffee and a snack. I haven’t written smut in a very long time so don’t expect anything fancy and please be nice. Enjoy! xx

You and Charles can’t keep your hands to yourselves. Everyone can see that. Everyone but you two.

Charles is always reaching for you. He’s the first one leaning in to kiss your cheek as a greeting when you see each other, lingering for a couple of seconds with his cheek against yours, feeling your soft skin, with his hand squeezing your waist ever so slightly. When you are out with your friends he’s always trying to sit by your side, waiting for the right moment to put his arm in the back of your chair, fingers brushing your shoulder and keeping up with the conversation as if nothing is happening. Charles tries to be smooth about it, he really tries.

And you are always reaching for Charles. Well, as his Press Officer it’s your job to be by his side. When you need him to pay attention to you as you’re explaining the plan for the day, you make sure to grab him by his biceps, not letting him go until you are finished, and even then you take a couple of seconds to pull away. Every time you pass each other around the paddock, you always find a way to catch his arm, his shoulder or his waist. Even when he’s too busy and late to something and you don’t actually need him for anything, he makes time for you.

But it wasn’t always like that.

There was a time when you would not even dare to think about touching him, too shy and wanting to be professional. It was a little hard when you had to be by his side almost all day, every day. You would try to not look directly at him – impossible to do given that you needed to do your job – but then Charles started to make a few jokes to break the ice and make some conversation, started to ask about your day, he started to care. And, well, the rest is history.

#1

New Year’s isn’t your favorite holiday, so, you spent it at home watching romcoms and went to sleep even before the clock hit midnight. Your friends weren’t happy but you promised to make it up to them. That is why you could not say no when your friends invited you to spend a few days with them on a Ski resort in Italy. Winter break was about to be over, after all. So, you showed up at the train station with all your bags and a little sleep deprived.

“I was about to call the police. I thought you were bailing on us.” Your friend says as a greeting, helping you with your bags. “You look like shit.”

“Oh, thank you, how sweet of you.” You roll your eyes but let her kiss your cheek. “I’ve been a little busy with the new season starting in a couple of weeks.”

“Let’s not talk about work,” You get on the train after her, looking for your seats and the rest of the group. “we actually told the same thing to Charles.”

You’re about to ask her what does she mean by that when you see the brown hair of Charles Leclerc. The next thing you see is his smile, dimples on display.

Since you started working with Charles as Media — then when you were promoted to PR Officer — there has not been a day you two haven't been together or communicating one way or another. So, anyone can say that becoming friends was bound to happen.

You make your way to him without a second thought.

"Hey, Charlie." Charles moves to the side, leaving the spot beside him free for you to sit. Which you immediately do.

"Are you excited?" He asks, turning his whole attention to you.

You have to look away, his green eyes looking at you so intensely that you feel he can see right through you into your soul.

"I've never skied before." You admit, cheeks flushed.

Charles' eyebrows shot up, his eyes flashing with enthusiasm. "Oh, you're gonna have so much fun."

The train starts moving, making you both look outside. You weren't planning on sitting with Charles, but you're not gonna stand up and leave him. Not that you actually want that.

You're about to ask him about the place you're going to spend the next days in when a yawn messes up everything.

Charles smiles softly at you, his hand patting your knee. He leaves it there for one, two, three, four seconds before removing it.

"It's not that far, really. But you could—" He clears his throat, eyes darting around. "I've been told my shoulder is the best spot to take a nap. It’s like very comfortable." Charles has a teasing but shy smile on his face, gaze finally landing on you.

You feel your face burning. You don't even need to look at yourself in a mirror to know how red your face is, probably the same color as his racing suit.

You look between his shoulder and his eyes, pretending to think about it when, in reality, you've made up your mind the second he stopped talking.

"I don't wa—"

Charles shakes his head, moving a little closer until your left side is touching his right one, not a breeze could pass between you.

You sigh, fidgeting with your fingers as you let your head rest on his shoulder. His scent hits you immediately, is calming, warm, earthy. And it reminds you of the cabin in the woods you and your family used to spend winters in when you were a kid. Surrounded by tall, green trees and a still lake.

The last thing you feel before falling asleep is Charles resting his head on top of yours.

*

"I can't do it. No, nope." You say, trying to move away, but the skis don't let you go that far.

"Yes, you can." Charles says from behind, startling you. You weren't expecting him to stay behind with you and your Ski instructor. "Just— let me." He tells the instructor, urging him to move out of the way.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m teaching you the basics,” He explains casually, as if you don’t have a certified instructor waiting a few meters away.

You smile when he positions himself by your side, too busy trying to make you stand correctly to notice how fondly you're looking at him.

"So, you need to bend your knees a little," You don't know if he notices, but his hands finding your waist to help you move just like he wants you to, send a shiver down your body. You can feel his warmth even through the layers of clothes. "Just like that, yes. You're doing great." Can he shut up? If he's going to praise you every time you do something right, you're not going to survive.

You look over your shoulder when you hear your friend's voices. You catch the exact moment they see you two and stop walking to turn around and go back to where they were before.

"Now, lean forward." Charles instructs you and you follow. Trying to regulate your breathing but with Charles so close to you is an impossible task. "Amazing!" You just leaned. It’s not that hard. "I need to— um... excuse me." He whispers, lowering one of his hand to your thigh and spreading your legs a little. When Charles looks up, his cheeks are tinted with a pretty pink color. You know you're blushing too.

Charles keeps on teaching you the basics. You even move a few meters with him by your side, his hands on your waist at all times.

