#he's not that oblivious and no one makes a secret of it

[gayofthefae]

Thinking about how Will is fully able to flirt but cannot handle being flirted with and the deeper reason that actually is

Will has settled for the idea of never being with Mike. Even referencing coming out to Mike he only ever frames it as not wanting to "lie to Mike" and simply wanting to share "the truth" with who he "care[s] about the most". Never an expectation or attempt at reciprocation. It is consistently based and in reference to how he feels about secrets from his loved ones, and only ever mentioned in reference to actual romance by El.

He has settled. But the thing about settling, part of it inherently that is under-talked about, is the part where you find ways to love your life. Settling is not resigning, that would be super depressing, because when someone settles it is them committing to a lesser life than they had dreamed because more is not an option for them. It is out of their control or the wrong choice somehow, and in those situations, you make the best of it.

So to Will, he will never have Mike. In fact, in all likelihood he will never experience romance. In his entire life - even if he die of natural causes in old age and not monsters at 15. But you make the best of it. And it's logical:

If Mike fully does not reciprocate, is oblivious to his feelings, and repeatedly affirms that he didn't mean what he said that made it seem like he was uncomfortable and he is totally fine - like the audience believes (again, BECAUSE Will believes this and is the one telling this story in s4) - then there are absolutely 0 consequences to having an ambiguous flirt here and there. No one can fault him, it's the closest he will ever get to romance as a queer person, so he takes what he can get. No damage to Mike and El's relationship. No discomfort to Mike. Hell, Mike doesn't even really notice.

So Will's expectation is occasional, one-sided flirting. A sort of playing pretend I suppose. And Mike smiles and that can be part of the game. It makes sense. Because often, he doesn't say anything back.

He just smiles...except for once

I always want to jokingly yell at my screen in this moment "what do you mean you're shy now? YOU initiated flirting with HIM"

but it does make sense given his expectations; given the history I hadn't tracked before from his perspective. Not only are his expectations of a lack of matching energy (as I have pointed out repeatedly before, genuinely should not match if unreciprocated - could even just be the comment vs silent smile thing they had going before) completely realistic, they have also been proven in practice!

And I always want to tease him that he started it but really, he didn't. Because any time he does this, it has 0 intention to "start" anything. Not even this much of an exchange. He's doing it for himself, to play pretend. It's like Mike is breaking the fourth wall.

It was completely plausible for him to act coy and surprised by Mike here, as if Mike had initiated this tone, because even something as simple and small as this had *never been reciprocated like this before*. The rest of the conversation is Mike's traditional pace in terms of romantic-adjacent to Will, but participating in the playfulness is new.

I like to tease him in my head. But Will being flustered by a natural response to his statement and the tone he himself set is logical. Because to Will, in a way, Mike can't see him. Mike doesn't know he's doing this, and Mike certainly can't engage.

This is Mike engaging. This is Mike *participating*. This is Mike acknowledging 'you just pitched me a line, and I'm taking it this time'. And in a way, this is also one of this micro-reveals you get in your life. This is also Mike saying 'I'm not oblivious to it and I never have been, I just didn't engage until now. But now I am. (And none of those smiles were that oblivious either)'.

And the other stuff Mike says afterwards is much more similar to things he's before, so it didn't always click for me the specifics. But I get it now. I get why this is different than all those other times. I get why he grabs the painting on his way out. Will learned something about Mike from this conversation.

It's absolutely tiny. Two lines. But there is one moment in the series where they have truly reciprocated and interestingly enough, it's this. We always get "if we're both going crazy we'll go crazy together" "yeah" "it was the best thing I've ever done" "..." even "the last year has been weird, you know? And Max and Lucas and Dustin, they're great, they're great, it's just-it's Hawkins, it's not the same without you. And I feel like maybe I was worrying too much about El and, I don't know, I feel like I lost you or something, does that make sense? I have no idea what's gonna happen next, but whatever it is, I think it'll be easier if we're team. Friends - Best friends." "Cool." (WILL BYERS OH MY GOD!! 'cool'???)

but this was two-ways. And it quickly ended because then they kinda didn't know what to do, understandably. This is basically a long and queer trauma way of saying that that look from Will is a completely logical moment of "shit, I didn't think I'd get this far".

Analysis on Mike's perspective/behavioral shift to respond in this scene

[violetlunette]

It's funny how everyone portrays Silver as always being polite towards Lilia all the time, but he can also be a little shit at time. Canonically, he often calls Lilia "old man" and is the most likely to call out his cooking. (He just does it in a low tone. But we all know Lilia hears.)

This scene from the comic anthology basically sums it up.

(Silver just brought up the bad cooking. There was nothing leading up to it, he wanted to say it.)

To sum up, Silver loves and respects his father, but he's not afraid to take verbal swings at him, so let's try to remember that!

Edit: I have been informed that though the anthology has Yana listed as an author it may not be canon. So take this interaction with a grain of salt.

[kizzer55555]

Super Dead Soulmates

In this universe, any injury or scar you sustain appears on your soulmate. However, for as long as he could remember, Danny never gained an injury that wasn’t his own. When he was very young, his parents would always say that he was just a late bloomer and perhaps his soulmate was a few years younger than he was and thus, just wasn’t born yet. As Danny grew older, they got more absorbed in their work and just seemed to forget about the whole ordeal. Danny never asked them about it again, afraid they might think a ghost had ‘cursed’ him or something. It was hard enough to hide the lack of additional scars at school. Luckily, most people don’t get injured very often so it was easy enough to play off some of his injuries as that from a soulmate. The only ones who knew the truth were his sister and his best friends. Danny was just convinced that he didn’t have a soulmate and had accepted that fact, even if it hurt. Then the accident happened and for once, he was thankful his soulmate wouldn’t have to feel his pain. And even more so when he started to fight the other ghosts daily. Danny was content to live like this, but with more ghost fights, his injuries started piling up. Danny excused them saying that they were from his soulmate. It didn’t completely get rid of the scrutiny but most people bought it. Afterall, how else would puny Fenton get those kinds of bruises? So for a while, that excuse worked…until someone realized that Danny and Phantom’s injuries linked up (I vote Wes). Now normally, the natural conclusion would be that Danny and Phantom were the same person. But due to the fact that one of them was dead and the other clearly alive, everyone gained a new theory…that Phantom was Danny’s soulmate. It would explain the recent injuries as Phantom was often seen fighting other ghosts. And to be honest, this was the perfect cover. It’s not like Danny had an actual soulmate who might show up and this added another layer of protection against people thinking he and Phantom were the same person. So Danny remained silent and let the rumors grow. Sure people now thought he and Phantom were dating but that was fiiiiiinnnneee. (But BOY was that an awkward conversation with his parents). 

And then Kon was born.

As a clone, all he knew from the outside was implanted into his mind. He knew the color of the sky, the sound of music, academic equations and a lot of common knowledge such as soulmates. He knew that injuries were shared between a bonded pair and that everyone had a soulmate. But he was different. He wasn't born a baby and grew up alongside another person. He wasn’t even real according to some people. Yet one day, he noticed bruises lining his arms, he was confused. He should have had impenetrable skin like Superman. As far as he could remember, his skin had never been pierced before. And it’s not like he fought a godlike being that day. He shouldn’t have any injuries. Kon decided to ignore them but the injuries kept showing up. It got so bad that his team started to notice and sat him down asking if everything was alright with his powers or if he was exposed to kryptonite somehow. So, very confused, Kon had explained that the injuries just kept showing up. It was only after his team gave him a curious look and explained the concepts of soulmates did everything click with him. Sure, Kon knew about soulmates but surely that couldn't be what this was! He was a clone! He shouldn’t have a soulmate. It was impossible! But after a few more days of observation and a bit of testing, everyone determined that this was, in fact, a soulmate bond. 

To say Kon was ecstatic was an understatement. Actually, it was a mix of excitement, nervousness, worry, and joy all rolled into one. He was elated at the idea that he had someone meant for him. Someone who would accept all of him. Kon had looked at the others and there had always been a slight jealousy when he saw a paper cut bloom on their fingers or see them rub a bruised knee fondly. 

But more than anything. He was happy because this was proof that he was real. Afterall, a soulmate wouldn’t match with him unless his soul was equal to theirs. His body almost melted with relief at that realization. A weight off his shoulders he never fully grasped was still there. 

Of course there was the worry of why exactly his soulmate had so many injuries. For a hero, it was obvious they would get injured (although they tried to have as much protective padding as possible to limit that possibility. But some injuries still got through.) Yet the amount of injuries Kon’s soulmate sustained were far more than that (because Danny lacked proper padding  and didn’t think he had to worry about a soulmate. Most injuries looked worse than they were anyways due to his fast healing). And on the contrary, Kon’s skin was perfectly clear. With his kryptonian biology, even if he got hurt, it never left a mark. So all the injuries and bruises sustained on him were purely from his soulmate. And there was enough for two people. On the bright side, it helped with his cover, on the downside, Kon started to worry about his soulmate. (Meanwhile, Danny didn’t notice a difference. Sure, sometimes he would feel a temporary ache or sharp pain but no mark was left so he just assumed the pain was sore muscles from a previous battle or that one of his rogues were hitting harder than he thought.) 

As for Kon, he and his team used every resource at their disposal to try and track down Kon’s soulmate. They did this for every member of the team as hero soulmates were in more danger than most but they paid special attention to Kon’s soulmate due to the rapid accumulation of injuries. 

Kon would fantasize on what his soulmate would be like. Would they be tall? Short? They would probably be able to fight. Boy or girl? It doesn't really matter. Kon knew opposite gender soulmates were more common but he wouldn’t mind a guy either. His days were filled with dreams of a mystery person. Someone he could hold in his arms and protect. Who would comfort him after patrols and who he could introduce to his friends. 

After a while, Tim finally found a lead. Some doctor records of a boy in a small town called Amity. Apparently he was prescribed pain medicine to help with ‘soulmate injuries’. The lost of injuries were extensive and after looking at some pictures, they realized that his scars and Kon’s scars lined up. A perfect match. So it wasn’t long before they made a quick road trip to Amity. 

This place was already on the Justice League radar. It was a town that appears to have a permanent portal to the afterlife and was attacked often. (Which might explain why Kon’s soulmate was so injured). The Justice League had not interfered yet because the town had a local hero as well. Someone who seemed good at his job and who Tim was even thinking of recruiting. So this was a good opportunity to hit two birds with one stone. Afterall, not much was known about this mysterious Phantom other than he dedicated his afterlife to protecting this one town. Once they got to Amity they would probably need to check in with Phantom before anything. And despite his impatience with finding the person who might be his soulmate, even Kon was excited to meet this hero. Apparently Phantom had vast experience but also a major power set. He might gain another flying buddy or someone he could wrestle with without worrying about his strength. Afterall, Phantom also supposedly had super strength and even if he didn’t, it’s not like you can kill a ghost. Yet no matter how hard they looked, they couldn’t find him. It was only by coincidence that they stumbled upon Danny instead and his group of friends. 

The first time Kon saw Danny, it was like coming home. He wanted to do nothing more than rush to his soulmate and hug him and vow to always keep him safe. He wanted to prove that he would be the best soulmate ever and he wanted to know everything there was to know about him. He was practically vibrating where he stood in his civilian disguise and it was only his friends that held him back from flying over and surprising the poor boy.

But before he could do anything, a ghost attacked. Kon barely had enough time to grab his friends and dodge when some kind of glowing creature crashed into a building. And while normally he would immediately find somewhere to change, Kon’s first instinct was to check on his soulmate, only to see the two people he assumed to be the boy’s friends but no sign of Danny. Frantically looking around, he didn’t notice the glowing creature behind him (was that a dragon?) but before it could reach him, another glowing figure intercepted the attack. They looked almost ethereal with white hair softly floating in the air and a suit that hugged his muscled form tightly. The figure turned around and gave a sheepish smile towards Kon. “You ok?”

And it felt like for the second time that day, Kon was rendered breathless. 

Someone was protecting him.

Someone was protecting him?

Yet it felt…nice. Warm.

Before Kon could gather his thoughts though the battle picked up in earnest. He and his team found cover and changed into their suits. When they came to help, the person Kon assumed to be Phantom looked surprised at their sudden appearance but it wasn’t long before he and everyone else started working together. Unfortunately, actually fighting the ghost seemed to be impossible. Whenever they got close, their hits just passed right through so Phantom quickly regulated them on defense and citizen protection duty. Occasionally getting a hit in when the creature was tangible. Watching Phantom fight was something. Kon could understand why he was elected to join their team. He had this sort of grace and power that couldn’t be explained in words but was clearly from the experience of many battles.

Despite not being able to do much, fighting with Phantom was fun. They seemed to be completely in sync and it wasn’t long before Kon started to enjoy his loud commentary and puns as the two ghosts fought.

However, one particularly hard hit made it so that the dragon’s claws grazed his chest. Leaving three shallow gashes, but Phantom took the close proximity that attack gave him and sucked the creature into…a soup thermos?

But Kon wasn’t focused on that. He was wholly focused on the stinging pain suddenly coming from his chest, underneath his untouched uniform that clearly had not been hit. Kon didn’t know how to process what was happening. Everything suddenly became louder and he vaguely tried to move but it was like his mind became mush as he tried to process what that meant. He managed to get away for a bit and undid his shit, looking down to see three shallow scratches along his chest. Scratches that perfectly mirrored Phantom. In the corner of his eye, Kon saw a head of black hair and witnessed as Danny reunited with his two friends he had been separated from in the chaos. And as Danny twisted to hug them, his shirt flipped up enough to see another identical 3 scratches along the boy's stomach. Perfectly mirroring Phantoms. 

It was only later that Kon and his team did some more research on the town and it’s ghosts and learned the unofficial secret that Phantom and Danny were dating. That Phantom had Likely come back from the afterlife to protect the town his soulmate lived in. On the bright side, at least now he could confirm Danny really was his soulmate. And he knew where all those injuries were coming from.

Kon had found his soulmate.

Correction, he found his soumates

And they were already bonded to each other.

…

….so where did that leave him?

There are now two options. 

1: Kon decided that he just needs to woo both his soulmates and starts doing so both as Superboy and as Conner. Danny is very confused who these people are (because as far as he knows, he doesn’t have a soulmate, and since Kon doesn’t visibly show injury, there is no sign (unless Danny somehow injures himself in a place that is visible but he’s been trying to avoid that to make everyone worry less.)). Kon goes all out. He gets flowers, chocolates, writes poetry (whether good or not doesn’t matter) starts wooing Phantom in hero form, showing off his strength and skill whenever possible. (And unfortunately, also his dork side when he isn’t paying attention while flying) Asking to hang out, insist on paying for everything. Danny sees this tall Hunk who is paying attention to him and he doesn’t know what to do. And there are TWO OF THEM! (Also, in this version it might be funny if people suspect Danny and Phantom are dating but don’t know for sure and since they are never around each other, people might assume they just don’t know. So Sam, Tucker, and Jazz are all for Danny possibly starting a relationship with Kon along with Kon’s team who are cheering them on and trying to help the poor clone boy who has no experience with romance. Meanwhile literally everyone else in the town who likes Phantom is trying to run interference and get Danny and their hero together. 

2: The angst option. Kon decides that the fact that he has two soulmates who are together is likely a result of him being a clone. It’s not that he had someone waiting for him (how could he think someone was waiting their whole life just for him? How stupid was he?!) Kon had just hijacked a different bond. So he tries to stay away. Unfortunately, Tim had talked with Phantom while Kon was out of it so now they have started to team up. This makes avoiding him very difficult as he keeps running into Phantom. Moreover, he runs into Danny because they need him for the ghost hunting equipment. And slowly but surely, Kon falls in love with ‘both’ his soulmates but doesn’t want to get ‘between’ them. And Danny wants to know why one of his new teammates is avoiding him.

[vvienne]

I literally woke up in the middle of the night like God will dark rise is so fucking screwed. The line that’s like. “Everyone wanted to kill the Dark King.” What’s the part where he looks at Violet helplessly, haunted, almost pleading for mercy? But of course he reveals nothing of substance to anyone. Elizabeth is too young to understand but the reader knows what “Her relationship with that boy was…unnatural” can mean. Tying him to bedposts? Failing to strangle him? What else? Never not even once seeing beyond a mythological identity Will himself didn’t know he had? What did he think was the reason? That he was just intrinsically hateful? Of course he says nothing. Of course Violet can’t trust him- he’s given her nothing as painfully real as what she’s given him. So he gives her the sword hoping at least he can die at the hands of someone he loved, but even that doesn’t work out - she gives the sword to a Visander still furious at SARCEAN. The pattern continues; no one looks at Will, who vomits when he realizes what’s happened to James, Will who is much of a liar and killer and sneak as Elizabeth accuses but nonetheless wants to be different. Even when he doesn’t remember his own past. There’s no way out for him that doesn’t hurt. Hope this obsession passes soon given the one and a half years of waiting required for book 3

[lovieku]

INTRO ⋆ 정국

you’re jeongguk’s secret santa this year, so you give him the best gift he’ll ever receive.

⋆⁺₊❅. 1/6 from christmas & chill

pairing virgin!jk x fem reader

genre smut, fluff, friends to lovers, first time

warnings painfully oblivious jk, even more painfully oblivious oc, mutual pining unlike anything you’ve seen, jk being a hot nerd ceo who’s loaded rich and unaware of his potential, please imagine him as nam joohyuk in start up, oc just creaming her pants for jk, hand job, lowk strip tease, dry humping, nipple play (m&f), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, jk is so needy and impatient but also very polite, smut is kinda rushed because well… it’s his first time! sawrry! also i open gifts on xmas eve please don’t come for me and my traditions (it’s lich just because i’m impatient)

word count 8.3k

author’s note hello hello hello!!! i’m so nervy to post this because it’s what finally inaugurates c&c!!!! i hope it can be a pleasing (intro)duction to the series hehe… either way you’ll get something totally better from miss lyssa tomorrow so stay tuned Wink 🩷 luv u always

banner by the talented @awrkive ⟡ ݁₊ .

Secret Santas have become the only way you’ve been able to deal with Christmas. When it comes to gift-giving, you’re embarrassed to admit that creativity in that department doesn’t exactly come naturally to you.

You try your best, truly. But you either end up going over budget, striving to please all your loved ones with unnecessarily expensive gifts which will only leave you with empty hands and an empty wallet, or having your brain completely stop working, if not to come up with the most basic and useless options that will get you forced smiles and polite nods in fake recognition.

It’s exhausting, demoralizing, and frankly, a recipe for holiday burnout.

So when two years ago, on the brink of giving up entirely and seriously contemplating hibernating through winter, your dear friend Jimin swooped in and suggested Secret Santa, it completely reshaped your next Christmases.

Exactly a month before Christmas Eve, you reunite over drinks and food at Jeongguk’s house to draw names. His place always ends up as the default spot for dinners, movie nights, or even football matches. Those don’t usually get the attention of everybody, especially of some of the girls, and it wouldn’t get yours either.

But you never skip game night. Correction, you never miss an excuse to be in Jeongguk’s space, even if it means sitting through 90 minutes of men chasing a ball on a screen. After all, you’re never truly paying attention, always stealing glances at the boy who seems almost even more uninterested than you.

It’s about witnessing him in his house— which, truthfully, is more of a mansion. The spacious, cozy interiors mirror a part of him that’s hard to miss: his perfectionist side, the one that likes to keep things understated but can’t help leaving subtle, telling marks of his presence on everything he touches, is woven into every corner.

Over time, you’ve naturally come to associate the place with holidays, laughter, and celebrations that fill you with a sense of belonging. Being here, surrounded by your closest friend, makes you feel profoundly grateful.

And there’s so many traces of you all, too. The faint wine stain on Jeongguk’s carpet that is only still noticeable if you squint, the one that spilled from your glass when Hoseok’s jokes had you laughing too hard; the long, slim scratch on the kitchen door, courtesy of Eunbi, who thought learning how to balance glasses on her forehead would get one of her coworkers to finally fall for her; the wobbly vase on the coffee table that was knocked over during one of Jimin’s overly enthusiastic attempts to kick a water bottle open.

Watching Jeongguk deal with the chaos you all force into his space might be another big reason why you love being here. It seems to squeeze out his most genuine reactions and quirks, and you can’t help biting your lips at those, almost pornographically so.

For someone who works so hard to appear composed, and who’s also extremely shy and reserved, Jeongguk is hilariously transparent when things don’t go his way. Brows furrowed, as if that’s where he keeps all his control. Although, no matter how flustered he gets, Jeongguk almost never gets choleric. His instinct is never to lash out but to scramble, a picture of barely contained stress insisting that everything is fine.

And the more he insists, the more you find yourself wishing it wasn’t fine. Sometimes, you want to see him lose it— especially at you.

You’ve tried, too. You’ve pushed boundaries, done little things to test the limits of his patience, all for the slim possibility of seeing him crack, just for you. But it never works. The best you get is an awkward smile, maybe a quiet laugh. It’s not nothing, but it’s not what you want, either.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this crazy about someone before. Not in the way where everything he does sends your brain spinning with possibilities. It’s maddening. His obliviousness is maddening.

Chiefly tonight, when you’re trying extra hard to keep it under control, the whole group gathering in a circle around the bowl that holds all your names, each one carefully folded into a little square, waiting to be drawn.

But when your slim fingers brush against one of the many crumpled pieces of paper and decide your fate, you send a small prayer to whoever might be listening. Please, don’t let it be Jeongguk.

It doesn’t really come off as a coherent request, especially considering how much your body has betrayed you tonight. Your thighs have been pressing together most of the evening, a subconscious reaction every time your gaze wandered — lingered — on Jeongguk’s lower half. Those low, slouchy grey sweatpants, hanging effortlessly off his narrow hips, have been the source of many inappropriate thoughts that you wish would make you grow some shame within yourself. Instead, they only make you grow hotter in your seat.

No, you would love to be Jeongguk’s Secret Santa with the blatant, embarrassingly huge crush you have on him. You think you’d be happy about it in any other universe, except this one.

Jeongguk is difficult. And not because he’s ever been argumentative, looking to start quarrels, never willing to agree or see past his nose. He’s far from those. He’s one of the easiest people to be around, rarely judgmental, even when you were drunk off your mind and you jokingly grinded on very-gay Jimin to make up for your lack of sexual activity. On those occasions, you didn't exactly see judgement in his eyes. Just reticence. Maybe. It wasn’t clear.

What is clear is that Jeongguk is incredibly particular. He’s picky about what he likes and even more so about what he doesn’t, though dislike might be too soft a word. When he hates something, it’s impossible not to know. He doesn’t even try to mask his disappointment.

It’s not malicious, of course. He’s not the type to be spiteful. It’s just how he is, an open book, his expressions giving him away without fail.

It’s one of the many reasons you love watching him, other than hoping your eyes would telepathically convey your undying desire to fuck him and cuddle him close to your chest afterwards. But most of the time, studying the shifts in his features is a way for you to decipher what he’s thinking.

And that’s why this moment feels so high-stakes. The last thing you want is to be on the receiving end of one of Jeongguk’s polite smiles or barely-there nods of acknowledgment, the kind he gives when he’s unimpressed. It would crush you, the ultimate failure in your short-lived career as a gift-giver.

It’s not just that he’s hard to please. Jeongguk is also the last person who seems to need anything. He’s loaded, his success as a game developer has afforded him a life where anything he wants is within reach. And yet, despite his wealth, there’s no arrogance about him. If you didn’t know him so well, you might think he was just another college student scraping by.

Who else but Jeon Jeongguk could walk around in a hoodie and square glasses, looking like he just rolled out of bed, while being the CEO of his own company?

But, of course, none of this is important. Because as you unfold the piece of paper in your hand, it’s there. Jeongguk.

You don’t think you enjoy Secret Santa as much anymore.

With the bowl continuing its journey around the circle, you spend the rest of the game staring holes into the back of Jeongguk’s head, desperately trying to figure out what in the world you could possibly get him. Your monthly budget feels laughable in comparison to his lifestyle, but you’re already prepared to go way over it if that’s what it takes to impress him.

You wonder if he’s as insecure as you are when he quietly unfolds the small, paper square he picked up and scans the name. His bug eyed expression doesn’t hide an evident surprise, the twitch of his eyebrows managing to conceal a possible disappointment.

For someone who’s usually so easy to read, Jeongguk seems uncharacteristically guarded in this moment, and it drives you crazy. You squint at him, frowning as you try to decipher any small detail on his face. Is he annoyed? Or worse, completely indifferent?

Either way, it doesn’t look like a positive reaction. If it ends up being you, you’ll rethink back to this moment and cry yourself to sleep.

With the first step out of the way, the night goes on following its usual rhythm. Only by the end of it, Jeongguk’s space starting to empty, you quietly help him put some order to the mess left behind by a too drunk Hoseok paired with his too drunk best friend Taehyung.

You keep yourself busy with storing some leftover food, managing to keep your tone unbothered when you ask, “Hey, Gguk. Wanna help me with the party planning this year?��

Always obliging to your every request, he only stutters slightly in his movements, the glasses he was cleaning clinking together. He clears his throat, “S—sure. I’ll help you, goldie.” The stammer doesn’t seem to be caused by any kind of hesitation, just an usual consequence to his nature. Reserved, quiet.

You nod, gulping way too loudly at the special nickname he has for you, and both of you keep your focus on your doings instead of witnessing the faint blush dusting your cheeks, “Cool. I’ll text you the details tomorrow.”

Details texted, your efforts to divert the conversation into something remotely playful failed miserably. Jeongguk is painfully formal, methodical as ever, hyper-focused on the party. When you sent him a TikTok you deemed adorable enough to nudge him toward a different matter, maybe hint at the dog being the cutest thing he’s ever seen and that you two should definitely adopt three of them and move in together, he still doesn’t get it.

gguk🤍: Oh… I asked my brother to keep Bam for Christmas Eve. I thought he would be too much of a hassle, especially with Iseul not being fond of dogs.

You had stared at the ceiling for a long moment after reading that text. Jeongguk is endearingly dense, and you don’t mind it most of the time. But it’s starting to cause quiet bursts of frustration when it comes to whatever undefined thing you two have, and what is clearly simmering for the eyes of everybody to see, except his.

You’d thought giving him his first handjob when he quietly confessed he’s never been touched, his voice a tremble in the calm aftermath of a chaotic group sleepover, would be enough to make him see. His quiet whimpers were hypnotizing calls that only you were meant to hear, and your fist pumping his girthy length with intent was speaking all you were afraid to voice.

Jeongguk came hard and unannounced all over your hand, pleasured sounds muffled in the side of your neck, and you’d assured him it was okay; he did good; that you would get something to clean him up. You didn’t sleep that night, and he didn’t either, spending the rest of it next to each other on his couch talking pointless conversation.

If that hadn’t opened his eyes, you were beginning to wonder what would.

“So… Do you have any idea what to gift your person?”

Jeongguk stirs his latte for the fourth time. You’d decided to meet at a café halfway between your cramped flat and his mansion, because it was the easiest way you managed to make your busy schedules merge.

“No, Gguk,” you acknowledge his question without meeting his eyes, focusing on the grocery list on your laptop instead.

What would? You’re starting to think subtlety isn’t cutting it. Maybe it never has. Perhaps the only way to break through that frustratingly thick skull of his is to go full throttle, strip naked right here in the middle of this café and spell it out for him.

Your eye involuntary twitches at the thought in relation to his question. Crazy Christmas gift, you reason as you stare maniacally at your bright screen. Yeah. Totally crazy.

Shaking your head, you can’t resist glancing up at him. The idea doesn’t seem so irrational anymore, not when your insides twist at the sight of his absorbed expression, his brows furrowed as he scribbles out unheard-of maths on a piece of paper to figure out group expenses.

With your chin resting in the palm of your hand, you abandon your pretense of being productive and let yourself watch him work. A teasing lilt slips into your voice as you prod him in your usual way, “Why should I believe you already don’t know who it is?”

He blinks up at you, promptly, like he always does when you speak to him, and he stumbles, “Huh— I don’t—”

“You so do. You probably already guessed it all with your nerdy brain.”

Despite looking mildly offended, his ears turn red anyway, “Nerdy brain—”

“Glasses look cute on you,” that shuts him up; his mouth, his brain. Completely unable to cater to any of their functions.

You smirk at the way he diverts his gaze, pointer finger unconsciously fixing the specs on the bridge of his nose, and you wonder how much longer it’ll take for him to notice that you don’t just go around calling everyone’s glasses cute.

Sighing, you continue, “Anyways. It’s not you.”

“W—what? Is it really not?” When he looks up at you with even wider eyes, you feel bad for lying to him but you still shake your head. He mutters, “Shoot. I was so sure I had it.”

A playful scoff escapes you, “See! You did sit in your nerdy room and tried to guess!”

“Stop calling me a nerd,” it’s a request grumbled in the most adorable way you’ve heard, and there’s no real heat behind it. Especially when he goes back to be exactly what he doesn’t want you to refer to him as, “Well, if it’s not me, it must be Taehyung.”

You pretend to busy yourself with your touchpad as you ponder on his eagerness. Then, you voice the result, “What’s the fun in knowing right now?”

Jeongguk hesitates for a moment too long before admitting, “I don’t know. I guess it makes me less anxious.”

It’s a raw kind of honesty, much like what he was painted all over with when he came from your touch, and it has you shifting your gaze back on him, now absorbed in doodling stylized portraits of Bam right next to numbers and additions.

You don’t know if it’s the hot chocolate still simmering in your tummy, the warmth from the coat laying on your legs, the café’s natural heat or Jeongguk’s proximity, but you buzz with something homely.

Ariana Grande’s version of Last Christmas replays for the third time in a row, and at this point you’re starting to believe it’s a conscious choice, but you don’t mind it.

Jeongguk belongs to the world the soft melody is building, hugged by a woolen white sweater, the wide glass window behind him giving the perfect view to a classic winter scenery, snow softly resting on any surface it finds and unconsciously bringing magic to dullness. Or maybe it’s just him adding that last bit.

You smile at his small confession, reassuring with your tone, almost drowning in the lively chatter of the place surrounding you, “You don’t have to be.”

Jeongguk only nods, tapping the pencil on his temple as he studies what he has so far with sudden doubt. He looks at your laptop, scanning the long forgotten visual board on your Pinterest, then back to his calculations.

Giving one more glance at the screen, he concludes, “By the way, I really don’t think that color would look good in my living room.”

Ugh.

You think you want to strangle him when he deflects so easily from these moments. And mostly, the burgundy he’s so easily refusing happens to be one of your favorite shades. Do your tastes ever match?

God, as much as you want him, you hope he’s not your Secret Santa.

────⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆────

Jeongguk is your Secret Santa.

And on Christmas Eve, he’s pacing the length of his living room back and forth, his socks brushing against the polished wooden floor with each step. You’re supposed to arrive any minute now to help him with the final touches before the others come for dinner, and the idea of having you here alone is enough to make his hands clammy and his thoughts stumble.

The neatly wrapped gift with its shiny red paper sits tucked under the towering Christmas tree, the one adorned in messy decor that his friends jumbled up together. The item hidden inside the bag doesn’t share his anxieties, though he suspects his downstairs neighbour might have caught on to it with the incessant pacing.

When you ring the doorbell he’s jolted out of it and, practically tripping over his own feet, he rushes to the door and yanks it open. He would have let you in just as rapidly if his brain didn’t stop short at seeing you standing there.

You’re cladded in a soft sweater that looks two sizes larger, its beige tones complimenting the warm brown of his own jumper, and your short skirt peeks out beneath its hem, edged with lace ruffles. At your feet, a pair of chestnut Uggs that he can only hope are enough to make up for the cold shivers on your bare legs. Not that he’s staring, so intently he has to gulp down an impulsive thought. No, he’s just a naturally observing guy.

And that brings him to notice that your hands are empty, save for a small purse and a bottle of wine. No bag, no box, no sign of a gift.

When his gaze flickers back to your face, your eyes are wide and darting nervously between his own, narrowed by the frown that he can’t quite hide but bug sized the moment he catches a trace of insecurity in your shaky voice, “Hi.”

It could be the cold causing the brief greeting to tremble, small snowflakes laying on your neatly styled hair, shimmering for a brief moment before melting away. It pulls him out from his unabashed study of you, and he steps aside to let you into his much warmer space.

Your vanilla scent inebriating his senses has him forgetting all about your seemingly non existent gift, and how he suddenly finds himself wishing he truly did get something messed up in his calculations, that you’re not his Secret Santa.

But you are.

Many drinks later, filling up everyone’s stomachs along with shared food and belly laughter, it’s time to exchange gifts and the expression on your face is unlikely anything he’s caught on so far.

A huge contrast to the mellow Christmas tunes indistinctly playing in the background, your eyes are impassive as you word your excuses, “I’m sorry, Gguk. I forgot your gift at home.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” he says quickly, the words spilling out with genuine ease. And it really is okay. He’s not upset— far from it. The thought of you giving him anything at all, even belatedly, is enough to make him feel content.

But now, as the group’s attention turns toward him, his heart races for an entirely different reason. His gift for you, a lavish, over-the-top gesture that far exceeds the modest budget they all agreed on, sits waiting on his lap.

When it finds a new home atop your own crossed legs, you’re eager as you rip the paper, but your eyes don’t follow your movements. Instead, you focus on the nervous boy sitting across from you, your very own Secret Santa who’s monitoring your hands for you while subtly rocking from one side to the other.

His anxiety is endearingly soft, but you can see something more to it, almost an irrational fear of tripping on the wrong step, messing up something that’s supposed to be simple.

You hear it before you see it. The whole room inhales sharply in a collective surprise, with some gasps muffled behind hands pressed to mouths. You scramble for an explanation in their expressions, jumping from one face to the other, stopping on Jeongguk’s own, gaze glued to his fidgeting fingers, head bowed down to his lap.

When you slowly look down at what’s resting on yours, you almost wheeze. If they could, your eyes would leap out of their sockets.

Your palm instinctively presses on your lips as you look between the gift and the gifter in a frantic attempt to catch any sign that this is not what it is. With the music being the only sound eerily filling the sudden silence, you add to it, even if barely, with your voice a whisper, “What is this?”

Jeongguk gulps and finally meets you, “It’s m—my gift for you.”

It’s not like you even opened it yet. But the simple sight of the box had you grasping for support. On the pale, textured surface of the square box, the unmistakable gold lettering is what’s making your orbs shake in confusion: Dior.

You trace the sign with your pointed finger, tilting your head up to look at Jeongguk through your lashes, and you don’t know how else to put it, “Ggukkie… Were you there when we set the budget?”

Jimin butts in with a scoff, “Yeah, that’s like fifteen thousand won multiplied by another fifty thousand.”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what he should say. He’s scared of the deafening silence that follows, the way Jimin’s comment seems to linger in the air, the way you seem to struggle with finding something to say in response.

He begins, tries to, “I—”

“Fuck, Gguk,” the simple sound of your words has his mind spiralling, palms clammy with doubts that question his every choice leading up to this moment, feeling foolish for even thinking this could be right, a shot worth trying. What if you think he’s showing off? Or worse, overcompensating?

But what he fails to notice is the toothy grin that follows your shameless surprise, your fingers gingerly lifting the lid of the box, and really, if only he had the courage to look up at you he’d have avoided the worries.

He misses your reaction at the reveal: the prettiest earrings sit on a soft cushion, gleaming gold with delicate CD initials and cream pearls dangling gracefully beneath them.

“These are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I love them. You didn’t have to.”

Jeongguk’s head snaps up. He meets your face painted with the most beautiful grin he’s ever seen you wear, your cheeks burning with red and your nose scrunching as you carefully slip the earrings to take a better look at them. With you, everybody else around him seems in awe, too. Their soft, endeared whispers begin to fill the earlier suffocating silence, melting into a sweetness reserved entirely for Jeongguk.

He exhales quietly, the welcomed warmth in his chest replacing the cold. He admits, no stutter, no fear, just a sheepish smile, “I wanted to.”

Jeongguk really did want to. It felt like his one shot. A desperate, last-ditch attempt at making you see him the way he’s always seen you; a declaration wrapped in gold and pearls.

He wants you to see him as more than the shy, awkward boy who stumbles over his words and blushes too easily. More than the nerd who spends too much time working on equations and codes half the world doesn’t know about. More, just to have you look at him a bit closer.

He wants to be a man, one who badly wants you, in your eyes.

They’re gleaming with adorable excitement as they flicker back to his, sheepishly accompanying your quiet request, “Can you… put them on for me?”

Jeongguk is at your side in no time, handling the earrings with care while trying to keep his usual clumsiness at bay as he fastens the dainty jewels in place. He begins to understand why it’s hard to see him as anything else but gawky when he feels his heartbeat speed up from the simple way his skin is brushing against yours.

Namjoon’s voice cuts through the spell, playful, “Oh, what a pretty princess. Jeongguk truly has an eye for this stuff.”

With the group following with chuckles and mindless banter, Jeongguk feels uncharacteristically bold, gaze fixated entirely on you as he lets himself spill something meant for you only to hear, “I think it’s just you. You’re beautiful.”

You’re clearly caught off guard, and it stings a little when he realizes the only reason he doesn’t get to see you this flustered often is because he’s usually busy being the flustered one. Blinking up at him through your lashes, your laugh comes out a little breathless, and the sweet way you let your cheek rest on your shoulder has him daring to hope.

“Nerd.”

But no. There it is again.

That’s all he’ll ever be in your eyes.

He forces a smile that barely reaches his eyes, but you’re too engrossed with having your pearls admired by the rest of the group to notice. Those weren’t a waste; he would do it all the same. You deserve everything that makes your eyes shine, that brings the corners of your lips into that grin that shakes him, that can ever bring you joy. He just wishes it could bring you more than that; bring you to a bigger sentiment, a bigger realization.

Perhaps that’s why he can’t shake off the awful mood that pervades his senses throughout the rest of the night, the earrings hanging from your ears catching the twinkly, warm lights and mocking him with delighted amusement. There’s nothing else you can do, you nerdy boy.

Perhaps that’s also why, when the house starts to empty and you’re in his kitchen making yourself helpful with dishes, he slips on composure when you accidentally let a glass slide from your dainty hands.

It breaks the moment it meets the ground, and the sound penetrates his ears, both of you jumping at the impact. He hisses, “What— what the heck, ___!”

You’re startled, blinking up at him. It’s not the chaos from the glass, not its tiny pieces covering the floor and reaching your feet. It’s the deliberate frustration of his tone, one he’s never let free, especially with you.

You pant for apologies, but they can’t seem to be let out. Wide eyes jumping between his own bug ones, your brows draw up in shame. It has never been this easy to get him bothered. Hell, you’ve even struggled to.

Jeongguk only sighs, dragging a hand across his nape, and he regrets the quiet sharpness in his voice the second he lets it out, “God. Be more careful next time.”

He’s still quicker than you on his feet, moving to sweep the mess you’ve created before you can even react. You seem to move in slow, infinite motions, kneeling down to pick up the bigger pieces, all while keeping an unusual silence.

He steals a glance up at you, biting his lower pierced lip in sudden guilt, “Are you okay?”

Your hands pause, clutching a fragment of glass as your eyes flicker up to meet his. You nod, distant, and it does nothing to convince him.

He doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to your hesitant confirmation, rather he’s hyper-focused on your fingers, and before you realize the shift in his expression, he alarmedly blurts out, “Goldie. You’re bleeding.”

The sting barely registers for you until his words bring it to your attention. Looking down, you see a sharp, red line running across your finger, small but enough to make Jeongguk spring into action.

You’re lifted off the floor and ushered to the bathroom in fractions of seconds, letting yourself be handled like you don’t own your body. The only thing you want to be aware of is the switch in his behaviour. He’s back to normal once he’s in his quiet bubble of concentration, movements precise as he cleans the barely visible wound and carefully places a band aid over it.

All while he can’t stop apologizing, “I’m sorry for yelling at you. That was not your fault. But, this. This is my fa—”

“Jeongguk, it’s just a scratch.”