"You're ready." The Monégasque says, smiling. "You are a fast learner, is she not?" From the first time in what feels like a lifetime, he asks the instructor, who is immediately moving closer.

"Of course," The man says, a polite smile directed at you. "Now we can slide down the mountain. And I'm going to be by your side at all times, so, you don’t need to worry."

You nod, excited to start skiing. Finally.

"You can go, Mr. Leclerc." The Italian man says. But Charles doesn’t move, he just keeps on looking at you, hands still on your waist. At this point you feel like they belong there. “Uh, Mr. Leclerc?” He insists. This time Charles looks at him, shaking his head to rearrange his thoughts. “If you want to go, I’ll take care of her.”

“Oh, yes! Sure, yeah.” Charles pulls away, leaving the ghost of his touch behind. “You’re gonna be alright?”

“I’m sure I’ll survive, Charlie.” He makes you chuckle. “I had a pretty good instructor and I have another one ready to catch me if I fall.”

It looks like Charles wants to say something else but chooses not to and, instead, looks at you one final time before sliding down the mountain.

“So, let’s go?” Your instructor positions himself by your side in the same spot Charles was before.

He doesn’t touch you like Charles did. And you don’t feel as safe as you felt with Charles by your side.

#2

It’s Ferrari SF-24 Launch day. Winter's break is over and Charles is back in Maranello.

Charles hasn’t seen you since yesterday evening, after spotting you having dinner with members of the PR team and, without thinking so much about it, walked into the restaurant. Someone invited him and he didn't hesitate to grab a chair and sit by your side.

It was a very pleasant dinner. And Charles didn't let anyone pay for it.

You said your goodbyes after that and you made sure to remind him that he needed to be before 8:00 AM for the launch, and to have time to go over all the details of what Charles needed to do that day.

That’s most definitely the only explanation as to why Charles is getting out of his car at 7:15 in the morning. Not because he wants to see you, of course not. It’s just because he has a lot of things to do. It’s an important day, after all.

“Good morning.” Charles greets some people of the team that are passing by, rushing to get everything ready for the launch in less than an hour.

He’s in a good mood. He just knows it’s going to be a great day. Charles also knows it’s gonna be his year.

"You're early."

Charles turns around at the sound of your voice. He finds you checking the time on your watch, a teasing smile adorning those plump, pink lips of yours.

"You said before eight."

You laugh, walking down the hallway. "Yeah, but not so early." He follows you, trying to catch up with you. "However, I'm glad you decided to show up on time, we have a lot to do."

"I wanna go back to sleep." He complains, pouting like a child.

He makes you laugh, again. Charles thinks your laugh is his favorite sound in the world. Beside the sound of the SF-24.

Charles really likes to make you laugh.

"Wait, are you laughing at me?" He pretends to be offended, and you mimic the sound of his voice, bringing your hand to your chest.

"Me? Never!"

"You sure?" He stops walking, stopping right in front of you. "Because you know what I'm gonna do if you're actually laughing at me?"

You look at him suspiciously, fighting the smile that wants to make its way into your face.

Charles takes a step towards you, making you take a step back.

"Charles, whatever you're thinking—don't."

"What? I'm not doing anything!" He sounds innocent, even raising his hands in surrender. But he's still walking towards you, shortening the distance until he's so close you can count the freckles on his face.

Before you notice what's happening, he's tickling you.

It makes you throw all the things you had on your hands to the floor. You try to pull away and make him stop, but he just keeps going.

Your laugh fills the hallway you're currently in.

But you can't take it anymore, your stomach hurting for laughing so much. It’s also only a matter of time before someone comes to see what's happenig, so, you do the only thing your brain can conjure up to make him stop: hit him. Even if it's just a little push.

You raise your arms, ready to push him and defend yourself. But Charles reflexes are good and so fast, because before you can do anything, he's grabbing your wrists stopping you.

Your laugh dies in your throat.

Charles amusement is clear on his face, eyes shining with mirth.

"You are," You take a deep breath, trying to regulate your rapid breathing. "a very bad man."

He laughs, throwing his head backwards. "I'm just defending my honor, boss."

You shake your head, throwing daggers at him with your eyes. But Charles doesn’t react at all, he just caresses the inside of your wrists with his thumb.

“I promise to behave if you don’t laugh at me again.” He pouts, and your heart does a black flip inside your chest, skipping several beats.

Hesitantly, you reach out to rest a hand on his chest, giving him a little playful push. You’re not sure if you imagine the shiver you feel under your hand or if it really happens.

You chuckle, looking straight into his eyes. “I can’t make that promise.”

Charles lets go of your wrists against his will. He bends over to pick up the things you were carrying, but doesn’t give them back to you.

“If we end up getting scolded, I’m blaming you.”

Charles looks at you for what feels like hours, taking you in. He really thinks he could just watch you all day and he’d find a new freckle on your face, or a glint in your eyes he hadn’t seen before.

He leans in, so, so close, that feels your breath hitch. Charles thinks you’re gonna pull away for a second but you don’t make a move, you just keep looking at him with a indescribable expression.

“You can do whatever you want. I’ll take it.” He says in your ear, kissing your cheek before pulling away.

You stop breathing, all you can do is blink at him while your mind echoes his words.

“Shall we?”

Charles doesn’t wait for you, he resumes his walking anyway. It takes you a long time to snap out of it and follow him.

You can’t even remember what you are supposed to be doing today.

#3

It’s day two of pre-season testing in Bahrain.

You’re in the middle of talking with a reporter about the questions he can ask Charles when you are interrupted by a hand being placed on your lower back. You immediately recognize the perfume.