The way he meets your eyes with his face drawn tight and brows furrowed makes you rethink your statement. Maybe it’s more than a scratch. Maybe it’s the only thing that snapped him out of his frustrated daze.

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve that.”

Your first instinct is to giggle; it’s a resonance of the butterflies childishly swarming in your belly from the proximity and his careful words. Both your gazes soften as you accept each other, even the faulted versions of tonight, and a timid smile stretches over his lips.

You hesitate before speaking again, your mouth opening only to close, reconsidering your words; but then you finally let out what you had foolishly planned as your next desperate attempt to cling to him.

“Can you… My car is… Can you take me home?”

What you’re now sure you like the most about Jeongguk is how he caters to your needs before you even have to voice them. The soft kindness in his eyes, the way his body instinctively shifts to act before his mind even fully processes the request. He’s already nodding, ready to make it happen for you.

“Yeah. Of course.”

The heat in his car fans over your cheeks, dusting them with a soft red that has his Adam’s apple bobbing every time he turns to steal glances at you at stoplights. You keep talking, filling the air with contentment about the night’s events, and it’s like that subtle slip of his never happened.

It’s almost too easy to surrender and pretend that everything is fine, that he doesn’t feel the ache of wanting more. If staying a nerd in your eyes means getting to be this close, to hear your laughter, to see the slight curve of your lips as you speak, then maybe it’s enough.

His subtle gestures — adjusting the temperature so you’re comfortable, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter when your giggles spill into the cabin — don’t go unnoticed. They settle into you and have your heart beating anticipatedly.

God, you won’t regret what you’re about to do.

By the time he pulls up in front of your place, you promptly turn to him before he can offer anything else, voice a bit too eager, “Would you like to come inside?”

“Huh—”

“I’ll show you my gift.”

Jeongguk sits on your couch, because you tell him to wait there. And of course, he’s a great listener. Very obedient, willing to follow your every order.

His fingertips drum restlessly on his thighs and he can only busy himself with his surroundings, every detail speaking for you. What’s definitely more prominent is the intoxicating scent of vanilla that clings in the air, of which he hopes his lungs inhale the entirety of, never getting enough of everything that is you.

When you come into his vision again, walking down the stairs in quiet steps, you’re tightly hugged in a trench coat, the textured belt cinched snugly around you and accentuating the small of your waist. Under it, your legs are bare. It has his mouth drying and his legs spreading stiffly on the couch.

He thought he got better at hiding his concerning infatuation. He hopes he did.

That’s why he initially manages to chuckle and attempt a joke, “Are you going somew—”

“Ta-da.”

Jeongguk doesn’t think he’s breathing. He doesn’t think he can even breathe anymore. His blinking fastens, brain stumbling over itself as it tries to make sense of what he’s sitting in front of.

You’ve loosened the coat just enough for the fabric to fall and reveal what you’ve carefully wrapped for him. You’re a gift coming in a red lingerie set clinging to your perfect curves, your boobs deliciously spilling out from the sides of your lace top and the line of your panties thin enough to leave little to the imagination.

He pants, scanning over your body once, twice, three times, questioning if the wine was perhaps laced with stronger substances, “What— What is this—”

“It’s my gift for you. Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

Meeting your face again, he nearly groans. You’re almost bare before him, yet you still sport a crimson blush and your teeth graze your bottom lip in a sheepish smile, in a way that is so achingly you. He can feel himself throbbing painfully in his pants. Thinks he could cum just from this view, tip over the edge without a single touch, no matter how bad he needs it.

“Fuck.”

You’ve barely ever heard Jeongguk curse throughout the time you’ve known him for. He only sometimes reserves that for his monitor, Overwatch games causing his composure to slip in adorable loud whispers.

But it’s like you’ve broken his dam, and he only lets more slip as you walk slowly but certainly closer to him, coat discarded on the floor, “Oh my, fuck. Holy shit. Thank you. Thank you. I— I don’t know what to do.”

It’s a quiet plea, the one that’s hidden in his strained words but clear in his full eyes glazed over with anticipation, his hands hovering uncertainly over his thighs, chest still heaving and struggling with manual breathing. He’s begging to feel deserving of this, to have you prove to him that it’s what you truly want for the both of you, to have you touching him and to be touching you.

He can’t help the moan that escapes him when you position yourself in between his spread legs, bodies close yet not touching, but he’s dying to feel you.

Now your turn to bend at his every request, your head tilts and your smile widens the more he’s forced to crane his neck up to keep your gazes connected, pending off your every syllable, “You don’t have to do anything. Will you let me take care of you?

“Yes, please,” the confirmation is immediate and empty of hesitance. Under you, Jeongguk nods promptly with his lips agape, watering with want when you straddle his lap to sit yourself on him.

He wails, throwing his head back and searching for all the strength it takes from holding back his instinct to snap up against your core, snuggled atop his raging hardness. At his shameless desperation, your giggles fill his ears, and when they’re followed by your cold hand on his cheek redirecting his gaze on yours, he feels feverish.

Delirious, eyes barely keeping from rolling back, his brain reduced to senseless blabbering, “My God. Thank you for this.”

With his brows adorably drawn up, he focuses on your dilated pupils now that your faces are mere centimetres apart, and you close the distance with small pecks that trace his jaw, up to his ear lobe, whispering against the skin, “Are you seriously thanking God while I’m about to take your virginity?

Jeongguk hisses in a frenzied surge, his hands still unsurely keeping from touching you, and your sarcastic pun has him full on rambling, “Shit, sorry. I don’t even believe in God. This just feels too good to be true. You look like a fucking angel.”

“Ggukkie, language!” Your seductive tone along with your chuckle reverberates right against his chest, your hands moving to lead your own palms up and down his broad front, and when you subtly roll your hips against his clothed length, he breaks into a cry.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ll come so soon,” you don’t know if it’s the adrenaline of the moment, but you’ve never witnessed such a bold Jeongguk. It only spurs you further, your hand traveling down, and down, until it sneaks under his sweater.

When you find his nipple, you playfully roll it between your pointer and thumb, his trembling body bucking up in an unstoppable urge, quiet whimpers working to keep his tone down. But you want to hear him scream under you, just as loud as you can feel his heart beating.

You bite your lip as your eyes drift downward, watching where your bodies meet in slow, teasing drags. His wide palms press into the cushions on either side of you, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip, and when you lift your gaze to meet his face again the delicious buzz pooling low in your stomach intensifies, your lips parting instinctively. A pretty blush creeps up his neck, painting his sharp jaw and cheekbones in shades of red, and his eyes, clouded, desperate, and burning with unfiltered need, lock onto you with a gaze that makes your knees weak even as you straddle him.

The simple grinding through the layers of clothing you still have on has you releasing whiny gasps in the air, his cock sliding torturously between your folds, and if you’re so affected by every shift you can hardly fathom what he must be feeling under you.

So you wonder out loud, voice rough the more you feel his stiff nipple under your fingertips, “How long since you’ve been touched properly, hm?”

His body hiccups, shaking with the barely contained lust, “Since— Since you last did, goldie.”

You coo, slowing down your movements and bringing your fingers to the hem of his jumper only to lift it and toss it behind you carelessly, “You’re so sensitive, aren't you?” At the view of his exposed chest, you can’t help roaming the expanse of it and feeling the tensing muscles under your skin, and by now you’re sure your panties must be ruined.

“Puh— please,” the plea is barely coherent, whispered out messily through high-pitched moans, but he begs again, “I wanna touch you too.”

“Then…” You let your hands speak for you, moving them to lead his own big ones to rest at your thighs, letting them drag up the curve of your ass. You’re impossibly close to his lips now, fanning against them, “Feel me, Gguk.”

Unable to resist, you fall forward and catch his mouth with yours in a kiss that struggles to find a rhythm, that has your tongues tangled in an uncoordinated dance, but that inevitably has you both humming loudly in an effort to almost devour each other, and his hands digging in your bare skin only force a gasp out of you.

In an impatient rush, you urge him to unclasp your bra, his unpractised and shaky fingers being joined by your experienced ones to finally free you from the tight confines, and as much as he wants to make kissing you a sport just to win every gold medal and break record after record, he can’t help separating from your lips with a wet sound to look down at your exposed breasts.

Jeongguk groans, and this time he doesn’t need you guiding him. It’s his own palms moving to cup you, and the innocent, light feather touch causes you to throw your head back and resume your slow grinding on top of him.

Both of you are panting messes, his moans significantly louder the more he gets to knead at your softness only to slice his thumb over your hardened nipples, the contrast making his brows furrow in hazed need, and when you arch your back into him he squeezes your tit to his mouth, eliciting a surprised wail from you.

Even when he gets closer, your sensitive nub engulfed by his swollen lips, he keeps looking up at you for approval with wide, teary eyes that beg for you to praise him. And with a hand gripping his wavy locks, you nod repeatedly for him to keep going, “Fuck, baby. Just like that, oh my God.”

He hums lowly with his mouth stuffed, his fingers digging in your flesh the more you drag your cunt mercilessly over the outline of his thickness, and he has to release you with a pop and rest his head on the couch behind him, palms keeping you somewhat still by the waist, panting out a desperate request when he feels himself throb dangerously close to his high, “G��Goldie, I can’t. Don’t— Don’t wanna cum like this.”

You lift your hips just enough for the both of you to whimper at the loss of friction, and you murmur through a string of kisses along his exposed neck, “How do you want to cum then, huh?”

He only whines, cheeks flushed with want and eyes glossy, forehead creasing with the way his brows are stressing, “Please.”

You show no mercy, flashing him with a wicked smirk and a teasing tilt of your head, “Ah-ah. Say it.”

Gulping with effort, his waist twitches up unconsciously to seek for your touch once again, and with his face turned to the side he admits in the smallest voice, “‘Nside of you.”

“Good boy. Gonna give you exactly what you want.”

He voices a loud cry just from the sound of your promise, only echoing more intensely when you hastily work at his zipper. It’s messy, uncertain, and it elicits breathy giggles from the two of you, drunk on adoration and high on desire.

Eventually, he’s stripped free from his confines, and his cock stands proud and hard, veins pumping the blood that has it throbbing against his toned stomach.

Jeongguk can feel your hooded eyes on him, can sense his tip wettening with the simple way you seem starved and eager to taste him, your hand coming too close to where he needs you the most before he gently grabs your wrist to stop it.

Automatically, your head snaps up, and the look on his face is one of nervous desperation, “Wan’ you to kiss me, please.”

You’re ready to comply to his every demand, and this one is as easy as it gets. You want to give him everything— whatever he wants, however he wants it.

Your lips mold with his in worldless acceptance, absorbing all you were afraid to voice to each other, making up for all the time you wasted, devoting to a sealed promise, the one that dances between your connected tongues, saliva making it wet and breathless.

Even more when your slim fingers trail down his torso before wrapping around his length, your wrist expertly flicking in a teasing touch, and his moan is unrestrained as it tears through the kiss. You swallow the sound greedily, steadying you against his chest rising and falling in frantic pants.

Before he can protest, his own hips bucking up in a silent beg for more, you steal the air from his lungs when you move your panties to the side and align your entrance with his tip, just to sink down on it.

The drag is slow and it has both of your eyes rolling back, pleased groans filling the air and straining against your throat when you fully sit yourself wrapped around his dick. You search for him, “You okay?”

“Shit,” Jeongguk seems hypnotised by the view of his thickness wrecking you in half, and his palms come to rest at your waist where his fingers dig into the skin. Your own playing with the hair on his nape only seem to make him more vulnerable, “This is perfect. You feel so good and warm, fuck.”

You’re not used to hearing him curse so openly and so often, and it naturally makes you giggle, the sound tickling his ears and leading his dilated pupils to look up at you through his lashes. Your sweet laughter fades into a lasting smile, one he can’t help but kiss, even if it’s all teeth, the contagious sight of your happiness getting to him too.

The moment is sickeningly sweet, bodies connected in more ways than one. With your kiss only deepening and your chest melting against his, you pull him impossibly closer by the back of his neck and start attempting slow motions on top of him.

You hear him through his thundering heartbeat, “Goldie… I— I don’t think I can last any longer, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Oh, shit, baby,” one particular shift has his length, deeply stuffed in your tight walls, finding your spot and teasing it with an electric buzz that travels through your body, “It’s okay. I’m so close too.”

The moment you try a firmier bounce and feel him find you again, you can’t help the way your movements fasten, your moans thick and low against your throat, his own louder and ricocheting through the walls.

You steady yourself with one of you palms on his thigh, leaning your weight back and finding a new angle to fuck yourself on him. He watches in awe as you work your fingers on your clit, rapid circling movements causing his mouth to hang open at the squelching sounds.

He pants, his wide hands guiding your riding, pushing you up and down, “Can— Can I touch you?”

You hum, but it sounds more like a whine, “Hm, of course, pretty boy,” the hand that was stimulating your sensitive nub now comes behind you to help support yourself on both of his muscular thighs, flexing under every shift.

Jeongguk is unpracticed as he leads his thumb to rest at your clit, applying a soft pressure and mimicking the same pattern he observed from you. He only seems to be focusing on his doing for the first few moments before he searches up for the reaction on your face, and he whimpers when he finds your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, your brows drawn up in pleasure.

You smile at the unconscious twitch of his chin, and give him just what you know he wants, “Always seeking my approval. You’re so good.”

The simple praise only has him working on you with more confidence, collecting some of your wetness and sliding it up along your lips. He learns fast, listening to your every sound and centering on your pleasure, as best as he can with his own knot getting closer to bursting.

You’re clearly affected by the simulations, your hips stuttering and riding around him, but you still make sure to concentrate on him first, “I’ll tell you when to cum, hm? You’ll listen to me, right?”

Jeongguk nods before he even knows what he’s agreeing to, “Y—yes. Yes, yes, fuck. I’ll be good. Wanna be so, so good for you. Wanna c—cum for you.”

“You’re so filthy, baby. Naughty boy. Fuck me.”

His hips meet you up with harsh thrusts that have you lose your balance on him, and you can only throw yourself with your arms around his broad shoulders, face hidden in the crook of his neck as he lets his desire take over, fucking up into you with a desperate need for release.

You think you see stars with the way he relentlessly pounds your hole, wet folds sliding along his length and causing a mess between you, his own slickness mixed with yours trailing down and pooling at the base. The sounds are inglorious, and they merge perfectly with your wails.

Breathing in his scent, you know he’s close from the way his thrusts are stammering sloppily, and his moans are closer to strained whines. You concede, “F—Fucking cum, Gguk. Cum inside me, fuck.”

He nods, slamming you down to meet his movements, desperate to feel you before he can stop himself, “Cum with me, pleas— Oh.”

When your walls spasm around him with your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave, causing you to shake in his embrace around you, he feels himself cum unannounced, hard and thick, sprouts of white liquid relentlessly pumping inside your warmth.

You milk him dry, both your wails drained with the effort and fading into breathless gasps, his arms around you falling limply at his sides. You’re sprawled on his chest, emptied from any energy, and he is just as spent with his head lolling against the back of the couch.

But you feel it in your heartbeats syncing, the realization of what happened, what finally happened. You feel it in his face moving down to find your lips and catch them in a sweet peck, his fingers trailing up again to trace lazy patterns on your back before tangling in your hair, grounding himself in you.

It’s your own smiles breaking through the kiss, lashes tickling, and both of you laugh senselessly as you come down from the moment.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk breathes out, voice raspy, “This was the best Christmas gift ever.”

You snicker, biting your lip to hold back your amusement, “Oh, baby. It was just an excuse to fuck you. I actually did forget your gift at home.”

“W—What?” His brows shoot up, his post-orgasm haze momentarily replaced with incredulity as his cheeks redden even more.

When Jeongguk straightens on the couch, so do you, steadying your weak frame with your hands splayed against his chest. Sheepishly, you confess, “Yeah. Bought you that Mario game yo—“

“Princess Peach: Showtime?”

“Yea—”

Jeongguk gasps dramatically, his excitement so pure it’s almost jarring considering what just transpired, and that he’s no longer a virgin, “God, I fucking love— that game. That is the best Christmas gift ever.”

You can’t hold back your laughter this time, shaking your head at how easily he slips back into his usual self, the one that had you buying a Victoria’s Secret set in that shade of burgundy he said he didn’t like just to attempt a crazy chance at having him.

Leaning forward, you press a lingering kiss to his lips that brings you back to the realization that you finally did get to have him, before murmuring against them, “Well, that and a second round. What do you say?”

“Please.”

[scorpiossslut]

OFF-LIMITS. -Rafe Cameron.

Pairing: best friend!rafe x fem!reader

summary: rafe has always been your sweet, loving best friend. until he showed you he’s way more than that.

author’s note: had a cute idea for a fic. hope you’ll enjoy. as always, this is filthy. -xoxo, cherry💋

warnings: possessive!rafe, borderline crazy, obsessive!rafe, mentions of violence, rafe being a perv in secret, mentions of JJ Maybank flirting with reader, choking, face slapping, rough, unprotected p!v, loss of virginity, praising, degradation, breeding kink (baby trapping)

Being Rafe's precious best friend meant that you were always going to get spoiled. Many women wished for the things he was constantly offering you; his undivided attention, his affection, random, huge amounts of money sent to your bank account everytime you'd tell him you had a bad day, or if you wanted to get your nails done, or go shopping, sometimes insisting he'd come along, protection, maybe a little too much of it at times, everything you could ever want.

You were the most important thing in his life, since he never really had much of a relationship with his family, all of them treating him like he was a disease, something to be avoided at all costs, only bringing pain and suffering to those around him, like they'd often tell him. But you never saw him that way, and you hated his family for pushing him away and hurting his feelings like that. You were always there for him, his biggest supporter, the only one who could calm him down when he'd come knocking on your window late at night after having a fight with his father, the one taking care of him and putting a smile on his face. And he loved you for that.

But being Rafe's precious best friend also meant that you were off-limits to everyone else. You knew he had a tendency of being rather... intense, when it comes to you. Shit, everyone knew it, too, always choosing to stay at an arm's length from you in fear of what Rafe might think. Ever since you two were kids, he was always protective of you, and he absolutely hated the idea of sharing you.

As you got older though, it got worse. You couldn't even talk to a boy without him pulling you away immediately, and if you did, he'd always make sure to claim you in some way, wrapping his strong hands around you, or placing his big hand on your ass "innocently", always throwing daggers with his eyes and making sure that whatever asshole was trying to talk to you could see that you were unavailable. That he wasn't playing about you. His pretty princess. He didn't like it when you'd hang out with Topper and Kelce either, but since they were his friends, and they definitely knew not to fuck with him, he let it slide. But only because most of the time, he was with you, never leaving your side and silently taking notes of every time one of them would get a bit too close or be too kind to you for his liking.

You never had a problem with it. Rafe always knew best. That's what he'd always tell you, and you never had a reason not to believe him. He always took care of you. Many people talked and raised eyebrows constantly around you, not believing even for a second that you two were just best friends. There was no way that was all.

To you, it was just white noise. You were so used to Rafe and his behaviour that you didn't bat an eye ever at the closeness between you. He was just Rafey, your beloved best friend.

But little did you know the lengths that he'd go through to make sure you stayed by his side. That you'd remain his. His little bunny, oblivious to the real reason he's always asking to see your phone, hiding his true intentions with the excuse of just “checking for something", or "playing music" or wanting to "take photos" of you, when the real reason was that he was going borderline crazy just thinking about you secretly talking to boys on there.

Oblivious to the real reason his knuckles were violently bruised once in a while, promising you that it was nothing, when in reality, he almost killed a few boys for talking about you or looking at you in a filthy way, or trying to spark a conversation with you.

Clueless about the way he was always watching you, even when you thought he wasn't around. Following you in secrecy, almost everytime you'd leave the house, just to make sure that you were safe and you weren't planning on seeing someone else behind his back.

Completely unaware of the way he'd steal a pair of your panties once a month, sometimes washed, but most of the time used, snatched right out of your laundry basket, just to fulfill his sick, filthy fantasies in the privacy of his room at night, when no one would be awake to hear his moans and your name slipping from his lips as he fisted his impossibly hard cock so fast that he was seeing stars.

He thought it was cute. How you never suspected anything, how blindly you trusted him. And he was fine with you not knowing just how obsessed he was, for a while.

However, his patience was starting to fade. With every pearly smile, every innocent look you threw his way, those short skirts and sundresses you liked to wear that he swore you were wearing on purpose, just to make him go mad. Everytime you'd sit on his lap, or press your cute little ass against him when you'd dance at a party.

Everything was slowly but surely driving him insane, and it was only a matter of time until he was going to finally take what he wanted, what was rightfully his, and only his.

In his mind, the moment you'd find out about his true feelings towards you was going to be romantic, he'd make sure to be careful not to scare you off, he'd make you realize just how much you need him and how much he loved you.

So why did you just have to ruin that, by letting a damn pogue, JJ Maybank of all people, flirt with you? He thought he was going to lose his mind when he'd caught you two on the beach, talking without a care in the world, that stupid pogue scanning your body shamelessly and complimenting your little outfit that was supposed to be for his eyes only. He thought he was smart and fearless, trying to get into your pants like that.

He thought.

Oh, how he hated that you had to make it hard for him and yourself by doing that. He had trusted you, showed you his love, his devotion, for so many years, and there you were, pushing him to do something so reckless that might make you hate him.

But no... he wouldn't have that. He was going to make sure you never looked at another man again, that he would be the only one for you.

Forever.

"My dumb little princess, always so fucking oblivious." He grunted, pounding into your little pussy violently while he gripped your cheeks painfully, making your juicy lips pout. "You don't know what you did to me back there, baby. You're lucky that little shit is still alive after what he tried to pull."

His tone was soft, almost mocking, but you were having trouble processing his words, too messy and too cock drunk to hear anything as you took what he gave you helplessly, your abused cunt swallowing him greedily with each thrust of his hips.

"I told you not to run off by yourself, didn't I? Told you you should only stick by my side. You. Only. Stay. With. Me." He barked, empathizing his words with harsh thrusts, knocking the air out of your lungs and having your back arch off the bed.

"M' sorry, Rafey! I... I didn't mean to, I promise!" You cried out, digging your manicured fingers into his shoulders as you used them for support.

He just chuckled, the sound dark and lacking any amusement. You didn't mean to. Of course you didn't.

"Yeah? Then what the fuck were you smiling at Maybank for, huh?! Letting him look at you, talk to you, when you know that shit pisses me off? You tryna be a whore or something?!" He snapped, grabbing onto the back of your thighs and folding them to your chest, the new angle allowing his cock to stretch you even more and hit your cervix deliciously.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your lips parted with a loud, pornographic moan.

This wasn't the Rafe you were used to. Your soft, caring, loving best friend, and even if you knew of his outbursts, his undeniable issues, he always made sure to keep that side of him away from you, only treating you like a delicate flower, worshiping you with all his heart. Now, he was a completely different person, and maybe you should've hated him for taking everything from you like that, your sweet, precious virginity, but to your surprise, you loved it. And the way your pussy was fluttering around him uncontrollably was a clear sign of that.

"Well shit, would you look at that." Rafe smirked, leaning closer and folding your legs further, the pain adding to the pleasure you were starting to feel at the pits of your stomach. He wrapped his fingers around your slim throat, applying pressure to the sides of your neck and humming in satisfaction at the way your teary eyes widened in shock. "My pretty princess likes being called a whore, huh?"

"R-Rafe! Please, please!" You begged, but you didn't know what for.

"You were just begging for some cock, weren't you? This slutty hole needed a good pounding that bad. What a shame, baby..." He tsked, shaking his head and leaning to peck your trembling lips briefly, before switching up and slapping your cheek, the sharp sound echoing in the room along with the filthy sounds of your skin slapping and your wet pussy squelching around him.

"My dick is the only one this cunt will ever see, understood?!"

You let out a short scream and clenched around him viciously, his words making your head spin.

You were sure you were scratching his back to the point it was almost bleeding, but you couldn't help it, feeling like you were going to pass out with his hand coming back to squeeze your throat and with the way his pace picked up, the bed creaking underneath you like it was going to break with the force of his thrusts.

"Yes! Yes, Rafey!" You managed to say between moans and pathetic whimpers, reaching out and grasping his wrist, your small fingers wrapping around it.

You looked so beautiful to him right now. Unreal. With tears rolling down your soft cheeks, those pretty doe eyes looking up at him submissively, not hiding the way your pupils were blown in pure lust, only for him. Red, swollen lips from his kisses, your carefully applied makeup that was now ruined on your face, an obsessive amount of marks that were going to become flashy bruises, all over your neck and your chest, a clear reminder for you and everyone else that he owned you. The sweet sounds coming from your lips were like music to his ears, the countless nights where he'd imagine how you'd sound like, how you'd feel wrapped around his cock now useless, because nothing could compare to the real thing.

"Sweet angel taking cock so well. 'S like you were made for me, baby... Don't you think so? Look at how greedy this pussy is. Taking me like a pro." He praised, pulling back a little and tilting his head to the side and watching the way he slipped and pushed into you so easily, your slick covering his entire length, a hint of pink around his base, the evidence of your innocence being ripped away from you, now belonging to him.

Letting go of your neck, you finally gasped for air, blinking stupidly at him with your long lashes. But then, he suddenly reached out and grasped your hair, fisting it and yanking your head forward with force, having you watch the way he was stretching you repeatedly.

"Look how good you're taking me. This is all mine. Mine. No one will ever get to see you like this, baby... Gonna make sure of it. You'll never think about another boy ever again. You belong to me, you always have." His lips stretched into a smirk, the look in his eyes possessed as he watched you squirm and whimper, almost unable to keep your eyes open with the tears blocking your sight.

"Say it. Say this pussy belongs to me. You belong to me." He growled, his once blue eyes that were now dark and possessed burning a hole through you, his fingers gripping your hair tighter and pushing your head back. His body pressed against yours as his other hand sneaked its way to your pussy, his thumb pressing against your puffy, sensitive clit and rubbing it back and forth rapidly.

Your thighs were shaking around his waist, and your small body was trashing underneath him as you whined and locked eyes with his.

"It's yours, Rafey! Pussy's yours. I'm yours!"

"Fucking right. You'll never get away from me, even if you tried. I own you. You're never leaving me." He spat, the possessive words only making you squeeze his cock tighter.

It was supposed to be a threat maybe, but in your fucked up state, it was the hottest thing.

You wouldn't be able to live without Rafe anyway, you were so dependent on him, on his attention, his love, that the thought of ever being without him felt wrong.

Then, a sudden thought came to him. How could he make sure that you were never going to escape him? That you were only going to need him, for the rest of your life, just like he needed you. Maybe he could knock you up. Surely you'll never be able to run away if he got you big and swollen with his baby. You'll be his forever. God, only the thought made his body shiver. You'd look even more beautiful this way. Glowing, all because of him. Carrying his heir in that pretty belly of yours. Giving him a family to take care of.

An animalistic growl escaped from deep inside him, and his hips snapped frantically against yours with a newfound purpose now as he smashed his lips with yours, swallowing your whimpers. The kiss was filled with possessiveness as he tried to claim you in every way possible, his tongue slipping into your mouth and tasting you greedily while you tried to keep up with him, every once in a while clashing your teeth together as he rocked your fragile body into the mattress. When he pulled back, a string of your shared saliva connected your lips, and he grinned at you, but in a way that had the hairs on your body stand up.

"Think I know what to do with you, princess. Think I'm gonna get you all knocked up. Yeah. You'd look so pretty like that, you'll be so full of me you won't even be able to walk. And everyone will know, baby... Everyone will know who did that to you. That you're carrying my baby inside of you. Rafe Cameron's baby. My heir."

[0mg-bird]

Hangman’s Mystery - J Seresin x Fem! Reader

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Shy! Fem! Reader

Summary: Jake takes you to meet the crew after claims of him hiding you from them. You’re extremely shy and aren’t a fan of lots of people, making Jake be more protective of you. For once, Rooster knows more about Jake’s life than the others do.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety - protective Jake- Fluff!- language.

“All I’m saying is it’s a little suspicious.” Payback says, opening his locker up. Jake just rolls his eyes, preparing himself to go through this debate one more time.

“I hate to say this, but I agree with him.” Fanboy pipes in, pulling his flight suit off.

Somehow, the conversations lately always turn back to you. Ever since the flight crew found out Jake’s been seeing someone and it wasn’t a casual hook up, they’ve bugged him about it ever since. It had come up one night at the Hard Deck, when Coyote suggested to a perky blonde, who had been hitting on him, to focus her attention on the southern boy who was playing pool. She eyed Jake up, pleased with what was in her gaze and moved in on him.

Some of the boys gathered around to watch the cocky pilot work his magic. Coyote figured he was doing the pilot a favor since he hadn’t been seen with a girl on his arm in a while. Imagine their surprise when Jake took a step away from the grasp on his bicep.

“What’s he doing?” Payback questions, looking appalled.

“Is he sick?” Phoenix asked as she finished her beer.

Jake had smiled politely and rejected all advances the girl made, sending her away and going straight to his pool game again.

By the time Rooster came around with a fresh drink, the group scrambled to fill him in on the alien sight they just witnessed.

“He sent her away.” Phoenix said with a slack jaw.

“Like a poor puppy.” Coyote joked.

Rooster took a swig of his beer, then shrugged like they were idiots. “Yeah, he already has a girl.”

“What?!” They all exclaimed.

Ever since that night a week ago, Jake was being grilled on it.

As he takes out a fresh shirt to slip on, Jake shakes his head. “Coyote is getting married, and y’all are icing me for having commitment?”

Payback nods. “Well that’s because we knew of his fiancée, you have been hiding this girl like a dirty little secret.”

“I think him and Bradshaw are pulling our leg.” Coyote pipes in. “I think he made her up just to fuck with us.”

Jake laughs out loud. “You are just being ridiculous now.”

Bob, who has been quiet the entire time, ‘lurking’ as the crew likes to say, finally uses his smug voice. “Look, Seresin, I get it. I had a fake girlfriend too one time in high school, it’s embarrassing to admit, buddy.” His words make the guys laugh, and Jake shuts his locker with a loud clank. “She’s not fake! She just doesn’t really like hanging out with dick heads like you guys. She’s real shy.” He glares.

“Well, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Fanboy states. “Yeah, we want to meet her. You bring her to the Hard Deck on Friday night if she’s real, or else we will never stop bugging you about it.” He says, giving Jake a harsh choice.

His hand runs down his face. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

“He’ll talk to her about it, he says.” Coyote scoffs. “Okay Seresin, go talk to your fake girlfriend about it.”