"Hey, I was looking for you." Charles says, fingers caressing the spot between your shirt and your trousers. His calloused hand drawing patters on your lower back shouldn't make you feel as flustered as you feel. It's not the first time he does it, so why can't you just act normal?

"Hey, Charles." The reporter says, drawing the Monégasque's attention. "Can I ask you just a few questions about second day of testing?" He doesn't need to ask him, you already agreed about it.

Charles look at you, silently asking if it's okay.

"Just testing, okay?" You tell the reporter, who nods in understanding, already moving in front of Charles alongside his camera man.

Charles squeezes your waist before giving two pats on your lower back, so low that he's almost touching your ass. You eyes widen and you take a sharp intake of breath. You really try to play it cool. But you can tell Charles noticed your reaction when you see the smirk on his beautiful, stupid face.

The reporter begins with the first question, Charles' eyes only snapping to him when the man draws his attention.

You don't listen to one single question, which is, you know, an idiotic mistake because being alert of what a reporter's asking is basically your job. But you find yourself looking at Charles' lips more than one time during the six minutes the interview lasts.

You can't do nothing more than to stand there frozen in place.

The reporter thanks Charles, that much you hear, but you still can't seem to snap back to the present. What is Charles doing? He's being extra touchy lately, not that it bothers you, but you can't seem to focus in anything when he has a hand on any part of your body. Then, add that intense gaze that, apparently, has reserved for you only.

Charles is definitely going to be the death of you.

"You seem to have your head in the clouds." Charles' accented voice is what draws you back to reality.

"What?"

What he does next is definitely something you were not expecting, not now, not even in a million years.

Charles cups your chin with his right hand, thumb brushing your bottom lip. If you weren't hyper aware of every little movement, you wouldn't have felt it.

Your gaze drops to his lips and Charles has the nerve to stick his tongue out to lick his lips. They look so wet and inviting, all you need to do is move an inch closer and lean in to—

"See something you like?"

You feel your heartbeat in your ears, so loud you're pretty sure everyone in Bahrain can hear it. Charles waits for your answer as you panic, replaying his words over, and over again for minutes or hours — you don't even know.

You take Charles' hand and guide it away from your face. It takes all the willpower inside of you to let go of his hand and run away from him.

#4

It wasn't a great start of the season. Everyone agrees on that. Even the boy stepping out of the Ferrari, who started the first race of the season in front row and had such a hard time trying to drive and secure a spot on the podium.

You are glad at least one Ferrari got there in the end. But you're not as happy as you'd be if Charles was the one standing there.

Charles takes his helmet and balaclava off, his messy hair standing in every direction while sweat runs down his face. You force yourself to look away.

He makes his way to you, given that you have his cap and rings. Charles really tries to smile at you, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You know how disappointed he is. With himself and his team. Mostly with himself.

“Just a few questions and then you’ll be on your way to the hotel, okay?” Charles just nods, busy putting all his rings and bracelets on.

Charles feels like shit. All he wants to do is go back to the hotel and sleep, he doesn't even want to know what happened or how they can fix it for next week. He wants to sleep.

"Hey," You stand a little closer, not thinking about anything but trying to make him talk, say anything to pull him out of his head. "It's just the first race of the season. There are a lot more to go." You rub the back of his neck, feeling the hairs there stand up.

Charles closes his eyes and lets his head fall forward. So, you take it as a good sing to keep rubbing and massaging.

Charles groans when you rub between his neck and shoulder, a very sensitive spot for him. He slowly opens his eyes again, looking at you from beneath his eyelashes.

"Come on, let's finish with this and get you to bed." You tentatively slide your hand over his shoulder and left side of his body, stopping at his waist to wrap an arm around it.

For the first time since the race finished, you see a smile forming on his lips. When you make eye contact, you know he has the perfect answer for it and, for the looks of it, it's definitely going to leave you flustered.

"If you wanted me in your bed that badly, all you had to do was ask."

It definitely makes you flush furiously, but you decide not to say anything. Mostly because you don't know what to say. Charles has been saying all these things for a very long time now and you don't know what it means, what he's playing at.

You let go of Charles when you reach the reporter, moving a little to the side to give them some space. The reporter knows what to ask but you still are on high alert, she's known for asking rude and out of place questions.

At first everything goes alright, so, you use that time to answer some messages and check out some emails. Until what the woman says next, makes your heart drop.

"You say you are capable, but it is your fault alm—" You don't let her finish, you interrupt the interview immediately by standing in front of Charles, like trying to shield him from the hurtful words of an unprofessional reporter.

"I'll make sure you receive a fine for that." It's all you say before blindly reaching for Charles.

You take his hand, dragging him out of there. You don't stop for nothing, not when a reporter asks for an interview, not when fans approach Charles to ask for pictures.

You keep walking and walking until you are in front of Charles' driver room. Your heart is hammering inside your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"I'm going to talk to—"

Charles grabs your shoulders, turning you around so you're looking at him. "Don't worry about it. You know I don't care about what they say."

His words make you angry.

"But I care!" You exclaim, immediately regretting it. The corners of Charles' mouth go downwards, and he steps closer. "She deserves that fine."

"I know she deserves it and she will get it," His hands trail over your arms, stopping at your wrists for a second before holding your hands. "but right now I need a hug."

You blink up at him.

"Would you hug me?"

He doesn't need to ask twice. You are moving before you actually process his words, probably because you've been thinking about hugging him since the first time he announced over the radio how the brakes where not responding to him.

Sliding your hand around his shoulders comes like a second nature to you, like is something you've done your whole life. You don't care that he's drenched in sweat, you hide your face in the crook of his neck anyways. And it's then that you learn how much you like the mixture of his scent with the sweat of racing for over two hours.

Charles wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly against his body. It's then that he learns how well you fit against his body. Like you belong there. He knows you belong in his arms.

#5

Charles finished third.

It's his first podium of the season.

You wait by the side but he doesn't see you. He has the most pretty and bright smile on his face as he removes the balaclava from his head. He has the most pretty and bright smile when he greets and congratulates Max and Checo.

And you really think that his smiles widens when he finally looks to the side, right where you are alongside his Ferrari team.

Charles makes his way to his team. Everyone is so happy cheering for him and congratulating him for his first podium. Everyone is happy.

But no one can't he as happy as you are.

Not when he sees you for the first time and rushes to hug you. It's quick, not enough, but they're pulling him away for the post-race interview. He needs to go up on that podium and make everyone proud.

*

You’re pretty sure you took like a dozen pictures of Charles on the podium. The ones where he's looking down at his team are your favorites because it looks like he's looking at you.

Post-race Charles is your favorite kind of Charles. But post-race Charles on the podium... that has to be what being in heaven feels like.

You laugh as you see him approaching hospitality with his trophy and champagne, and a broad smile spread over his face.

He's surrounded by people in a matter of seconds, as wells as Ollie by his side who can't seem to stop smiling. You're very proud of them.

When you see a few reporters approaching, you take into action.

The second Charles sees you, he's forgetting about anything and everyone around him. All he wants is to hug you and tell you how well and right it felt, but there are so many people that he has to settle with you grabbing the hem of his race suit to make him walk into hospitality, away from everyone.

"Go take a shower. Your team wants to celebrate, even Carlos wants to go." You smile up at him.

You don't know how to describe the expression on his face, so, you simply don't.

He snaps out of a his trance and makes his way to his driver room, but when you call his name he stops, turning around so fast that his neck starts to hurt.

"I'm so proud of you, Charlie."

Charles doesn't care if the trophy or the champagne bottle breaks, he just let them fall to the floor and runs to you, lifting you in his arms.

You giggle, feeling light as a feather. Like you're actually on cloud nine.

"Charlie!" Andrea's voice startles the both of you.

You are forced to pull away, but Charles leaves his hand on your waist, not letting you go completely.

"Come on, hurry up! We want to celebrate."

Andrea doesn't bat an eye, he doesn't care that he found you and Charles in a compromising position — kind of? well, it definitely is unprofessional — and that you still are very close to each other.

Charles groans and lets you go. You miss his touch already.

"Don't drink too much, okay?"

"As if I would let him." Andrea says, rolling his eyes.

"I'm a grown man!" Charles screams before shutting the door of his room.

+1

You're watching a movie in bed — wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, freshly out of the shower, with a delicious lotion on your body and feeling like a pampered baby — when there's a knock on your door.

When you open the door, you find a disheveled and out of breathe Charles standing there, leaning against the opposite wall.

"Charles?" You ask, confused.

You look to both sides of the hallway but nobody else is there.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were out celebrating."

"I was—" He says, breathing heavily. "I was but then I just — I realized that I didn't want to be there."

"Okay?" You're not getting any of what he's saying, more confused than ever. "Are you drunk?"

"No! I barely drank anything. It was just a glass."

"Then," You shrug, looking behind you into the room. "I was watching a movie. Do you... want to come in?"

You still don't know why he knocked on your door, but you are not letting him out in the hallway.

Charles accepts the invitation. Just not in the way you would've thought.

It takes you a second to notice a pair soft lips against your own. But when you finally register that you are being kissed, Charles is pulling away from you, a shy smile on his face.

"What are you doing?" You ask, trying to find some coherent words in your fuzzy brain.

Charles' face falls, shoulder slumping slightly. "Oh, shit. I'm so sorry." He starts rambling, moving his hands in the air. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking properly. I thought—we had, I mean... You and—"

You couldn't take it anymore. You needed to take him out of his misery. That's definitely the only reason why you crashed your lips with his, pressing yourself against his body.

Charles moves quickly, walking you backwards into the room and closing the door with his foot.

You sigh into the kiss. A sigh that says finally.

"I think," You whisper against his lips, gasping for air. But Charles keeps on assaulting your lips. "we should talk ab—"

Charles groans pulling away, just enough to talk, lips brushing against yours with every breath. "We could. Or I could show you all the things I've been dreaming on doing to you, and we can talk later."

Your heart starts thumping so fast that your breath hitches in your throat. Charles takes your silence, and your body's reaction, as a yes.

This time, Charles takes his time. He cups your cheek with one hand, thumb caressing your cheekbone so softly — as if you’re made of glass and could break at any moment — and sliding lower, the pad of his finger brushing against your bottom lip.

"You're so beautiful." He whispers, gaze fixed on your plump lips.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since…” You try try to think about it, to remember the very first time you thought about Charles being more than a friend. But it seems like it has always been that way.

“Forever.” Charles finishes for you.

Yes! Your insides scream.

“Would you let me show you?”

You frown, titling your hear to the side. “What?”

“How much I want you.”

There’s no need to verbally say yes, you find that is so much better if you show him. So, you kiss him.

Kissing Charles feels like walking in a soft, pillowy cloud, like everything is falling back into place, like things are how they always should have been.

There is warmth blossoming in your chest, fireworks exploding all around you as Charles leans in closer, lips exploring each other for the first time. You hold onto Charles' shoulder as if you're gonna fall and wake up, realize that this was just a dream. You don't want it to be a dream.

You let him guide you to the bed as his hands rest on your hips, wrinkling the bathrobe with his hands.