“She’s not fake!”

~~~~~~~

“Baby?” He calls, walking through your front door. Moving to set his small duffle bag on the counter, he toes off his boots, trying to place where you were in the sea side house. It was oddly quiet, maybe you had your head phones in, oblivious to the world outside.

Down the hall he goes, pushing open your cracked bedroom door. Your scrubs were tossed in the corner, almost making it into the laundry hamper. You lay sprawled in bed, hair out of your braid, asleep in one of Jake’s t shirts he left at your house and some boxer shorts.

Slowly, he creeps to your side, sitting on the edge of the bed as he strokes your hair. You slowly start to stir, opening your bright eyes to him. A smile creeps up your pink lips, you take a deep breath in and twist to sit up.

“Hi.” You grin, happy he’s here.

“You alright? It’s only five, you look tired.” His voice was calm, sweet to you as he stroked the under side of your chin with his finger.

You rubbed your eyes. “Long day.” You breathe. “Mr. Johnson passed this morning.”

Jake’s eyes grow heavy with sorrow for you. He knew that this was normal for you because you were an at home nurse and a lot of the time the elderly patients pass. “I’m sorry, honey.” He says, leaning to kiss your forehead.

You lean into his touch. “It’s alright, I should be used to it by now but…I don’t know, Mr. Johnson was a sweet man, I actually adored his company.” You softly laugh. “But, that’s life, I’ll be fine.”

Pushing the covers further off of you, you lean forward and sweetly kiss the man that’s been in your life for five months. Despite the somewhat short time period, you couldn’t imagine life being any different than what it is. Your mother and sister called you crazy for being with an aviator, reminding you that he won’t stay in town forever, that he is quite literally owned by the government and will be wherever he is assigned to. The thought was scary, getting so attached to someone just for him leave when his ship comes in. It made your anxiety tick higher when you thought about it for too long. But, you don’t think you’ve ever been this in love. You’ll be the first to admit that you’ve never been a social butterfly, you were stuck in a shell, hardly bothering to get close to new people. Your handful of friends knew this about you, so it was a surprise when they met Jake and all of his infectious attitude. Somehow, Jake had a way of prying that shell open, his strong hands took you off the shelf and he learned that there’s a light hearted, good time, girl under all the shy innocence. He loved you for both versions, and it made you love him even more.

You declared that if you could, you’d follow him anywhere.

As he takes a shower, probably using your shampoo, you move to figure out what it is that you wanted to make for dinner.

You turn on some music, cracking a beer open and taking a drink. Soon, the kitchen is full of a delicious scent that Jake smells all the way from the bedroom. He follows the waft, sweatpants low on his hips and a casual tank top over his upper half. Finding you stirring some vegetables, he kisses the side of your head, then snatches the half drank bottle from your hand. This is usually the routine, you can never finish the drink you intend to, so he’s there to finish it for you.

“I want to…ask you something.” He says, leaning back against the counter.

You hum in question, and he loves the little look you toss him from over your shoulder.

“You wanna go out on Friday night?” He asks, making you smile. “Sure, where do you want to go?” You ask, unsure why he seems off.

“Well, I think since I’ve met your friends, you should meet mine. Let’s go to the Hard Deck with them, honey.”

You immediately stop your movements, anxiety sweeping over you. “Jake…I don’t know…a bar…”

“I met you in a bar.” He reminds with a smug look.

“That was different.” You turn to face him. “I was dragged there for my sister’s twenty first birthday and you know I hated it the whole time.”

He smiles at your pointed look. “Yes, I know but this will be different. Look, we’ll go, say hi, prove you actually exist, then come home and have sex on the couch.”

Your eyes widen. “Jake!” You gasp at his bluntness.

“Fine, we’ll do it in the shower.”

“Just stop talking.” You shake your head, hiding your smile. “The crew really doesn’t think I exist?”

He comes to grips with your waist. “They think I’ve made you up, like some sad Freshman geek…like i’m Bob or something.”

“Who’s Bob?” You ask with confusion.

His head dips to your neck. “Come to the bar and you’ll figure it out.” He mumbles, inhaling your scent before nipping at your skin. It makes you laugh, desperate to push him away but his strong arms have you locked in.

Something about him could make you forget anything. Sadness, anxiety, tiredness…the veggies that are burning in the skillet.

As his mouth moves up your throat, he’s engulfing you like a starved man. You try to speak before he’s inhaling you deeply, pulling you impossibly closer with his mouth on yours, searing you with a kiss that makes your knees weak.

“Jake- baby- mm.” You battle. “Okay, I’ll go with you. Jake- vegetables are charring.”

He finally lets go of you, grinning at your laugh and the way you stumble slightly as he lets you go.

~~

Clammy hands run down your jeans, once, twice, three times before Jake pulls you towards the entrance.

“They’re not gonna like me.” You stress.

“They’ll love you.” He states, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“They’ll be bored of me in two seconds.” You continue.

“No they won’t, just breathe, honey.”

You’re submerged into a room full of talk and music, some rowdy college kids are being thrown out and you’re sure you stepped in a puddle of spilled margarita. Your eyes are wide, and you shift closer into the larger body beside you. Jake leans down to whisper in your ear that it’s calmer in the back.

By the pool table, a group is gathered there and you immediately assume this is the infamous crew.

Phoenix is the first to notice, she smacks Payback and Fanboy, motioning for them to look alive.

“Well well, here he is, the man himself.” Coyote says smugly, setting his pool stick down.

A shorter pilot approaches you. “How much did he pay you to be here?” He asks, confusing you.

“What?”

“Just joking, I’m Reuben, but everyone calls me Payback, and you’re gorgeous.” He takes your hand in greeting, making your face heat with surprise and embarrassment.

Payback is pushed aside, and replaced by another. “I’m Fanboy, his back seater which means he’d be shit outa luck if he didn’t have me saving his ass.”

You shake his hand too, unsure of what to say.

“So, what’s your name? Wait, what was the last one, Jake? Abbi? Alison? Sorry, he has a thing for A names. Your name start with an A?” His tone is teasing, but he’s so straightforward, it makes things awkward.

Jake’s grip tightens on you. “Cut it out, Garcia.” He slowly said with a warning look.

Fanboy puts his hands up in defense. “Just trying to get to know this mystery girl you hid from us, Hangman.” He claims, then goes back to your gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” You say softly, brushing him off.

You’re introduced to more guys, all who make some sort of snide comment about your relationship with Jake, well, except for Bob who was utterly polite. To your surprise, you’re introduced to Natasha greets you with a hug.

“Well, you’re real and not crazy so that’s a plus.” She jokes, making you chuckle. “You want something to drink?” She asks.

“You’re sweet, thank you. I’ll just take a beer, I’m not picky.” You say in a grateful tone, she nods, saying she’ll be right back.

Moving in from outside, Rooster makes his appearance.

“I missed the meet and greet? Damn.” He says, making you turn with a grin.

“Bradley, hi!” You greet, stepping away from Jake’s embrace momentarily. Rooster hugs you politely. “Hey girly, how are you?”

The crew grows a sour look.

“You two already know each other?” Coyote asks.

Rooster nods. “I was there when her and Hangman met.” He says so casually.

“Bradley and Ashley come over for lunch sometimes.” You add, making the group look at each other.

“Does no one tell us anything anymore or…” Bob trails off.

The night continues with chatter and worthless bets on pool shots. At no point does your hand leave Jake, whether it’s intertwined with his or on his arm, his back, your finger hooked on his belt loop, anything. It might make you look needy, but it’s something that eases your nerves.

When you do pull away from him with intention of finding the bathroom, he immediately turns when your warmth is gone.

“Where you goin’?” He questions.

“The ladies room, a place you can’t follow me in to.” You tease, starting to walk away.

He’s eyes scan the room, then watch you closely. He doesn’t miss the amount of guys that turn to watch you, scanning you up and down, definitely making comments about how good you fit in your jeans.

His paranoia gets the better of him, he marches across the bar to the hallway where the restrooms are. Back leaned against the wall, he waits, standing guard, in his mind, but the pilots call him a puppy.

“Mystery girl went and made him a golden retriever.” Payback laughs.

Fanboy nods. “We’ve lost him for good. What’s he gonna do when he leaves next month for Po-dunk, Texas- or wherever he’s from?”

They all watch as you and Jake slowly start to walk back to the group. Rooster, who finishes his beer, simply shrugs and leans to line his pool stick up. “He says he’s gonna take her with him and marry her.”

“What?!”

[starry-bi-sky]

I was actually thinking that Xin Yuan resembled Shen Qingqiu! Same wavelength! I think it'd be so funny if XY had no idea about it up until he actually meets SQQ in person, he's gonna be so insulted. Binghe thought that it was something like an intentional choice on Xin Mo's part, and when he voices this to Xin Yuan, Xin Yuan is appalled.

He doesn't know how this happened but he's blaming Airplane for it. Why did no one tell him he shared a face with the scum villain? No, no, why did no one tell him that the scum villain shared a face with him! He's older, he's existed longer, SQQ is the copycat!

LBH having to play mediator is hysterical. He is the last person who should be preventing his legendary demonic sword from doing a murder on his evil teacher, and yet here he is! Both arms wrapped firmly around Xin Yuan's waist to prevent him from tackling and disemboweling Shen Qingqiu.

SQQ: "Of course the little beast would find someone as beastly as himself to keep company."

LBH: "Hey remind me again, whose the one holding him back from killing you?"

That's a right trash fire happening. Xin Yuan typically tries to keep his grubby corrosive paws off LBH's mind, but when he kicks into a frenzy his control slips. LBH is not having a good time playing peacekeeper.

And yesss, Liu Zhihao!! I love him. He and Xin Yuan were the friends ever. I was very tempted to base him off YQY for the whole 'doomed soulmates' thing and the delicious inverse of roles, where instead of YQY!LZH getting his soul bound to his sword, it was XY instead, and at a much grander scale. But I was on a Liushen kick when I made LZH, so LQG-based he will remain.

Also, if there would ever be a reunion between the two of them post-Xin Mo-ification, the vibes would be the exact same as the "Congratulations, my love!" / "Please, my love!" agathario sound from tiktok.

I think if Xin Yuan's soul hadn't fused with Shā Mó, Liu Zhihao would've eventually kicked down the closet door and they would've ended up together. Either way, there's A Lot Of Feelings between the two of them that still linger even 1000 years later.

Svsss au where Shen Yuan transmigrated as Xin Mo. Yes, that Xin Mo. Obviously Shen Yuan is pissed at this development and tried to kick up a storm but can't because sword so he is stuck waiting for Luo Binghe to show up.

After dealing with the occasional demon and mindless boredom of being just a sword, Binghe shows up. Shen Yuan is just ready to throw himself at him so they can finally get out of the abyss and the rest of the plot to happen. Binghe is surprised to learn the super powerful sword that can rip through time and space is a chill dude that wants Shen Qingqiu's castration a little too much.

Eventually through the power of the system, Soul Eater logic, or straight up complaining to God himself (sqh), Shen Yuan gets the ability to transform into a humanoid form and Luo Binghe officially needs him carnally. Shen Yuan is so happy to have hands again that he totally missed how Binghe was looking at him.

Rest the au goes on with Shen Yuan pushing Binghe to get the plot going, trying to get him to get his empire, revenge, and wives as Binghe is trying to figure out swordception.

[crookedteethed]

18+ - mdni

ᥫ᭡. how the rafe's fuck you.

If I'm being honest, Season One Rafe does not know how to fuck you properly.

Rafe's sexual prowess was lacking in technique and selflessness, his thick cock a mere tool for his own pleasure rather than a passionate conduit for his partner's (your) ecstasy.

With that being said, of course he thinks he's hitting that spot inside of you--I mean, the guys ego is bigger then his dick. And that's saying something.

You bite your lip, stifling a moan - not of pleasure, but of frustration. Rafe's hips snap against yours in a frantic, uneven rhythm as he chases his own release. His eyes are screwed shut, completely oblivious to your unsatisfied state.

"Oh yeah, baby, you feel so good," he grunts, his breath hot against your neck.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Instead, you wrap your legs tighter around his waist, angling your hips in a desperate attempt to get some friction where you need it most. But it's no use. Rafe's too focused on himself to notice your subtle hints.

Just as you're contemplating faking it to get this over with, Rafe lets out a strangled groan. His body tenses, then shudder, and he's coming deep inside of you, and you're still left panting like a bitch because you haven't come yet.

(honorable mentions: When it comes to fucking with season one Rafe, he will refuse to perform any oral on you--he thinks it's gross--this doesn't mean he doesn't expect blow jobs from you, though. Also, in season one, Rafe either pulls off the condom mid-fuck, or forces you to go on birth control just to fuck you raw.) 

Season Two Rafe, on the other hand? That's a whole different story. He just comes across as so fucking reckless when he fucks you, y'know?

He fucks so angry.

He's all raw energy and unbridled passion, like a storm you can't control but can only surrender to. When Rafe's hands are on you, it's electric - every touch sends shockwaves through your body. His kisses are hungry, almost desperate, as if he's trying to devour you whole.

There's an edge of danger to it all, a thrill that makes your heart race. You never quite know what he'll do next - pin you against the wall, throw you onto the bed, or drop to his knees in front of you. That unpredictability is intoxicating.

And when he finally enters you, it's with a forcefulness that takes your breath away. Rafe fucks like a man possessed, all grinding hips and guttural moans. His fingers dig into your flesh, leaving marks you'll find later and trace with a secret smile.

Primarily he still chases his own high, but you can't help but let out a moan or two just by how rough he fucks you. The realization crawled through Rafe's body like a languid, tingling vine, filling him with a desperate craving for more of your euphonious moans.

In Season Three, Rafe is a new man - older, more mature, and eager to please. As he starts to devour your pussy, his experience comes through as a welcomed bonus. His movements are calculated and skillful, his tongue dancing over your sensitive flesh with practiced ease, as he realizes sex is more enjoyable when both parties are having fun.

Rafe's eyes glimmer with a mischievous delight, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches you with anticipation, your body convulsing and your cunt spasming just from his tongue??

It's a big ego booster to Rafe knowing he can do that to your body.

But it's not just his mouth that knows what it's doing now. His hips know how to move, how to find that sweet spot that ignites sparks of pleasure throughout your body. He's learned the power of slow, deep thrusts followed by quick, shallow ones - a combination that never fails to send you into a frenzy.

And it's not just about his dick anymore. Rafe's hands roam your body with purpose, memorizing every curve and eliciting shivers of delight from your skin. His lips are like fire on your skin, leaving a trail of heat wherever they touch - your neck, your breasts, the inside of your thighs.

When he finally sinks into you, it's with a low groan that reverberates through both of your bodies. He watches you closely, taking note of every gasp and moan as he adjusts his rhythm to suit your pleasure.

Like a mirror image of his previous self in season three, Rafe in Season Four is still eager to please both of you. But now, he approaches your pleasure with a gentle touch, taking extra care as he fucks you.

With every thrust, his mind is consumed with thoughts of marrying you, and it only intensifies his desire for you. Every moan and gasp that escapes from your lips only fuels his passion further. He knows that he wants to spend the rest of his life making love to you, and nothing could stop him from doing so.

Every movement, every touch, is charged with an intensity that goes beyond mere physical pleasure. Rafe's hands roam your body with reverent desperation, as if trying to memorize every curve and contour. His lips brush against your neck, your collarbone, whispering promises of forever between heated kisses.

You can feel the change in him, the shift from lover to potential life partner. It's in the way he looks at you, eyes burning with a mixture of lust and something deeper, more profound. It's in the way he holds you closer, as if afraid you might slip away if he loosens his grip even for a moment.

As your bodies move together in perfect synchronicity, you can't help but wonder if this is all happening too fast. Is Rafe really ready for this level of commitment, or is he caught up in his jealousy of Sarah's unexpected pregnancy? The thought flits through your mind, but you find yourself swept up in the passion of the moment, surrendering to the moment, to the electric sensation of Rafe's touch on your bare skin.

as always, reblogs and comments keeps me motivated. 🫶🏾

[gf2bellamy]

excitement — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer visits you in your apartment. he doesn't realize penelope is there too. content warnings: secret relationship ? a/n: i haven't had this much fun writing something in ages - garcia is so much fun to write for

Spencer Reid was practically buzzing with excitement. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he walked down the street, clutching a book he'd been waiting months to get his hands on.

But what thrilled him even more than the book itself was where he was headed—and who he was about to see. 

You. 

You were his favorite person in the world, the one who made the chaos of his job and his overactive mind feel calm, centered, and safe.

Tonight, he planned to settle into your cozy apartment, his head in your lap, your fingers combing through his hair, while he read the book he’d ordered ages ago. The thought alone was enough to make his steps quicken. 

Spencer’s long legs carried him up the stairs to your apartment, his mind preoccupied with his excitement to tell you all about his book. When he reached your door, he pulled out the key you'd given him months ago—a small gesture that still warmed his heart whenever he thought about it—and let himself in. 

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely registered anything else. Such as Penelope's shoes at the door or her jacket.

A soft hum escaped his lips as he closed the door behind him, kicking it shut gently with his foot. 

Spencer took off his shoes, leaving them by the door , same with his jacket. He moved with a deliberate quietness, tiptoeing toward the kitchen. A soft smile danced on his lips as he peeked around the corner, watching you stand there with your back to him. 

Without hesitation, he stepped closer and slid his arms gently around your waist from behind, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. His touch was warm and familiar, showing how much he had missed you. 

“Hi,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of affection. 

You jumped at the sudden contact, startled, your body going stiff as a flicker of panic surged through you. 

“Spencer, wait—” you started, your voice just above a whisper, but he was gazing at you with that sweet, boyish smile that always made your heart stutter. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his expression soft and utterly oblivious to your alarm. 

You stared at him, momentarily distracted by how happy he looked. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the adoration in his gaze—it made your mind go blank for a second. 

“Hi,” he repeated softly, leaning in to nuzzle his face against your cheek. 

And then it hit you again. Oh, no. 

“Spencer,” you hissed, your voice dropping to a sharp whisper as you heard a faint noise from the other room. 

“What?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Penelope is here,” you whispered urgently, your hands moving to grip his forearms. 

His entire body tensed as the words sank in. “What?” he asked again, his voice an octave higher this time, his expression shifting from confusion to alarm. 

“Yes,” you whispered , glancing nervously toward the living room. “She’s here. She’s in the other room!” 

For a split second, Spencer froze, and you could feel the wave of panic rolling through him. His arms slackened slightly, his gaze darting between you and the doorway.

“You didn’t mention she’d be here tonight!” he whispered back, his voice tinged with borderline panic. 

“I wasn’t expecting you so early!” you shot back, keeping your voice low. 

He stared at you, wide-eyed, and for a moment, you were pretty sure this was one of the rare instances where Spencer Reid was completely speechless.

His mouth opened as if to say something, but nothing came out. 

Another noise from the living room broke the tense silence, and you immediately wriggled out of his touch, your mind racing for a solution. 

“Just say you came to, uh…” you started, your voice trailing off as you tried to conjure up an excuse. 

“Give you a book,” Spencer interjected suddenly, his voice quiet but urgent. He held up the hardcover like it was a golden ticket. “I got the book I told you about. I wanted to read it here, actually.” 

You noticed the way he scratched the back of his head nervously. It was so endearing, your heart ached a little. He’d clearly been looking forward to spending the evening with you. 

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your lips curling into an apologetic smile as you reached out to brush your fingers lightly against his arm. “I promise, you’ll get to read it soon.” 

“With you,” he added quickly, his eyes meeting yours. 

“With me,” you confirmed, the tenderness in his gaze making you momentarily forget about the storm brewing in the next room. 

And then Penelope’s voice rang out from the living room: 

“Why do you have two toothbrushes in here?” 

Both of you froze. Spencer’s eyes widened comically, and you watched as a flash of panic spread across his face. 

You stifled a laugh, your shoulders shaking slightly at his frantic attempt to keep it together.

Meanwhile, Penelope’s footsteps grew louder. 

“Just… stay calm,” you whispered, biting your lip to keep from giggling outright. “Stay calm?” Spencer whispered back, clutching the book like a shield. “She’s about to start connecting the dots, and you want me to stay calm?” 

Before you could respond, Penelope’s voice cut through the silence once again. 

“I require an answer—” she started, but the rest of her words caught in her throat the moment her eyes landed on Spencer standing there, wide-eyed and awkward. 

“Well, hello there,” she said, her expression shifting into a sly smile as she tilted her head. 

Spencer froze like a deer in headlights, his grip on the book tightening. Meanwhile, you stood rooted to the spot, trying to keep your own expression neutral, though your mind was scrambling for a way to diffuse the situation. 

“I—uh—I came here to drop off a… book,” Spencer stammered, holding up the hardcover like it was an offering of peace. 

Penelope arched an eyebrow, her smile widening as she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway. “How thoughtful of you, Doctor Reid,” she said, her tone dripping with playful suspicion. “I assume this was a very urgent delivery, considering you brought it over in person and not, you know, gave it to her tomorrow. At work.” 

Spencer blinked, clearly flustered, and glanced at you for help. You, however, couldn’t suppress a small grin as you watched this unfold. 

“It’s, uh… a very special book,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “Rare. Hard to find. I thought she’d appreciate it sooner rather than later.” 

Penelope’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she stepped a little closer, clearly enjoying how nervous he was. “Uh-huh,” she said slowly, her gaze flicking between the two of you. “And how long were you planning on staying for this… literary exchange?” 

“Not long!” Spencer blurted out, his voice a bit too loud. “I was just… going to, uh…” 

You bit back a laugh as you saw the panic flood his face. Spencer was completely unraveling under Penelope’s relentless curiosity, and you figured it was time to step in. 

“Pen,” you interrupted, holding up a hand to stop her. “Stop torturing him. He did just come by to drop off a book. Isn’t that right, Spence?” 

“Y-yes,” Spencer stammered, nodding furiously. 

“Perfect,” you said smoothly, placing a hand on his arm and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Spencer, why don’t you just go put the book in my room?” 

His eyes flicked to yours, and he nodded again, clearly grateful for the lifeline. Without another word, he hurried down the hallway toward your room, clutching the book.

As soon as Spencer disappeared down the hallway, Penelope turned back to you, her grin widening, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. 

“Spencer is here,” she stated flatly, her smile never wavering. 