His lips are soft yet the kiss is demanding. Your lips part slightly, allowing Charles' tongue to slip inside and explore your mouth.

When the back of your knees hit the mattress, he pulls away. His pupils are dilated and his breathing erratic. "You don't—" He sighs, closing his eyes as if trying and ground himself. Charles takes your hand, silently asking for permission and, when you nod, guides it to his crotch, making you feel how hard he is. "You don't even know the effect you have on me."

Charles doesn't give you time to answer, not even to think about anything but how much you want to kiss him, and feel him, and be his.

"Can I unfasten this?" He asks, lips trailing kisses down your neck. You nod your approval, but Charles shakes his head. "I need words, baby."

"Yes," You don't recognize your own voice, it's feels strange to your ears. "Yes, you can."

Charles smiles, grazing his teeth along your neck, nipping and sucking along the way. You moan when he sucks right above your pulse point.

He takes his time unfastening your bathrobe, letting it fall slowly the floor. In seconds, you're completely bare in front of him. You should feel ashamed, a part of you actually feels embarrassed to be naked in front on a man — in front of Charles. But right now, desire and longing are coursing through your veins, clouding your mind. Your body screams for Charles.

Charles hands are soft on your skin, he splays them on your chest, feeling the thumping of your heart; it makes him smile.

"Would you lay down for me?" He purrs. And who are you to say no?

With shaky legs you climb onto the bed, lying down against the pillows. You can still hear the movie playing in the background, but you couldn't care less, not right now.

You can only watch as Charles removes every piece of clothing from his body. You knew Charles was well toned, you have seen Charles without a shirt, but seeing him here in your room, in a whole different context, makes you close your legs and lift your hips from the bed, searching for something, anything that only Charles can give you.

He rubs his hands up your legs, rubbing your thighs, as he climbs on top of you. His lips find yours one more time, your breath quivering.

"So pretty." Charles grunts, basking in your beauty. It lasts only a couple of seconds because you hide behind your hands. "No need to hide, baby." He pulls your hands away, sliding them over your collarbone, stopping on your chest and grabbing your breasts.

You arch your back against his touch, moans spilling from your mouth and filling the room.

"So good, so, so good." You blurt out, getting lost in the pleasure his hands are giving you, pinching and squeezing your breasts. One of his hands is replaced for his mouth, and you have to force yourself to open your eyes to see the view of Charles on top of you, making you come undone with his mouth.

His left hand leaves your breast as his mouth keeps the assault on your breast, he slowly lowers it to part your legs, making you squirm.

You've never been this wet before, and Charles notices the moment his fingers make contact with your cunt. Charles begins to rub circles on your throbbing clit, a desperate whine escaping your lips.

"Please," You beg, the only word leaving your lips over and over again.

Charles takes pity on you, knowing exactly what you need. So, he gives it to you; one of his fingers slips in, causing you to buck your hips involuntarily.

"So good for me." Charles croons, taking your lips with his own, swallowing all your moans. "You think you can take my cock, pretty girl?" He asks, slipping in another finger, pressing them upward. Your brain feels fuzzy, but in such a good way. You don't need to be asked twice, a yes leaves you lips immediately as you grind your hips desperately into his hand.

"I can, Charles—please I can take it." You moan, making Charles slow his movements.

Charles pulls out his fingers, and you whine desperately at the loss. "I got you, baby." But then a thought crosses his mind and he curses under his breath, closing his eyes for a second. "I don't—shit I don't have a condom."

You make grabby hands, making him lean forward so you can touch him. You cup his face with your hands, eyes finding his green ones. There's sweat on his forehead, his face flushed, and you think that post-race Charles and bedroom Charles are definitely battling to win first place.

"We're both clean, I know." You graze your fingers over his pecs, making him shudder. "Just—please, Charlie. I need you."

Who is he to say no to you?

The mere thought of fucking you bare is enough to send his mind reeling.

Charles aligns himself between your legs, the tip of his cock gathering your wetness and making you both moan at the feeling.

You dig your nails in his shoulder as he slowly starts to bury himself inside of you. Charles leans to kiss you, and is messy and wet, tongues and spit mix together as you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling ever so slightly, which makes him moan against your mouth. So you do it again.

Charles kisses you with so much desperation, desire consuming you both. He bottoms out and you can't reciprocate the kiss anymore, not when he stars slamming his hips, setting an agonizing pace.

Charles fucks you into the bed wincing as he feels you bite his shoulder, a poor attempt of trying not to scream and let the whole hotel floor know what you are doing.

"How does it feel? Is that what you wanted, uh?" He groans, brushing a strand of hair out of your sweaty face.

"Yeah, feels so good, Char. So good." Your whole body is burning, you feel so deliciously filled.

Charles bends your legs, pushing them against your chest as he finds a new angle to keep on fucking you. He starts thrusting faster, holding onto your legs so hard you know there will be bruises tomorrow.

It's too much. You don't even have time nor words to warn him before you are coming, clenching around Charles' cock.

"So tight. So. Fucking. Tight." Charles whispers, pace faltering as he feels his own climax approaching. He keeps thrusting into you, chasing his own orgasm.

You are a moaning, whimpering mess, and you let Charles use you as much as he likes, you let it know that over and over again.

"That's it, baby. 'm gonna come now," Those are Charles' final words as he pulls out, pumping himself a few more times until he's painting your chest with his cum.

Charles plops down on the bed next to you, both panting and completely exhausted.

"Are you okay?" He asks in a hoarse voice.

You turn to look at him, fingers playing with his cum on your chest. The only thing you can do is nod, too exhausted to even to talk.

"What? Did I fuck your brains out?" Charles teases, leaning in to leave a chaste kiss to your lips. It's so innocent and soft, the total opposite of what you did just moments ago.

"Shut up!" You breathe out, giggling. There is still a buzzing in your ears and a tingling sensation in your cunt. But you feel good.

"Come on," He says, standing up and reaching for your hands.

You frown, standing on shaky legs. He teases you some more and you end up pushing him away.

"What are we doing?"

"Taking a bath," He explains, tugging at your hand. "We need to clean you up."

"I just took a shower, this is all your fault." You complain, his green eyes boring into you.

"You liked it." It's not a question.

He tugs at your hand again and you follow, you really would follow Charles to the end of the world. Charles can't hide the big, stupid smile on his face. "You said you were watching a movie, so, we are going to watch a movie."

© verstappen-cult, 2024 — do not repost, translate or claim any of my works as your own.

[jeonscatalyst]

LET’S TALK ABOUT “ARE YOU SURE?!”

I started doing a very long review of the entire season of AYS but I changed my mind along the way because I have seen so many other people give reviews of the show which I generally agree with so me doing another one just to repeat the same thoughts felt a little unnecessary so I decided to look into some aspects of Jikook’s special bond which AYS practically reaffirmed or which some us might be finding out for the first time. This post is going to be incredibly long so brace yourselves.

These are mostly my observations and some of these observations are not new to me at all. These observations would be supported by mentions of moments from the show or twitter links to see some described moments.

*Jimin listens to Jungkook

I love how Jimin and Jungkook listen and pay attention to each other but it was especially beautiful to see this aspect of their dynamic play out in AYS. I noticed that no matter how unimportant what Jungkook was saying seemed, Jimin always listened to him, validated him and participated in the conversation . The two moments I recall the most (there are more) were from the Jeju episodes. In episode 5 while at the meat restaurant, I loved how Jimin just sat there listening as Jungkook explained to him how to tenderize meat. You could tell that for some reason that topic was important to Jungkook or he loved talking about it and Jimin knew this so he encouraged the conversation by asking follow up questions and Jungkook happily explained things to him. Now I don’t particularly think Jimin was very interested to know how to tenderize meat or all of that but it was beautiful how he created a space where Jungkook felt comfortable enough to just talk about the most simple things knowing that someone was actually listening and paying attention to him.

Then we also have the moment when they all got back from the last restaurant they visited in Jeju. We see Jungkook happily telling Jimin that he saw two bikers on their way home and this was so sweet on its own because things like this show you how innocent and child like Jungkook is because things like that still amuse or excite him but what was even more touching to me was Jimin’s response. Jimin didn’t just stay quiet or just say “ok”or “really” and leave it at that but he actually engaged in the coversation too and told Jungkook that he saw him waving at them. This was really precious to me because it’s beautiful how Jk knows that he can talk to Jimin about any and everything and he would always get a response that doesn’t make him feel like what he is saying isn’t important.

These are things that people easily ignore or undermine but seeing moments like this explains why Jungkook said he found the greatest comfort in Jimin and why Jimin is who he went to when he needed company.

*Jungkook is more verbally expressive around Jimin.

I don’t know if many people have noticed this but when watching BTS content, it is easy to notice that Jungkook is usually quieter among all the members. He doesn’t talk much and rarely ever initiates topics for discussion but just goes along with them. We usually see more of the physically expressive side of Jk when he is around other people but AYS showed me a side of Jk I must I admit I didn’t know too well.

With Jimin, Jungkook is more vocally expressive. We saw him literally take lead of conversations, vocally express how much he loved the show and how much fun he was having, we saw him initiate conversations quite a bit and I must say this felt new ans different from the Jk we know in other content who usually can’t even speak over his hyungs. We usually saw him try to say something and eventually give up, he didn’t vocally express his thoughts much unless he was specifically asked but with Jimin, he is so different. Maybe the more accurate way to put this is that Jungkook is the biggest yapper around Jimin even though he goes quieter with others.

I also love the fact that we don’t only see him vocally express his happiness. I love that we see him express his frustrations at Jimin too. When he is mad at Jimin he doesn’t hide it, when he is not impressed he doesn’t hide it, when he is sad or hurt by something Jimin says or does he doesn’t hide it. This shows a very deep level of understanding and trust because Jungkook knows he doesn’t have to pretend around Jimin. He is sure and secure in whatever bond they have that he is ok with showing Jimin every side of his. His happiness, excitement, pain, sadness, frustrations, anger. This is what an ideal relationship is like to me. This is what a real deep connection feels like to me and seeing Jikook like this melted my heart. I was so happy to able to see this side of Jungkook because it’s not a side we had seen alot.

I love how Jungkook feel comfortable talking about the most mundane things in settings where he feels the most comfortable or with people he feels the most comfortable with. After watching AYS, I got to finally understand why Jungkook loved doing very long lives so much. I think we can all agree that there is a certain level of comfort Jungkook feels when he is Live. He talks about any and everything to us seated on the other sides of our screens watching him. He tells us about the size of Bams poop, tells us about meals he loves to cook, tells us about the most unserious stories about wanting to meet and befriend ghosts, he feels comfortable falling asleep with us watching. When I think about it, I feel like he does that alot because he knows he can just talk and we would just listen without judging or openly judging the things he likes to talk about. Maybe with some friends or actual people in his life, he can’t just sit with them and talk about whatever he wants to talk about because some people might not find the “weird” things he likes to talk about fun or interesting, i mean how many people want to just sit there and hear about meat tenderizing? How many people want to sit and hear or talk about the size of a dog’s poop? How many people would just be quiet and listen to you talk about sand fleas? I think when Jungkook is around people he or settings that he knows he can just be completely himself and talk about whatever he want, he just goes off completely. That is how I see him and Jimin.