“I’m very aware of that,” you replied, giving her a pointed look. You tried your best to keep your composure, but the urge to nervously tap your fingers on the counter was almost overwhelming.Something about Penelope's tone was starting to make you uneasy, and you were unsure of what direction this was going. 

“He’s in your home,” she added again, this time stretching out the words like they were some sort of grand revelation. 

“Pen,” you said slowly, raising an eyebrow as you turned to face her. Your confusion was now shifting into something else.The two cups of tea you’d made earlier sat forgotten on the counter. 

You heard Spencer’s footsteps approaching from the hallway, and as he rounded the corner back into the kitchen, Penelope’s eyes followed him like a hawk, never missing a beat. 

“And he knows where your room is,” she added, her grin spreading wider than ever. 

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you were pretty sure you and Spencer came to the same realization at the exact same time. 

Penelope had caught you. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you watched Spencer freeze mid-step, his expression going blank as his eyes flicked to Penelope, and then back to you. There was no hiding it now. 

You could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind. 

“Penelope” you started, but the words caught in your throat as you tried to process everything in a split second. 

You turned to Spencer, locking eyes with him, silently begging him to help you come up with something—anything that could smooth this over. But Spencer just stood there, wide-eyed and frozen, clearly as baffled as you were.

Before either of you could find an excuse, Penelope let out an ear-piercing screech, making you flinch and almost slap your hands over your ears. 

“Oh my god!” she yelled, practically vibrating with excitement as she realized what your silence meant. She started hopping up and down. “I’m so happy for you!” 

“Penelope—” you tried again, your voice edged with panic, but she wasn’t listening. 

“Oh my god,” she repeated, this time slower, her tone laced with dramatic revelation. Her hand shot out, pointing directly at Spencer like she’d just solved a crime. 

“You!” she exclaimed, her eyes darting back and forth between the two of you. “Do you… live here?” 

You and Spencer both froze, exchanging a quick, panicked glance. Before either of you could deny it, Penelope’s eyes widened. 

“There were two toothbrushes,” she said, gasping like she’d just remembered something crucial. “Oh my god.” Her voice grew louder, each word building with excitement. “You live here!” 

“Penelope, no, it’s not like—” you started, holding your hands out in a desperate attempt to calm her down, but she barreled right over your words. 

“Don’t even try to deny it!” she nearly shouted, spinning around to face Spencer again.

Spencer, who had been awkwardly clutching his book to his chest like a shield, took a small step back as if he could physically escape Penelope’s relentless questioning. “I… I don’t live here,” he stammered weakly, though even he sounded unconvinced. 

Penelope narrowed her eyes at him, a grin still plastered across her face. “Uh-huh. Sure. That’s why there are two toothbrushes in the bathroom. Oh! And don’t think I didn’t notice the extra pair of shoes by the door. Size 10 men’s, Spence!” 

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead as you felt your face flush with heat. This wasn’t just a confrontation anymore—this was a full-blown exposé. 

Penelope narrowed her eyes at you, her mind clearly racing as she tried to piece everything together. “How long has this been going on? How did I miss this? I mean, I am the queen of observation and gossip, and somehow you two snuck this right under my nose?” She started rambling, her words spilling out faster than either of you could respond. 

You shot a desperate look at Spencer, silently pleading for backup, but he just stood there wide-eyed.

Realizing you were on your own, you sighed and grabbed one of the tea cups sitting on the counter. It was lukewarm at best, but you needed something to focus on before Penelope’s intensity made your head spin. 

“Okay, come on,” you said, cutting through her rambling as gently as you could. You gestured toward the counter and guided her to sit on one of the stools. She followed you without protest, though she kept muttering under her breath, her curiosity clearly not yet satisfied. 

Spencer hovered behind you like an awkward shadow, his book still clutched to his chest like a lifeline. 

Penelope took the tea you handed her, sipping it absentmindedly. Her face scrunched slightly at the taste—it was cold and bitter by now—but she was too busy overthinking to notice or care. 

Spencer leaned down slightly, his lips brushing close to your ear as he whispered, “Is she… okay?” 

You fought back a laugh, biting your lip to suppress the grin that threatened to spread across your face. Tilting your head just enough to glance back at him over your shoulder, you whispered, “I think she’s broken.” 

A soft laugh escaped Spencer, his smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he looked at you, his expression so warm and full of affection that your heart skipped a beat. 

Before you could get lost in the moment, a loud, happy sigh broke the bubble around you both. 

The two of you snapped your attention back to Penelope, who was now sitting with her elbows propped on the counter, her chin resting in her hands as she gazed at you with a dreamy, contented smile. 

“I knew it,” she declared, her voice brimming with satisfaction. “I knew there was something between you two. But this… this is better than anything I could have imagined. It’s like a rom-com came to life right in front of me.”  

Spencer scratched the back of his neck, his face flushing an impressive shade of pink. “I don’t think it’s as dramatic as you’re making it sound,” he said awkwardly. 

Penelope gasped theatrically, pointing a finger at him. “That’s where you’re wrong, Doctor Reid. This is exactly as dramatic as I’m making it sound. I mean, look at you two! It’s disgustingly adorable. I don’t even care that you didn’t tell me sooner. I forgive you, because this—” she gestured wildly between the two of you, “—was worth the wait.” 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing as Spencer shifted uncomfortably, clearly unsure of how to respond to her enthusiasm. 

“This has been a wonderful night,” she said dramatically, clasping her hands together like she was narrating a fairytale. 

“Penelope,” you said, finally admitting defeat, “you cannot tell anyone.” 

Her expression shifted to an exaggerated pout, her brow furrowing as she looked between you and Spencer. You could feel his hand settle on the small of your back. 

“But why?” she whined, her tone bordering on indignant. “This is huge! People need to know about this. Do you realize how many people on the team have been secretly hoping for this to happen?” 

You sighed, glancing at Spencer for support. He gave you a small shrug, clearly as stumped as you were. 

“It’s… it’s just that we’d prefer to keep this private for now,” you explained, trying to sound firm but gentle. 

“Exactly,” Spencer echoed softly, speaking for the first time since Penelope had pieced everything together. 

Her gaze flicked to him, and for a moment, her excitement dimmed slightly. She studied the two of you, her expression softer now, almost understanding. 

“Okay,” she muttered, though it was clear she wasn’t thrilled. “Fine. I won’t say anything. For now.” 

You let out a small breath of relief, but it was short-lived as she hopped off the counter with a dramatic flourish. “Well, you two lovebirds have a beautiful evening,” she said, her voice sing-songy again as she grabbed her bag. 

“Penelope, hey—wait,” you called after her, guilt creeping in. “You don’t have to leave.” 

She stopped mid-step, turning back to look at you with raised eyebrows. “Oh, I definitely do,” she said, waving a finger in the air. “Because if I stay, I’ll just end up asking a million more questions or texting Derek, and you specifically told me not to do that. So, for the sake of your precious privacy, I’m going to remove myself from the situation.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but she cut you off with a knowing smile. “It’s fine,” she said softly, her tone genuine now. “I’ll leave you two alone. But just so you know, I’m very happy for you. And I mean that.” 

Spencer gave her a small smile. “Thanks, Penelope.” 

She beamed at him before turning back to you. “Oh, and one more thing—if you two keep this a secret forever, I will be mad. Just putting that out there.” 

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Noted.” 

She practically skipped to the wardrobe by the door. Both you and Spencer followed her, Spencer instinctively reaching for her jacket before she could even ask. 

“Thank you, loverboy,” she said with a teasing lilt as she accepted the jacket from him. Spencer’s ears turned a vivid shade of red, the flush creeping all the way up his neck. 

You couldn’t help but smile at the interaction, the fondness in your expression impossible to hide. Lightly squeezing Spencer’s hand, you felt his fingers tighten around yours in response. 

Penelope caught the moment, her grin widening as she shrugged on her jacket. “Oh, you two are going to kill me with how cute you are. I swear, I’m going to need to schedule a therapy session after this—just to process the sheer amount of joy.” 

As she finished putting on her shoes, she looked up at the two of you, her expression turning more serious. “But really—thank you for letting me in on this, even if it wasn’t exactly intentional.” 

You smiled warmly at her, wanting to make up for the messed up night. “How about we do this tomorrow?” you suggested, hoping to ease her disappointment at cutting the night short. 

Penelope’s eyes lit up instantly. “Oh, yes! I’m going to need all the details. No sparing me the juicy bits, okay?” she said, pointing a playful finger at you. 

“Totally,” you replied with a small laugh, glad to see her mood lift again. 

“Well, I’m off now,” she announced dramatically, stepping toward you with open arms. You hugged her tightly, murmuring another soft, “Sorry,” into her shoulder. 

“Oh, stop that,” she chided gently, pulling back to give you a reassuring smile. Then, turning to Spencer, she reached out to lightly squeeze his arm. “And you,” she added with a teasing grin, “take care of our girl.” 

Spencer flushed, the tips of his ears turning pink, but he managed a small, shy smile. “I will,” he said softly, his voice sincere. 

Satisfied, Penelope gave a little wave as she turned to the door. “Goodnight, lovebirds! And don’t forget—I’m expecting details tomorrow.” 

“Goodnight, Penelope,” you both called after her in unison. 

As soon as the door clicked shut, you and Spencer turned to face each other, locking eyes for a brief moment before bursting into laughter.

“We are so dead,” you said between chuckles, shaking your head. 

“She’s going to tell everyone,” Spencer added, though his tone wasn’t nearly as panicked as before. 

You looked at him, your smile softening as the laughter subsided. “How about you go grab your book?” you suggested, tilting your head toward the hallway. 

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He spun on his heel and practically bolted to your room, moving so quickly it was almost comical. You let out another small chuckle, shaking your head fondly as you made your way to the couch. 

Settling down into your usual spot, you pulled a throw blanket over your legs and adjusted the cushions, making yourself comfortable. Moments later, Spencer returned, his book clutched in one hand. He stood there for a moment, looking at you with a contented smile, as though this quiet, simple moment was all he needed. 

“Come here,” you said gently, patting your lap. 

He didn’t need to be told twice. Spencer crossed the room and settled onto the couch, stretching out and laying his head in your lap. Your fingers found their way to his hair instinctively, weaving through the soft strands in a familiar, soothing motion. 

This was your routine, one you’d both fallen into, it felt like second nature. Spencer opened his book, the faint rustle of the pages filling the quiet space. 

After a few minutes, you broke the quiet. “Are you mad about Pen finding out?” you asked softly, your fingers brushing gently through his hair, pushing back the curls that had fallen into his eyes. 

“What? No,” he replied, tilting his head slightly to look up at you, his gaze full of warmth. 

You smiled at his response, but his curious expression prompted him to ask, “Why? Is it upsetting you?” 

You shook your head, a quiet laugh escaping as you glanced down at him. “No, no. Just a bit worried about how obvious she’s going to be when we get back to work,” you admitted, shifting your gaze to the wall in front of you as your fingers continued their soothing path through his hair. 

Spencer gently touched your wrist, his fingers warm against your skin. “Well, she’s gonna be plenty obvious, but is that really such a bad thing?” he asked, his voice soft but thoughtful. He paused for a moment before adding, “I mean… I wouldn’t mind if they knew about us.” 

His words made you stop for a second, and you looked down at him, your smile widening. “You wouldn’t?” you asked, surprised but clearly pleased by his honesty. 

“No,” he said, his voice quiet. Finally, he met your gaze, and there was a vulnerability in his eyes that made your heart flutter. 

You resumed your gentle motions in his hair, feeling comforted by his sincerity. “Well, in that case,” you murmured, “tell me about your book.” 

And just like that, the shift in conversation had Spencer smiling like a child, his excitement clear as he started to rave about it, his voice animated and his eyes lighting up. You couldn’t help but smile at how easily he could lose himself in something that made him happy. 

You listened intently, absently running your fingers through his hair as he spoke, savoring this little piece of your routine with him.

[acid-ixx]

— related post !

socialite! (secret himbo/bimbo) reader who takes one look at bruce wayne in a gala and you decide you'll use your (dumbass) alluring charms on the man to spend a night with him and it ends up successful. you had the best bed-breaking sex in your life, never once questioning all the taut muscle underneath his polished thousand-dollar suit; now crumpled by how handsy you were taking off his clothes. he was great with aftercare, too, carrying you off to one of his luxury bathtubs to bathe you and leave even more marks on the expanse of your back whilst massaging your naked body (you didn't even think for a second at the romantic implications his actions had).

then you're at one of luthor's galas the next time, being interviewed by this cute man with eyeglasses, who calls himself clark kent, with the cutest country-boy accent, who looks too tall to act all lanky, but you're not one to judge. you take one look at his baggy suit, ignore the pen and paper in his hands and drag him off to one of the spare janitorial rooms to have, quite possibly, the most pleasurable quickie you've ever had spent inside a cramped closet, your sweat sliding off each other as your bodies move in a harmonious tandem. you give him a kiss on his collar right after the momentary sex, and giggle at the skittish blush dispersing on his face, as if he didn't just give you a reason to go home early due to the limp on your step.

after everything, they were buried in the back of your mind. they were great fucks, yes, you never had a moment of horny zenith not until you met them, yes; but your relationship (if you could even call it that) with both men were purely sexual and a one-time thing. you never really thought of them, you prioritize your social life and reputation above all else, not your coster of other rich people you've slept with.

but one day, you see both in the same room as you in another gala. you're oblivious to the sets of eyes hungrily taking you in, or how quickly they shove off other people just to move closer the moment their attention land on you. you take a look at the two men, biting your lips whilst your eyes devour the memory of their muscled pecs squished between your index and middle finger, and their thick thighs pistoning you back and forth, all hidden under all the clothes covering their body; and whisper not-so silently:

"i can take them both, not in a fight."

sadly, you'll never know that they're both at each other's throats after hearing your confession, ready to take each other in a fight if it meant having you in their arms once more. you'll never know just how bruce managed to throw in a microchip in your bag before you're escorted home by his limousine, or how clark watched your sleeping body in your apartment as superman just to make sure you slept well after he pounded you to oblivion in that closet.

all you'll know is that you're going to score them into fucking you once more either way. after all, if they're both the best choices when it comes to pinning you down and going crazy on your body, then you'll do anything to achieve that aching goal with the both of best worlds.

you're unaware that they'd do the same thing for you, though. but it's not out of the intentions to merely sleep with you, no. they're also planning to find a pathway into your heart while at it.

so... welp, guess that's just an added list of all the other suitors you had fighting over the chance of having another night with you.

a/n: gender-neutral reader. no bodily gender mentioned at all. this is purely sexual content with some plot. i blame my irl best friend for this (the single dialogue was me thirsting over the characters through our chats). yes, i post this after posting angst. am i shameless? also yes.

[skyrigel]

Simon ‘ghost’ Riley Masterlist

Serial killer!Simon x fem!reader [ 18+] violence, gore themes, sexual themes, possesive!ghost, blood.

Simon gets a call from sleepy!gf while he's at work.

Simon comes home to you, with bruised knuckles and a heavy smug grin.

Simon loves you but he has his own secrets, like the man in the basement.

Miserable! Simon Riley meets sweet! Missus

Clingy! Simon Riley wants your attention

Shy! Simon Riley meets pretty! missus.

Period rambling: Simon being best bf

Take a look at my gf trend with Simon [ 18+]

Simon who takes care of himself for you

Biker! Simon x wife!reader having riding lessons [ 18+ ]

Simon doesn't give a fuck but for you, he's a mother hen

Simon Riley and how I met your mother [ 18+]

Simon discovers Mrs.Riley's choking kink [18+]

Mrs. Riley is such a tease in her red dress, Simon teaches a lesson [ 18+ ]

Simon who can't say no to you

Simon being Sweetheart and Mrs. Riley being drunk in love ( crack drabble <3 )

Brother's best friend! Simon x f! reader [ 18+] one para → pinked

Simon who doesn't want a relationship but for you he might try

Simon who says no attachment... until you're sick [ Suggestive themes so 18+ ??? ]

Grim Reaper! Simon Riley x f! Reader

Drabble 1: Simon wants attention

Drabble 2: Who's the clingy one ?

Stay with me [ 18+ ] [implied safeword uses ]

Sleeping beauty [ 18 + ] Somnophilia

Bet it does [ 18+] [ Overstimulation]

Period rambling again: soft! Simon

Simon who lives alone, reader who wouldn't leave him alone ://

Omega!reader makes a nest

Driving Simon crazy by saying his name[18+]

First kiss with Simon ft. Asshole ex

Shower sex with Simon [18+]

Simon who wants only you [ suggested themes ]

Sarcastic Simon x nurse!reader

Good night thought: best moment of his life

Giving Simon handjob [ 18+]

Simon who blushes

Oblivious! Simon and oblivious! Reader

Retired! Simon and neighbour! Reader

Non English! Reader and Simon (✿⁠)

Reversed trope: possessive reader

Back to Navi

If you like my work, please reblog my masterlist<3

© All rights reserved to @skyrigel, I do not grant any permissions to translate, copy or plagiarise my work on other sites. Please write your own.

[yanderedrabbles]

THE SINNERS WELCOME YOU TW: noncon and yanderes ahead

Hi! I'm val and this is where you can find everything I've written. Maybe bring protection? These boys are not nice.

Requests: closed for now

Current Anons: 🍪, 🐰, ♥️, 🐧, 🧷, 📌, 📮, ⚙ 🤖, 🍯, 🦚, 💵, ⭐, 💗, 🌙, 🐳, 💣 ,🌷

What I won't write about: pregnancy

Art & Doodles

Yandere Witch: She adores anything cute and turns you into a plushy just to cuddle.

You on a shelf You getting cuddles

Yandere Fairytales

Dark and sinful, these stories are from a time long ago. When the gods still walked the earth and when monsters wore the skin of men and when a bride could still be built out of wishes and blood.

In a time and place far, far away...

The North Wind fell in love

A sorcerer turned a witch wicked

Drabbles, Imagines & Oneshots

Yandere Private Military Contractor [noncon] He's got the skill and the connections to keep you all to himself. It doesn't matter if you want it or not.

Creepy best friend: Who loves it when you get all sleepy around them.

Yandere Days of the week: Seven yanderes with seven equally dangerous ways of loving you.

Nice Guy Yanderes: And all the reasons you shouldn't trust them.

Superstitious: Drabble about needy and superstitious yanderes.

Not so honourable after all: Drabble about princes and heroes with rotten hearts.

Yandere Actor: The Golden Age of Hollywood. Stars are born every day and you're desperate to become one.

Yandere Yakuza: When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out.

Yandere Bisexual Best Friend: He just wants what's best for you. If he has to tell a few white lies now and again, then so be it.

Come for me: Drabble about yanderes who force pleasure on you for their own sick enjoyment.

Yandere Pirate Captain [dubcon] A naive aristocrat's daughter, you're crossing the Atlantic in a heavily guarded ship. Pirates assume guns and guards mean treasure but when all they find is you, they decide to make the best of their luck.

Yandere Werewolf: There's something terrorising your town every full moon. And a stroke of bad luck has you running into it more than once.

Yandere Sugar Daddy: Money can't buy love, but maybe it doesn't have to.

Yandere Cyberpunk Mercenary: A ruthless mercenary and you, his spoilt little prize.

Letters from a Yandere Vampire: A handsome stranger seems intent on courting you but his letters hide a darker secret.

The worst sort: Drabble about the most sleazy and perverted type of yandere.

Cheat on me please: Your boyfriend just won't let you break up.

Lovesick Dogs: Drabble about poor fools who love like wretched dogs.

Yandere Mobster: Chicago - 1931 The Height of Prohibition The mafia is earning top dollar smuggling alcohol into the country. And one mobster has his eye on you.

You wouldn't reject him, would you?

Yandere Gladiator: A man can become a god in the arena. But all he fights for is you.

Yandere Cyberpunk Riot Control Officer [noncon] There's nothing he hates more than degenerates and rioters. When he gets his hands on, he's going to pound some law and order into you.

Cyberpunk Yanderes: A little drabble about neon soaked streets and criminals with their eye on you.

Cyberpunk Yanderes with an oblivious country Darling

Yandere Greek Champion x Priestess Reader [noncon] He was chosen by the Gods to slaughter, to strike down all who stand against him. Your city has fallen at last and he has come to claim his prize.

Exploring his villa Finding you asleep

Yandere Stalker/Cop: A vicious stalker has been terrorising you for months. Luckily, your friendly neighbourhood cop is around to comfort you.

Yandere Apocalypse Survivor: The world you know is dead and gone. And he's the only reason you're still alive.

Yandere Soldier [noncon] He knows what he's doing is wrong, but if he closes his eyes, he can convince himself that your muffled cries are moans for him to keep going.

Yandere Soldier - Stockholm Syndrome: It was bound to happen eventually, right?

Softcore Yandere Boyfriend: A guy who has every yandere urge in the book and is trying very hard to be normal about it.

Yandere Boyfriend Surprise Party: How does your Yandere! Boyfriend react when you start acting distant and keeping secrets from him? Yandere Boyfriend as a husband: He might be jealous of the kids but shhh. Way of the yandere house husband: More things your hubby does for you. Yandere Boyfriend as a gym buddy: You're his favourite kind of cardio. Yandere Boyfriend x Coquette Reader: You can put bows on him if you ask nicely.

Yandere Cowboy [noncon] He just wants a roll in the hay. It doesn't matter if he has to hold you down to get it.

Yandere Cowboy - Proposal: Does he ever learn to be sweet with you? Yandere Cowboy - Jealousy: You're his girl and he ain't gonna stand around and let some other bastard steal you away. Picking wild flowers with him If you try running away before your wedding

Yandere Cop [noncon] All you want is to get home after a midnight shift and relax. But a State Trooper pulling you over on an isolated stretch of road is more than you bargained for.

Yandere Cop - Baby Trapped: You're stuck in a position where you just can't say no anymore.

Yandere Ganster x Mafia Boss Reader: He's your loyal dog. Now and always.

Yandere Ganster - Jealousy: For the first time, he sees you be physical with another man. And he's trying his hardest not to punch the bastard right in the mouth. Yandere Ganster - Rainy Days: After a difficult job, he comes back soaked and shivering. Naturally, you think of a few ways to warm him up.

Yandere Desert Bandit [dubcon] When planning to cross the desert, all travellers are warned about the bandits. Heartless, they're called. Brutal. Inhuman. So why has one of them fallen in love with you?

Yandere Desert Bandit - Aftermath: Son of the sand, his touch isn't gentle. But perhaps he can learn. Will he ever be a father? Would he honour his word?

Yandere Incubus x Nun Reader [noncon] A new priest had joined your convent and you can't help the sinful thoughts you have about him.

Yandere Academic Rival: He'll do whatever it takes to be the best.

The Yandere Boys

Who's your yandere soulmate? [Quiz - coming soon] Their favourite positions Their kinks What are their homes like? What do they look like? When you're sick/hurt yourself Which Yandere boy is the most manipulative? If you cheat on them Their body preferences If you refuse to eat If you try and leave them If you're bisexual Yandere Christmas Special What sort of cars do they drive? Who is the cruelest? Who is the kindest? What kind of clothing do they find provocative? Would they ever share you with someone else? Yandere Valentine's Special Would they consider someone else noncon-ing you to be cheating?