*Jikook truly enjoy spending time together

I’m sure many of us already know this but AYS once again showed that Jimin and Jungkook actually love spending time together. I’m not talking about time where they can just meet, do one of two fun activities and then go their separate ways, I am talking about them truly enjoying each other’s company no matter what they are doing. We saw them sticking together, choosing to do almost everything together and going to bed together even when there was another member in the mix. After their showers on those nights in Jeju, they could have just gone and done their different things like we saw tae do but they enjoyed sticking together and doing things together. It makes sense why over the years, we have heard from members and staff that Jikook were together alot. Makes sense why they called themselves all nighter buddies and we saw that dynamic at play in Jeju.

*Jikook have an insane amount of Inside Jokes

This is one nobody can argue. Jimin and Jungkook have an insane amount of inside Jokes and they watch alot of the same things. So many times people around them don’t understand the things they say. Hell even us watching had to wait for people to dig and explain to us what some of the things they said meant.

We saw this at play again throughout the AYS episodes. I love how Jimin and Jungkook instantly get each other and how they immediately pick up what the other is saying while others around them are still trying to figure things out. This is one of the ways you can tell that two people spend alot of time together and know each other deep.

*Jikook don’t need alot to feel happy and to have fun with each other

Jimin and Jungkook are two people who can create fun and happiness for themselves in any situation. They don’t need to be doing any fun physical activities to really enjoy or have fun being around each other. Just a simple drive, a walk, a meal, or just sitting down talking is fun for them. Just a train ride listening to music from the same airphones is interesting and fun to them. They don’t get bored around each other doing the most mundane things. They honestly enjoy the smallest things and as Jungkook said “These simple things were fun” (referring to walking around the streets of Tokyo with Jimin in 2017)

They create their happiness and fun anywhere they are doing anything …..

It’s just the little things….

Little 5 year olds playing after lights out😂

*Jungkook loves making Jimin laugh

This is something we all already knew but seeing it again in AYS was so cute. Jungkook really loves making Jimin laugh and I guess that the fact that Jimin is usually ready to have all his teeth out laughing and any little thing Jungkook does, gives him more motivation. Jungkook doesn’t mind looking like a clown if it means that it will make Jimin laugh. He teases him even sometimes just to get a chuckle out of him.

* Jimin finds Jungkook very endearing

Do I even need to explain this? Sometimes it feels like to Jimin, Jungkook is the cutest, most endearing, funniest person in the world. I don’t think we see Jimin laugh around any other people as much as he laughs around Jungkook. The man is a giggling mess anytime he is around Jungkook and I can’t even blame him because Jungkook sure likes making him laugh. He sometimes gets lost in Jungkook too you know….

*Jikook just get each other

Another thing I noticed again in AYS is how much Jikook just get each other. They don’t need words ti understand how the other feels. Doesn’t matter if they are being silly or serious, they just get what the other person is trying to express.

An example of this would be while they were at the ham and pink sausage restaurant in Jeju, after their little “incident” Jungkook immitated a meme which someone did when he needed an apology and Jimin understood what Jungkook needed immediately just by seeing him immitating that meme, and he apologized.

(First clip from this compilation)

Another moment that showed how much they just get each other was in episode 8 when Jungkook noticed that Jimin felt sad about the trip ending. Jimin didn’t say anything but Jungkook noticed it and starting doing stuff to cheer him on starting from playfully touching his head (even though he knew Jimin didn’t like when his head got touched) and reminding everyone that Jimin doesn’t like it bit he is doing it, to teasing him with the camera in his face infront of the restaurant to opening the windows of the car on their drive to the airport because he knew Jimin had said he goes to cold places when he is is a slump.

Touching his head

Playfully zooming into his face with the camera

Opening the windows to let the cold air in to lift their moods:

We also saw him being soft and reassuring to Jimin after he sensed that Jimin felt bad about the trip ending. What he says here, how he looks at Jimin and how he rubs Jimin’s nape/back trying to comfort him, was so beautiful.

* Jungkook likes zooming into Jimin’s face

Do I even need to explain this part? We’ve seen him do this for years and it was kinda funny to see it again on AYS

*Jimin is Jungkook’s Jungkook!

I don’t even know how to explain this other than saying than showing you this….

Jimin constantly singing Jungkook’s “3D” as “peuriri” and constantly going “standing next to you” every two seconds is so Jungkook of him. Jungkook gets a taste of his own medicine and doesn’t know how to handle it.

*They clearly keep up with each other/ they know each other so well

Contrary to haters beliefs that Jikook don’t keep up with each other outside of content, it is clear that they do. We saw it when Jimin dropped “Face” and we saw it again on AYS with Jimin and singing Jungkook’s song before it was released, Jimin knowing about Jungkook’s schedules, Jungkook knowing about Jimin’s second album release and even seeing the video of Jimin dancing with kids. Infact during the Jeju and Sapporo episodes, it was so obvious to see that those two knew alot about each other’s activities, schedules and plans. You didn’t see them getting surprised after getting information about each other.

To add to this, it was very clear that Jungkook knows what Jimin likes and vice versa. He knew Jimin would like his food spicy, he knew Jimin would enjoy the beef stew he cooked in Jeju. Jimin knew Jungkook would enjoy climbing and racing so he picker that place. Jimin knew Jungkook liked driving abroad, Jimin knew Jungkook had to go to the US to film with Usher etc. No arguments here.