Misery - a short story [in progress]

Based on Misery by Stephen King

Stuck in the mountains, you foolishly decide to drive through a blizzard. The man that drags you from your wrecked car brings you to his cabin and patches you up. But as the snow piles up outside, you start to suspect that your rescuer's intentions may be far from pure.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Upcoming Works

Yandere Roommates [dubcon] With your boss mysteriously firing you and your job applications getting lost in the mail, it's no surprise that you can't afford rent this month. Lucky for you, your roommates have a very generous offer.

Yandere Wild West Sheriff: Ain't you just the sweetest lil thing?

Yandere Dictator:  He's a high ranking member of the ruling party, with all the wealth and power denied to the working class. And when he says he wants you, that's exactly what he gets.

Dairy of a Vampire:  You've found a strange book in your husband's library, and on closer inspection, realise every entry is all about you. [Sequel to Letters from a Yandere Vampire]

Yandere Aztec Warrior x Āhuiyani Reader:  His body is sworn to war and yours to pleasure. How strange, that you find comfort in each other.

Yandere Sugar Baby:  It's not uncommon for a wealthy, older woman to take a younger lover. But the way he looks at you isn't normal at all.

Yandere Witch Hunter x Witch Reader: In a last ditch effort to save yourself from execution, you cast a love spell on the town's witch hunter.

Yandere Aliens [noncon] Human women are the most prized slaves in the galaxy, and when your ship crashes on an unknown planet, it's inhabitants are keen to find out why.

Yandere Southern Gothic Cowboy: He doesn't come to church and you never see him out in the sun. Who exactly is this stranger?

Yandere Rockstar: He's a rockstar punk who wants to fight the whole damn world. But all his songs seem to be about one special person.

Yandere Dragon x Princess Reader: This fairytale isn't what you expect.

Yandere Slasher [noncon] With all your friends dead and no way to escape, you offer the killer something else in exchange for your life.

Yandere Ex-boyfriend [noncon] You wake up to a ship over five hundred million kilometres away from your home planet and an ex desperate to prove his love.

Yandere Pirate x Mermaid Reader: You've seen her time and time again, leaning against the stern and staring out at the horizon. She always seems so melancholic. Maybe a song will help?

Yandere Soulmate: So what if you don't always get along? So what if he leaves bruises on bad days? You're meant to be his and he's not letting you go.

Yandere Firefighter: You owe him your life. Aren't you going to repay that debt?

Yandere Stripper: Beautiful, confident, deadly. When she says she wants you, she won't take no for an answer.

Devil Dogs always bite: A green card marriage to a US Marine ends badly. [omegaverse]

[sincerelyneo]

i wanna be yours | p.js

“secrets i have held in my heart are harder to hide than i thought”

💿now playing: i wanna be yours by arctic monkeys

❯ summary: Jisung has known for years that his best friend, Chenle’s, sister is his. So there’s no way he’s going to sit back and watch another man touch you—especially not now, when he’s already had a taste of you.

❯ pairings: jisung x fem!reader

❯ genre: smut, brother’s best friend

❯ words: 3.8k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, swearing, marking, possessiveness, unprotected sex (don’t do this), dirty talk, fingering, manhandling, jealousy, slightly toxic, praise, squirting, creampies, jisung has something to prove, arguing, older reader, jisung just being jealous and obsessive for almost 4k words

an: first post of 2025 and it’s an idea that i started writing on the bus lol. (also i’m a firm believer of the jisung is very possessive and clingy agenda)

Jisung could sit here and lie, say that the only reason he’s white-knuckling his fist right now is because he’s protective of you. He could lie and say that he’s just worried about the guy who’s currently got his arm around your waist because you’re his best friend’s sister. He could lie and say he’s just concerned—but he’s not.

He’s jealous.

So fucking jealous.

But he has no right to be. You’re Chenle’s older sister. You can handle yourself—you’ve told him that plenty of times, mocking him with that stupid fucking ‘Jisungie’ nickname you used to call him when you were all just kids.

And still, he watches the way you laugh at something the guy says, your head tilting back just enough to make his chest burn. He knows that laugh. He’s heard it a thousand times before, he loves it, but tonight, it feels different—feels wrong. Your laugh is not meant for this guy. It’s not meant for anyone else but him for that matter. 

Jisung knows he should look away before it becomes too obvious—obvious that he likes you, obvious that he's jealous, obvious that he can’t get you out of his head. But that’s hard to do when just ten minutes ago he had you pressed up against the wall of your childhood room—the same wall you share with Chenle—his cock pounding into you from behind without mercy, and you’d let him. Loved it.

How can he stay composed when that asshole has his hand on his girl’s—Chenle’s sister’s—waist? Jisung jolts as he hears his teeth grind together—fuck, was that his jaw clenching? Safe to say he’s passed subtlety. 

He sucks in a breath. This is Chenle’s birthday party, stop thinking about his sister you idiot. 

Actually, fuck that. 

Because why is that stranger’s hand moving up your thigh so easily? Why does your breath hitch when he leans in closer? Call him toxic; he doesn’t care. But Jisung wishes he hadn’t let you put your panties back on, so that asshole could see—no, feel—his cum dripping out of you as his hand traces your thigh right now.

He scoffs and nurses his drink. Keep calm, it’s Chenle’s birthday. 

Speak of the devil—almost on cue, Jisung feels his best friend slap him on the shoulders with a shout. He glances over his shoulder to see Chenle, clearly drunk, and while he usually hates dealing with his wild, inebriated antics, he appreciates that his best friend is oblivious to the way Jisung is currently eyeing his older sister tonight.

He settles into the empty seat next to Jisung with a grunt. “Y/N forgot my cake. One job that girl had,” Chenle shakes his head, guzzling down the last of his beer before grabbing another and cracking it open.

“She was probably preoccupied,” Jisung shrugs, trying to dismiss any thought of you from his mind. He doesn’t exactly know the right way to tell his friend that his sister was too busy being preoccupied on his cock, and that’s why she forgot his birthday cake. 

Chenle scoffs, “She’s always preoccupied. Look at her,” he gestures toward you. “I think I heard her with that guy earlier. Traumatizing.” He visibly shakes and squeezes his eyes shut.

“It wasn’t him,” Jisung growls.

Chenle swats his hand in the air, already halfway through that new beer bottle. “Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t matter who it was, still traumatizing.”

Jisung nods and purses his lips. But to him, it does matter because it was him. Him who made you pant so desperately, him who filled you so completely that your legs wobbled, and he had to hold you steady, his fingertips imprinted into your hips. Him who made you cum. Him. Always him. And right now, he wanted to make sure that it was only him. 

The sound of Chenle snoring in the seat next to him pulls Jisung from his thoughts and back to where he feels most at home—you. He swears he could find you in seconds; you’re like a magnet, an obsession in his mind. You’re all he can think about, all he’s ever been able to think about, and now that he’s had you, he’s never you letting go. Call him a maniac.

With Chenle undoubtedly crashed out, his eyes find you and the sight of you leaning in closer to that guy, lips almost touching, ignites a fire in him. He sees red—hot, undeniable crimson. Without a thought, he storms over. That’s not true, he’s been thinking about it for the past twenty minutes. 

“Y/N!” he calls out, but not to get your attention, to stop your lips connecting with that asshole, who Jisung is certain he’d be able to take in a fight. 

You turn, surprise flickering in those pretty eyes he loves, and that’s all it takes for Jisung to reach you. He steps between you and the guy, his chest heaving, anger palpable. Without giving you a moment to process, his rough hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you back to your childhood bedroom.

Your own wave of crimson flushes over your body as the pink walls come into view and the lock you’d begged your parents for during puberty clicks into place. Jisung had been in your room countless times as kids, when you dressed him and Chenle up like dolls or begged them to play board games. But now, knowing he had you in a pathetic, desperate moaning mess not long ago and gave you the best sex of your life in this very room, it feels different.

He feels different. 

Nostrils flared, fists clenched, and muscles taut. This was not the Jisungie you once made friendship bracelets with or taught to roller skate. No, this was just Jisung—grown up, exuding a raw, masculine energy that was both captivating and intimidating. Sexy even. Perhaps that’s why you got distracted when he came over early to set up for Chenle’s birthday.

You shouldn’t have gotten distracted, or indulged, no matter how hot he’d gotten over the summer. He was still, and always would be, your little brother’s best friend. 

Snap out of it, Y/N. 

“Jisung, what do you think you’re doing?” You snap at him and back to reality. 

His eyes narrow, drawn into a sharp expression that shouldn’t make your thighs weak, but it does. “What am I doing? What are you doing, Y/N?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about—”

“That guy, Y/N.” He spits your name, a low growl that tightens your chest, “You’ve lost your damn mind if you think I’m just going to stand by while you flirt with some guy.”

You scoff, unable to deny it. Yes, you had been flirting with that guy, but honestly, it was just a distraction to take your mind off the fact that you’d just let your brother’s childhood friend fuck you six ways to Sunday. 

“You’re being ridiculous," you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. “You have no right to act like this.”

His nostrils flare again, and he steps closer, invading your space. You instinctively take a step back—because this is how it happened last time, his stupid muscular body and obnoxious height inching towards you (minus the argument.)

"Ridiculous? You think it’s ridiculous that I care? That I don’t want to see you with someone like him?"

“Someone like him? You don’t know anything about him.”

Jisung tongues the inside of his cheek, inhaling sharply before muttering, “He had his hands all over you in the middle of a kitchen. Pretty sure that makes him an automatic asshole.”

You can feel your heart racing, but you refuse to back down. "You’re getting jealous over one guy after we—after a one-time thing, Jisung. It’s so childish!"

The moment that singular word leaves your mouth, you see a shift in his expression. His eyes darken, and there’s a flicker of something raw and primal lingering in his irises. Desire, maybe lust, but definitely determination.

Without a word, Jisung moves toward you in a blur of motion, his hand snapping out to grip your wrist, yanking you back before you even have time to react. You stumble, your back slamming against the door with a harsh thud. Thank God, there’s a party downstairs because you’re certain the impact was savage enough to be heard if not for the music.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he cages you in, his body pressing against yours, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breath. His hands bracket your face, fingers digging into the wood behind you, holding you there, trapped beneath his gaze, trapped beneath his body. 

"Childish, huh?" His voice drops an octave, and you can feel the heat, the anger, the hunger, radiating off him. "I’ll show you childish."

It’s a threat, a rise to your challenge, and said with an edge that makes your stomach flutter—against your will.

You meet his eyes, refusing to show any fear, though your heart races in your chest. “What, you think you can intimidate me?”

A corner of his mouth curls up in a half-smirk. "I know I can do a lot more than that."

Before you can respond, his face closes the distance between you, lips crashing against yours in a kiss that feels like a challenge—not the passion he offered earlier, just pure desperation and need. His hands grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, his body pressing harder against yours like he can’t get close enough. 

You can’t tell if it’s anger or the desperate need to prove something that drives him, but the way his touch grows possessive leaves no room for argument. You don’t want to argue though, not when his other hand trails down your thigh, hiking up your dress, and one calloused finger slips beneath the black lace of your panties to find your swollen, aching clit.

You draw in a shallow breath, one that only fuels his cocky grin as he nuzzles into your neck, his warm breath skimming along the delicate curve of your nape before trailing to your ear. His finger continues to rub slow, so painfully slow, circles into your clit.

“Was I childish when I finger fucked you to orgasm with Chenle just next door? Was I childish when I pounded this pretty pussy into your pillows? Or was I childish when—”

“J-Jisungie,” you gasp, voice trembling with need, cutting him off. But who could blame you? The slow, deliberate motion of his fingers, paired with the weight of his words, had you aching for more—more of him, more of this, anything with friction. 

His blunt nails dig into the tender flesh of your thigh, possessive and unyielding, as his lips skim the sensitive spot where your neck meets your collarbone. A low growl rumbles in his chest, vibrating against your skin. 

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

You let out a soft whimper of submission, your legs trembling as he edges them apart, giving himself better access to the spot you need him most—the spot he knows you need him most.

“Is that what this is about?” you manage to ask, though your voice is shaky, breathless.

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he nuzzles deeper into the curve of your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. He doesn’t need to respond because his fingers do it for him, their pace quickening against your sensitive nerves.

You can’t believe this is happening—again. Chenle would kill you both if he found out, but the thought isn’t enough to stop you. Your hips buck instinctively, meeting the rhythm of his long, slender fingers as they work relentlessly to coax an orgasm out of you.

“Ji–We can’t do this,” you whisper, though the words come out weak, entirely unconvincing.

His lips pause against your neck, but his fingers don’t. If anything, they press harder, toying against your clit, drawing a choked moan from your lips as he hovers just close enough for you to feel his breath.

“Oh, so we can’t do this,” there’s venom in his voice, as his finger sinks lower until it’s circling your entrance, “but you were ready to let that asshole do this to you in the kitchen.”

Your breath catches in your throat, a mix of shame and defiance flaring within you. “It’s not the same.”

“Exactly,” he growls, his fingers curling inside you in a way that makes your knees buckle. “It’s not the same, because he’ll never touch you the way I do. He’ll never make you feel the way I do, never get the fucking chance.”

“Jisung—” you start, but he cuts you off, his free hand gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes are dark, intense, and filled with something lust. 

“Tell me to stop,” he challenges, lips brushing dangerously close to yours. He doesn’t kiss you, but nips at the bottom of your plush lip. “Tell me you don’t want this, Y/N, and I’ll stop.”

You try to form the words, to muster any resistance, but they melt into a moan as his fingers press against that spot deep inside you, leaving your legs trembling. It’s almost sick, really—how well he knows your body, as if he’s memorized every reaction, every weak spot. Like he’s studied the blueprint of you, mastered it, and has no intention of ever letting anyone else have access to it.

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters, his smirk sharp and sinister. His lips finally crash against yours, stealing what little resolve you had left.

His kiss is hungry, consuming, as if he’s trying to prove a point with every press of his mouth, clash of teeth, and every curl of his fingers. And the worst part is, he’s right—you do want this. You want him.

“Say it,” he demands against your lips. “Say you want me.”

Your hands clutch desperately at his shoulders, body arching into him as his touch overwhelms you. The fight leaves you entirely, your resistance crumbling to dust. “I want you,” you confess, the words spilling from your lips before you can even think to stop them.

He grins against your mouth. “Good, because you’re mine.”

And he’s going to make damn sure you know it. He’s going to make sure everyone knows it—especially that fucking asshole who touched you. You’re his. 

Jisung finds the length of your neck again, his skilled fingers continuing their work on your pussy. He knows you’re close, knows exactly how to draw this out of you until you’re cumming, all while he’s branding your skin with purple bruises across your neck. Call it an ego thing, but knowing some part of him will be etched onto your skin has his cock throbbing, his bulge swelling in his jeans just from the thought of you belonging to him—even if it’s only temporary. Jisung doesn’t care. He’ll keep doing this until it’s permanent, until your mind finally catches up, and you realize you belong to him, just as much as he belongs to you.

“For someone who was so insistent that we can’t do this, you have no problem making a mess on my fingers, noona,” he coos, his whispers brushing against your skin. “I can hear how wet you are, all for me, yeah?”

He’s a cocky fucker, and he knows it.

“Ji—please,” you whine, your body moving in sync with his, desperate to push yourself over the edge. Jisung laughs, the vibration of it shooting through you straight to your core. His fingertips dig into your pelvis, halting your movements because he’s the one in control. He’s the one with something to prove.

“You wanna cum, noona?” he asks, almost mockingly. “Want me to make you cum?”

You nod eagerly, desperation etched across your features. Yes, you want it—no orgasm could ever compare to the one you know he can give you.

Jisung pulls away from your neck, his pupils blown wide as he admires the art painted across your skin—his mark. He’s never been one for art, never understood what people meant by seeing a message in a painting, but as his fingers trace the deep red imprints of his mouth, he understands exactly what this piece of skin says: mine.

His fingers plunge deeper inside your cunt, the steady rhythm driving you wild. He curls them just right, his touch grazing that rough patch inside you that makes you gasp, your breath catching and lips parting. 

He smirks, his eyes never leaving yours as he mouths words of praise and instructions. At least, you think he’s mouthing them—your mind is fogged, overwhelmed by the wave of pleasure crashing over you, the only sound you can focus on is the buzzing of your orgasm, your cries and the way his name spills from your lips in a frantic, desperate whisper.

"Such a good fucking girl," he murmurs when your high starts to fade, voice low with approval. "My good fucking girl."

Maybe it’s the post-climax haze, your mind still swimming in fog, but your arms find their way around Jisung’s neck, pulling him down to crash your lips against his. He’s caught off guard, just as much as you are—you're not one to initiate, and he hadn’t expected more. He’d already made his point clear: he knows your body, he knows how to make you feel good, how to make you cum.

But here you are, nipping at his lip, devouring his mouth with a hunger that catches you both by suprise. And when you whisper a soft, "Fuck me again, please, Jisung," he's done for.

"My girl is so impatient and greedy, huh?" He tsks, but it's more to regain his composure than anything. He’d almost cum in his pants at the sight of you begging him to fuck you, like some horny teenager. But his determination to prove he’s not the boy you grew up with keeps him grounded.

He hoists you up effortlessly, his hands gripping the underside of your ass as your legs instinctively wrap around his body. With ease, he carries you to the bed, dropping you onto it with a predatory gleam in his eyes. As he climbs over you, his gaze darkens with hunger, every movement clear, saying one thing: he's going to devour you.

"Such a dirty girl, letting your brother’s friend fuck you twice in one night," he teases, his hands slowly working to peel the dress from your body. When he sees you’ve been wearing no bra underneath, your nipples fully exposed and standing at attention instantly, a low curse slips from his lips. 

He could admire your body for hours—he hadn’t had the chance to earlier because the stakes felt higher then. But for you, the moment is urgent. You need him—all of him—inside you, now. Maybe that’s why you decide to taunt him.

“I can always get someone else to do it if you don’t want to.”

“Watch it,” he warns, as his grip tightens on you. His eyes darken with possessiveness, a wave of jealousy flickering in his eyes. The thought of someone else touching you like this, even as a joke, triggers something primal inside him.

Without another word, Jisung sheds his own clothes, hands moving to your thighs, spreading them apart with a firm, controlled movement. His breath hitches as he stares down at you, so fucking beautiful, so fucking perfect, so fucking his.

“Made to take my cock,” he mutters, giving you a moment to adjust. You nod softly, the sensation of him filling every part of you dulling every lingering ache. 

He circles the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you as payback for that little comment, before slowly sinking into you, inch by inch. Your eyes roll back at the delicious stretch, your body yielding to him as he fits into you so perfectly. So big, so deep, so yours.

It isn’t until he’s buried deep inside you, balls against your skin, that a groan escapes both of you.

He doesn't hold back, his groans raw and needy. He wants you to hear him—hear how good you make him feel, how desperate he's been for you, for this, how much he’s craved you for years. Every sound, every groan, he wants it etched in your memory. He wants you to remember him when you think about any other man—your first boyfriend, or the guy who took you to prom, and especially the flings you had on spring break.

He wants to be the only man who makes you come apart. The only one you grip with those pretty nails, scraping his back as if marking him, your own little claim to match his purple marks. 

Jisung has always had a soft spot for you, but the way he fucks is anything but soft. This is desperate, driven, a reminder that only he can make you feel this way—only he will. His thrusts are hard, dominating, consuming, each one a claim, marking you as his in the most primal way and you love it.

He knows you love it—the way your pussy clenches around him, fluttering rhythmically, milking his own orgasm from him with every squeeze. Sloppy, deep, and abrupt, his resolve twists tighter inside his stomach. His grip on your hips tightens and he drives into you with relentless, unyielding force, chasing his high. 

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “My pretty girl,” he growls. “Only mine.”

You can barely respond, the pleasure building so intensely that all you can do is cling to him, your fingernails digging into his pale skin, feeling every part of him take control. Each thrust pushes you closer to an edge you’ve never felt before, your stomach coiling tightly, a delicious tension threatening to snap.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice low and filled with heat, his pace never slowing. “Say you’re mine.”

Your breath hitches, body trembling as the tension in your core reaches its peak. “Yours,” you whisper, but it’s enough to make him groan in satisfaction.

Suddenly, the world around you blurs as the pleasure overwhelms you. Your body responds, the waves crashing over you as your eyes roll. A choked cry escapes, and a rush of wetness unlike anything you’ve felt before floods your body. 

Your hands fly to your face in embarrassment, but Jisung doesn’t let you hide. He watches you, eyes dark,  filled with awe and pride, as he takes in the fact that he’s the one who’s just made you squirt.

“How’s that for childish?” he murmurs with a smirk, the words dripping with possessiveness.

And with one final thrust, he drives into you, his body shuddering as he reaches his own release, spilling inside of you.

“Oh, and by the way,” he murmurs breathlessly, lips brushing against your ear, “there’s no way this is just a one-time thing, Y/N.”

[mead-iocre]

Wife? | Leah Williamson x Reader

synopsis: "accidentally" calling Leah "wife"

warnings: none

wc: 3.7k words

There is another new tiktok trend. 

Again, not a viral dance routine.

This one was definitely more nerve-wrecking than the one you did a few weeks ago. With the other tiktok trend, you could pretty much predict how your girlfriend was going to react. However, with this one, it could go either way. 

The good thing was that the trend itself was still a fairly simple one. All you need to do was to call your boyfriend/girlfriend “husband” or “wife”, and film their reaction. 

From the embarrassingly long time you’ve spent scrolling through videos of other couples doing the trend, most of the reactions have been pretty positive. The ones getting pranked either grew shy or reacted excitedly at their new nickname– kissing their partner and playing it up with the camera. However, there was a video that you saw where the reaction was exactly what you were afraid of. A viral video of one couple, where the man getting pranked reacted quite cruelly. He immediately shut down the implications of the new nickname, leaving his girlfriend awkwardly staring at the camera in shock.

You just prayed Leah wouldn’t react as bad as that. 