* Jungkook loves to cook for Jimin

We already knew this but this was once again confirmed in AYS.

* The people around Jikook know how much Jikook are around each other.

Over the years, we have heard from members and people around Jikook say just how much time Jikook spend together and we once again got something like that from AYS.

Tae saw Jk do the soju bottle trick and immediately assumed that Jimin taught him. This is something that many people would miss but If Jikook didn’t have a habit of being together alot and drinking together, Tae who actually knows two of them personally wouldn’t have immediately assumed Jimin taught Jk that trick after seeing him do it and the funniest thing is, Jimin said Jk didn’t even learn it from him so why didn’t Tae think of anyone else or even assume that Jk learnt from tiktok or youtube? Why did his mind immediately go to Jimin? Jimin is not the only member or only person connected to Jungkook who drinks Soju. It was interesting getting yet again another confirmation of just how much the members and people around Jikook know about them being together alot.

*Taekook and Jikook are NOT the same.

I’m sure everyone already knows this but watching the Jeju episodes with Vminkook just once again showed how much of a difference there is between Jk bond with Tae and Jimin.

While some jikookers didn’t like the fact that Tae joined Jikook in Jeju, I loved it because I love seeing vminkook together as they are adorable and also because when they are together, you really get to see the difference in their dynamics. It was very noticeable how Tae and Jk bring out the chaos, playfulness and childishness from each other and they have so much fun doing activities together but you could see clearly that those two just don’t gravitate to each other in the same way Jikook do. By gravitating to each other I don’t mean sitting side by sideto have meals and none of that nonsense taekookers consider people gravitating towards each other. What I mean is, even if Jikook are not seated together, it was easy to see how their eyes searched for each other while they talked. While they all discussed, it was easy to see that Jk’s eyes mostly searched for Jimin’s and vice versa, it was easy to see how they mostly talked to and interacted with each other more during meals even though Tae was there. It was easy to see how they usually stayed with each other after their baths and only went to bed together while Tae always went to bed earlier. It was easy to see how when ever they had meals, Jikook would always look to each other to ask “is it good” regardless of whether they were alone or with Tae. They spoke to each other more, interacted more and even when Jk tasted something that seemed familiar to what he had had before, he looked to Jimin to ask if it was what they had at another restaurant at some point.

They understand each other in ways others don’t. They quickly get each other’s jokes while Tae sometimes looked a little lost. They have the same humor infact, you just cannot miss to see the difference when you pay attention. It was as clear as day and night.

It was also clear that unlike Jikook, taekook don’t really feel the need to be around each other much when they aren’t actively doing anything. We all saw how early tae usually went to bed not caring alot to hang around Jk, we saw how much time he spent on his phone even while they all were together, we all saw how even when Jk got out of the pool just after Tae did in episode 5, he didn’t go to shower at the same time Tae did. We Tae leave to shower and go to bed while Jk stayed behind teasing and playing with Jimin before they showered and later went to bed together around 4am. It was the same thing that happened the night before. Jk was clearly thoughtful of Tae and wanted him to feel included but we could see that he didn’t really feel the need being around him much because if he did he probably would have showered and gone to stay upstairs with Tae but he didn’t. He stayed downstairs with Jimin and they only left for bed together while tae was already asleep. This isn’t new as we know Jikook have always loved spending time alone together at nights and in their quiet moments but it was interesting to see unfold in AYS.

Remember all the times members (especially Tae) mentioned Jikook being together alot at nights? Some people said he lied all those times because he was hiding his relationship but we could all see that happen in AYS. It happened on both nights they were there.

While Jikook have this strong gravitational pull and enjoy being around each other’s vicinity at all times and not just when there are fun activities or other things to be done, we could see that this wasn’t the same with taekook. Tae felt like napping, he went upstairs to nap, Jimin felt like napping, he napped in the living room next to Jungkook who was cooking. Over the years, we have tons of moments where Jk could be seen going to sit or sleep by an already sleeping Jimin. They crave each other’s presence even when they aren’t doing anything but this isn’t the same for taekook and AYS confirmed that once again.

*Jikook are so domestic

Watching AYS, it was so easy to see just how domestic Jikook are. We got an opportunity to have a look into what their lives and days look like when they are not busy being idols and it was the most comforting beautiful thing ever. Them waking up and going to cuddle each other, cooking together eating together, going shopping together with Jungkook disappearing and getting on Jimin’s nerves😂, have little discussion’s together, drinking together, watching and reacting to a show of themselves together, making plans to eat, sleep, shower, play etc together, it was just so perfect. Perfectly and positively boring everyday life yet they looked like they had so much fun doing all of that TOGETHER!

*They have the most random conversations and do the weirdest things

Just jimin casually talking about wanting to sculpt his ass and Jungkook listening attentively😂

Whatever this conversation was……

I don’t know what goes on in their minds

Whatever this was

*Jungkook loves Jimin’s attention /loves to tease him to get it

*Jungkook is inlove with FOOD!

He looks at food like true love😂

*Jikook could be sus sometimes or most of the time tbh

Whatever this was…..

I mean….

This taken out of context…..

Hmmmmmm……

*Jikook like to bicker

They bicker sometimes like an old married couple

*Jimin and Jungkook loved their trips with each other!

Do I even need to explain this? I feel like the entire episode 8 explains this pretty well.

Ok, so these are some of my observations about Jikook from AYS. I might be editing this post in the future to add some more observations as I rewatch the entire show to see if I can catch other things I missed. Consider this my review of the show.