Marriage was something you and Leah had talk about before. In passing. It was always a fleeting part of the conversation, something that never really went beyond the mutual agreement that you both saw yourself getting married one day. Whether that marriage was to each other was never really a topic of conversation. However, you could see yourself being married to her. Early mornings would be a hectic time since you both had had to leave for practice early. Afternoons on the weekdays would probably be spent having brunch by the river with friends, or spending time at home cuddled up on the sofa while a football match is blasting in the tv. Evenings would be spent cooking together, or arguing about who should be the main builder for the latest Ikea furniture that was purchased.

You just hoped she pictured a similar future. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Hey everyone!” You smile brightly, waving at your phone’s front camera. A flood of hearts started floating across the screen, comments pouring in. Your phone is propped nicely by the new tripod your girlfriend had recently gotten for you. Leah had grown tired of you using random bits around the house to prop your phone up everywhere you had to do your tiktok lives, grumbling about how you always forget to put things back where they belong so she had to do it for you. 

In the middle of Leah’s kitchen, you were stood on the other side of the island, checking over the ingredients one more time. The kitchen around was a charming, lived-in space, with mismatched mugs hanging from hooks and spices haphazardly arranged on a shelf.  You were dressed in your favourite comfy loungewear set, your hair cascading down your back, and fuzzy slippers on your feet. You loved filming these tiktok videos and fans often left suggestions for your next video. However, what you enjoyed more was having someone with you to film. Usually, you could rope a teammate or two to participate in the latest tiktok dance, but other times, when you begged hard enough, you could sometimes convince Leah to film with you. 

Leah, oblivious to the prank looming ahead, was standing right beside you. Clad in a worn-out vintage arsenal t-shirt and grey nike track bottoms, she leans casually against the counter, arms clasped behind her back. Her hair is tied away from her face in a loose ponytail, short strands of blonde hair framing her face. After much nagging (and kisses), she agreed to go on live with you again. 

“I’ve gotten quite a few requests to have Leah back for another video.” You gesture to the blonde right beside you. “And I know you guys really enjoyed the last cooking live where we attempted to make Leah’s infamous pasta dish–“

“Which is a Williamson secret recipe mind you” Leah interjects with a signature finger point at the camera. “You lot should be grateful I shared it!”

amanda: first time im joining a live!!!! hellooo

maise: pls say JONAS OUT!

woso.fc: I made it and it was actually really good

katiesgirl: leah looks gooddddd. respectfully, y/n MOVE

“Yeah well thanks for sharing the recipe, Lee. Who knew a basic bolognese sauce and some pasta would taste so good”

“Oi! You love my pasta!”, Leah exclaims as she points at you accusingly. 

You laugh loudly, head thrown back. “To be fair the pasta that Leah makes is quite good” 

“good? good. mate you go for seconds–” You place your palm over her mouth to shush her, playfully glaring at her. The delicate skin around corner of her eyes wrinkle in amusement.

“Alright. I'll admit it. Your pasta is delicious.”

Leah pulls your hand away from her mouth, pressing a quick kiss on the back of it, and keeping it held hostage in hers. 

“Okay. Let’s get started. Today we will be making red velvet cupcakes!”, You turn to the blonde beside you, squeezing the hand that she was holding, practically bouncing on your toes in excitement. Red Velvet cupcakes were one of your favourite treats and Leah knew exactly how much you were craving it lately, hence why she had no complaints when you suggested the recipe. 

“But…”, Pausing for dramatic effect. You grab the box of ready-to-make mix and show it off to the camera. “We’ll be using cake mix to cut time”

The comments flood through- probably laughing at you for cheating the recipe. You were so excited for the cupcakes that you almost forgot that you were supposed to also be doing a prank on your girlfriend.  

Pulling out a mixing bowl from the cupboard and a couple of measuring cups, you set them on the counter with a clatter. “So, step one!” Leah read aloud, reading from the back of the box. “Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.”

You turn around to the oven behind you, dramatically turning the dial on the oven, earning a sarcastic round of applause from the chat and a few teasing comments.

“Now,” she continued, tearing open the box, “we need to pour this into the bowl. I think this is the most technical part.” She dumped the powdery cake mix into the bowl, a small cloud of white dust puffing into the air, making you both cough and laugh. You leaned in closer, your shoulder brushing Leah’s as you worked together, the warm glow of the kitchen light casting a soft shadow over your figures. 

You moved through the steps, laughter echoing as you watched Leah comically crack the eggs into the ball, exaggerating her movements and making faces at you. You glance at the chat that was a constant stream of comments and emojis. “I feel like we’re on a cooking show, but with way more judgment.”

“You lot can’t judge! we’re professional footballers— not professional bakers,” she warned playfully waving the spatula in the air. You giggled as you poured in the vegetable oil, watching the amber liquid sink into the cake mix. “Someone just asked what flavour of cake we’re making,” she read aloud. “It’s red velvet! Her favourite” Leah points a finger at you. 

“I wish more weddings served red velvet. It’s always vanilla or lemon— red velvet is superior!” Turning to the camera, you wave the whisk around. “I’d serve red velvet cake at my wedding” 

You don’t weren’t a hundred percent certain, but you swear you heard Leah mutter “noted” under her breath, but you pay it no mind. Maybe it was you brain playing tricks on you. 

The both of you two exchanged amused glances as the sound of the stand mixer continued to fill the room. It was then you noticed the a smudge of white flour on her chin, the pale powder a contrast to her lingering tan from your last holiday. How she even managed to get flour on her chin, you have no idea. 

“Look at me, love” Leah turns her attention from the chat back to you with an eyebrow raised. You gesture for her to turn her cheek to the other side so you can wipe away the dust of flour. Thumbing it away gently, you grin at her and whisper “messy girl” only for her ears. 

Unable to resist, Leah sneaks a quick kiss, planting a peck on your lips. You get a quick whiff of white musk and pear before you felt her lips soft against your own. Between the two of you, Leah was always more affectionate, uncaring for any eyes and attention from others around you. You, however, were shy by nature; however you weren’t opposed to how much your girlfriend loved on you so you gladly welcomed her affection.

“Thanks, baby” She whispered back to you, kissing the crown on your head since you were bowing your head, trying to hide your cheeks that you had no doubt were blushing bright red as of that moment. “Okay! Now we have to pour this into the pan and wait!”

As she carefully tipped the bowl over a greased cake tin, the batter flowed smoothly into it, spreading out evenly. “I’m actually enjoying this. Reckon I should quit football?” she said,  turning to you with a grin on her face. She taps the bowl to get the last bit of batter out. 

“Let’s perfect this recipe first, Lee. And stay with the football thing for now” 

lacy: stick to football we need youuuu

paige: no leah no arsenal

stephanie: Leah on Great British Bakeoff when?

awfcsgirl: im craving red velvet cupcakes now 

“Now into the oven it goes!”

You opened the oven door with a mock bow, and she slid the cake pan inside. Closing the door together, you give the camera a triumphant look. “And now we wait!” you say, leaning against the counter with a grin.

The live chat was buzzing with messages, some asking about decorating, others just enjoying the playful banter. Leah grabbed her phone to read a few comments. “People are really invested in what we’re going to top this with,” he laughed. “I’m thinking frosting. Lots and lots of frosting.”

You both moved to the kitchen table, pulling up chairs to chat with the audience while the cake baked. The timer on the oven ticked softly in the background. The conversation was relaxed and easy, filled with laughter as you both responded to questions from the chat. Every now and then, you would glance over at the oven, impatient, and Leah would joke about how you had the patience of a toddler.

When the timer finally beeped, you both jumped up, racing to the oven. The scent of baked goods filled the kitchen as she carefully opened the door and pulled the tray out, red and perfectly risen. “Look at that! It didn’t burn” she exclaimed, holding it up for the camera.

After letting it cool for a few minutes, you got to work on the frosting, spreading a generous layer of cheese cream cheese frosting over each of the cupcakes. The soft white contrasting beautifully with the deep red.

“There you have it!” she said, holding the cupcake you were working on for the final reveal. “From cake mix to masterpiece, with love and a little help from you guys!”

You turn towards the camera. “All right, guys. We’re about to do a taste test. Red velvet cupcakes, made from scratch, and zero fire alarms were set off in the process. A win for us.” 

“Moment of truth,” Leah whispered, glancing over at you with a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. You nodded, handing Leah a cupcake, your fingers brushing against each other as you exchanged the treats. You caught her eye and smiled, a playful glint in your gaze. And if Leah was paying attention to you she would’ve noticed the way you were pressing your lips together and nervously shifting on your feet, a telltale sign that you were up to something. However, your girlfriend was completely oblivious. She was already too focused on the cupcake in her hand, studying it like it was a masterpiece.

“Ready?” You asked, holding your cupcake up for the camera. Then, without any ceremony, you each took a bite at the same time. Leah took a generous mouthful of the soft, velvety cake, while you hesitated for a second; debating on whether now was the right time.

You took a smaller bite and instantly the rich, velvety cake melted on your tongue. The sweetness mixed perfectly with the tang of the cream cheese frosting. You closed her eyes, letting out a quiet hum of approval, savouring the flavour of your favourite sweet treat. When you opened your eyes again, you found Leah already watching you, her lips dusted with frosting. She grinned at you in approval, and prepared to take another big bite of the cupcake. As you watched her chew thoughtfully, you took your chance.

“You look like you’re enjoying it. Let’s let my wife give her review first” You said, your voice surprisingly dripping with casual nonchalance, as if you hadn’t just thrown a verbal grenade into the middle of your taste test. Instead, the endearment came out quite naturally from your lips.

Leah froze mid-chew. Her eyes wide, she slowly turned towards you, cupcake still in hand, as the word wife echoed in her mind.

“Wife?” She managed to say through her mouthful of cake, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. In the warm glow of the lights, you can see the slight flush of her cheeks, though she tried to cover it by taking another bite; her eyes narrowed at you, who was now struggling to contain your laughter.

The TikTok chat went wild.

awfc_fc: WIFE???

sav: Did she just say WIFE??

liv: DID I MISS A CHAPTER WHAT

zachary: WIFE??? HELLO?!

Unable to hold it in anymore, you burst into laughter, the kind that made you double over and clutch at your stomach. “What? It was an accident,” you say, though the mischievous twinkle in your eyes said otherwise.

Leah swallowed her bite, narrowing her eyes at you, though you can see a smile tugging at her lips. “An accident? Really?”

Wiping a tear from the corner of your eye, you straightened up, still grinning. “Yeah, it slipped out. Didn’t mean to call you my wife, love.” You sneak a quick wink at the camera. 

The blonde shook her head, trying to stay serious, but the grin she was holding back finally broke through. “You’re lucky this cupcake is so good, or else I’d throw this at you right now.”

“Oh, c’mon, you love it,” You teased, taking a victorious bite of your own cupcake. Now that the prank was over, you can freely enjoy the sweet treat. “And, technically, I’m not wrong. I mean, future wife, right?”

Leah felt her heart skip at that as she continued to gaze at you. She watched you enjoy your cupcake, humming after every bite. Your earlier words still hung in the air, lingering and nagging.

In the midst of you enjoying your treat, you noticed a small shift in her expression. Your teasing demeanour melted a little, ever so slightly. You tilted your head at her, trying to read the expression on her face. “I mean… eventually, right?” You asked, quieter this time, like you hadn’t meant for those words to slip out either.

Leah’s heart fluttered again at the way your voice caught slightly against the back of your throat when you spoke. Like there was a blanket of uncertainty and doubt over your words, which was a rarity for someone as self-assured as you.

She cleared her throat, feeling it tighten and clog as a result of the palpable tension in the air. This raw, vulnerable moment awarded a fleeting pause in the midst of a long day filled with football practice, article deadlines, red velvet cupcakes, and now sudden talks of the future-- it was overwhelming.

As you both sat in brief silence, the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air. Every heartbeat seemed louder than the last.

Always the fixer, Leah broke the silence first. She cleared her throat again, rolling her eyes playfully at you, trying to steer the mood back to light. She shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe. Are you rushing me? Otherwise I wouldn't put up with your pranks and accidents." The last bit was accompanied by finger air quotes.

She felt you were rushing her?

You looked down at your half eaten cupcake, absentmindedly tracing the edge of the wrapper. The prank was meant to be fun, but as the words "future wife" slipped from your lips earlier, you noticed the way leah's smile faltered, just for a second. Barely noticeable, but it was like a neon sign in your mind, glaring and buzzing, leaving your stomach knotted.

Had you unintentionally placed a burden on her?

You forced a smile, hoping it masked the uncertainty bubbling inside. It wasn’t like you meant to bring up marriage all the time—well, maybe you did. Looking back, it was always you initiating the conversation on marriage or your future together. But it was hard not to. After three years together, you could already picture every detail: the dress, the flowers, the vows. It was all so clear in your head, yet now it felt like you was rushing towards something Leah hadn’t even fully considered.

The uncertainty now gnawed at you. Part of you wanted to blurt out, “Are we okay? Do you really feel that I'm rushing you?” But the fear of hearing something you weren't ready for kept you quiet. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, feigning relaxation, while your thoughts swirled like a storm you couldn’t control.

"I really got you there, didn't i?" You tried to lighten the mood with another joke. “Who would’ve thought I could leave Thee Leah Williamson speechless by calling her my wife”

Shit.

Silence. 

Silence.

Silence.

There you go again, carelessly throwing the word away without making sure she was comfortable. You wanted to smack your head against the table, mentally cursing yourself. Maybe she really wasn't comfortable with the implications of that word yet. Maybe it was too soon.

Thinking you had made the moment awkward again, you try to backtrack. “I-I didn't mean--I'm not rushing you. At all. I was kidding--“

“Baby” 

You ignore her at first, turning to the camera to cover up your embarrassment. You desperately try to settle the way your heart was practically beating out of your chest. Maybe this prank wasn’t such a good idea in the first place.

“Baby”

You finally look at her. You lips were pressed tightly in a line, ready to end the live if she said the word.

“I got it.”

You tilt your head, furrowing your eyebrows, very confused by what she meant. “Wha–“

“I heard you the first time” You really couldn't read the expression on her face right at that moment. However, the corners of her lips were tipped up slightly, which is a good sign. 

You did not expect to hear the next thing that came out of her mouth. 

“I’ve already got the ring. I plan on marrying you. Just give me a minute to plan something, yeah?”

Your breath hitched, heart thudding in your chest as your eyes widened. You stared at the blonde, completely caught off guard, as if the rest of the world went still for a moment. Her expression was soft, teasing still, but there was something undeniably real in her eyes.

You opened her mouth to say something—anything—but words seemed to escape you. This time, it was you who was rendered speechless. You had known that a proposal might come sometime soon. In fact, you had been having thoughts about proposing to her yourself, but getting confirmation that she was thinking about it too has caught you completely off guard. But it was just like Leah to throw you completely off guard when she proposes. This was probably the most Leah-proposal ever. 

meademaa: CHAT IS THIS REAL

mac: I HEARD HER SAY RING DID SHE SAY RING

lacely: NO FCUKING WAY

goonerrr: PAUSE DID SHE JUST

“I know you lot aren’t acting surprised!” Leah turns her head towards the camera with a little laugh, completely oblivious to the fact that you still hadn’t spoken a word for over a minute or so– which was a new record for a yapper like you. 

You were usually quick-witted and composed, but in this moment, you felt utterly stunned, as if time had slowed to a crawl. Finally, you snapped out of it and turned towards the camera. There might be tears already welling in your eyes and your voice might’ve come out a bit shaky but no one could blame you. 

“R-right then. We’re ending the live here. Thanks for watching, everyone!” You round the kitchen counter hastily, practically speed-walking to turn off the recording button. You give the camera one more watery smile and wave, eyeing the flood of comments who are already giving ‘congratulations’ messages. 

alessiasextensions: DID WE JUST WITNESS A PROPOSAL

lessifc: CONGRATS MOTHESR

amber: wheres my invite to the wedding????

jordy: might cry or something 

You turn around to face your girlfriend– soon fiancé perhaps. You couldn't help but admire the way her eyes sparkled, the blues reflecting the gentle glow of the setting sun. Every feature of her face was etched into your memory – the curve of her smile and the crinkle at the corners of her eyes when she laughed.

Leah was in the midst of bringing another cupcake to her lips, and she’s got the widest grin on her face. She also looked lighter, more relaxed somehow, like she'd been finally free of a heavy load that's been weighing her down.

And in that moment, as your eyes meet hers, you knew with absolute certainty that you would wait for however long it took for her to ask you the question. You knew the moment you met her she would be someone special to you, so you could afford to wait a little longer. Besides, you already knew your answer. It would be the easiest ‘yes’ in your life. 

Sitting back in your seat beside her, you narrow your eyes slightly, pointing a finger at her.

“I want you down on one knee when you propose for real, you cheeky fucker” 

this has been in my drafts for a whiiiiile. i wrote and rewrote this one so many times until i was satisfied with how it played out.

dedicating this fic to the anon who gave me the idea back in march and everyone else who was waiting so patiently for it to escape the WIP jail lol.

hope it was worth the long wait <3333

comments and reactions appreciated!

・❥・- kisses, butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[gutsby]

Stupid Prizes

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Before you head back to college, your dad wants to go on one last family outing: the county fair. The only problem? Your secret fuckbuddy, Joel, is there.

Warnings: 18+. Sneaky, unprotected p-in-v. Joel pining for you while your dad is beside him, oblivious for now. Semi-public sex (on a ferris wheel—don’t ever do that). Gross misuse of a candy apple. Age gap. Jealous Joel. Teasing. Angst(!) Mentions of infidelity/abandonment.

Word count: 10.0k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The gingham dress was your best idea yet.

For Joel, nothing could’ve been worse.

He’d cum down your throat no more than ten minutes ago, and with just a glimpse of your new getup bounding down the stairs—you’d had to change after he painted your last one white—Joel almost inhaled his Heineken.

He coughed and sputtered and hacked the beer back up while you strolled past the sofa and grinned at your dad.

“Ready to go, old man?”

It was just a short red frock with a sweetheart neckline.

The fabric cinched at the waist and flowed with every step you would take. Turning slightly to toy with the hem, and teasing the only eyes on you, you corrected yourself:

“Sorry…old men, I mean.”

Something like amusement flashed in Joel’s eyes.

Didn’t seem to mind this old man’s cock down your—

“I was born ready, kid,” your dad answered, still messing with something on his key ring, “How ‘bout you, Miller?”

“Yessir.” Joel stood.

He recalled you saying something similar before opening your mouth in the guest bathroom just fifteen minutes earlier. Joel’s cock twitched in his jeans at the memory, and his cheeks might’ve tinged a little, remembering how fast he’d cum. You’d only smiled and sucked your thumb, getting a taste of the residue that had missed your chest.

“Quite a mess you made there, Joel.”

And you repeated those words, at length, with only you and him to know what it had meant to you both before.

You gestured to the smattering of crushed potato chips on his shirt, and your grin got bigger. Joel grew redder.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, brushing the crumbs off his front. He wasn’t nearly as fast with the comebacks as he was with other kinds of comings and goings, and he knew it. He set the bag of Lays aside and seemed ready to leave.

But when he’d licked the salt off his lips and caught you staring—when he saw his friend go back to the kitchen:

“I had to be quick,” he said. Then, lowering his voice, “You know better’n anyone what a messy eater I am.”

Of course you knew that. Joel winked at you, and you winked back, mostly making fun of the boomer move. He reached for you—the edge of your skirt scarcely hanging a fraction of the way down your thighs—and he opened his mouth to speak again, when there was the sound of heavy boots at the threshold of the room. Joel leaned past your body and snagged the bag of chips instead.

“Food for the road?” He turned to his friend.

“All you,” your dad replied, smiling and waving the chips off as he went for the front door, “I swear your stomach’s a bottomless pit, man. Eatin’ me outta house and home.”

Joel looked at you when your dad was past you both.

House and home ain’t the only thing I’m gonna—

“Let’s go,” you chirped, fast, “I call shotgun!”

This would be a long, long day, no doubt.

The county fair had been his friend’s idea. One last day of ‘family fun’ before his little girl went back to school out East, and Joel hadn’t seen Bellville in years, so he’d asked him if he wanted to join. After a shared, brief stint in abstinence camp, the answer should’ve been clear:

‘NO.’

But Joel hadn’t learned very much from the Fireflies in the less than 72 hours he’d spent living—and also fucking you—there, so he’d nodded and said ‘Okay.’

Now you were twenty minutes out from the fairgrounds with a near-depleted tank of gas in the truck, obliged to make a quick pit stop at a Texaco. It was the first time he’d been alone with you since you’d set off from Austin. The second his friend was gone and headed inside to buy a pack of smokes, he heard a seatbelt come undone.

Earlier, he had raced you and beat you to the car to lay claim on the passenger seat, so you’d been in the back this whole time. He barely saw you before he felt you, climbing over the center console and then into his lap.

Straddling him while the Eagles played faintly overhead.

“Feel fucking insane not being able to touch you right now,” you huffed against his lips, kissing him hungrily.

Joel groaned. Felt your lower half grind into his. Almost rutted his hips up and yearned to have you seated on something other than just his denim-clad crotch when he sucked in a breath and remembered where he was. He nudged your hips and fisted the fabric in his hand.

“You in this dress ain’t helpin’ me either,” he growled.

You grinned against him, then hiked the red-and-white material up your legs a little more. Joel felt something like a shockwave when he saw what was underneath it.

Or, rather, what wasn’t there at all: your panties.

“Bathroom quickie?” you said, already breathless, “I’ll tell my dad I got cramps. I’ve been so wet this whole ti—”

“Darlin’.”

Joel’s eyes had drifted down to the place where your body and his were touching—rubbing—now. Even from this limited vantage point, he could see a glistening patch sticking from your bare seam to his jeans, and it was pooling on the fabric. Practically oozing out of your cunt while you rocked your hips and begged him please.

“Please, just one. I’ll be good the rest of the day, daddy.”

“Fuck,” Joel hissed.

His pupils were wide, and his mind was seriously considering it. Stupidly so, he reckoned; your dad was bound to be back any second, and surely you couldn’t both be gone for more than five minutes without raising suspicions. It was a reckless endeavor, he already knew.

And when he saw his old friend strolling out the front doors of the Texaco, his decision was made for him.

He watched you scramble off his lap and back to your seat, body quick and lithe and giggling the whole way.

“Gonna get me murdered, girl,” Joel panted, gruff.

Your own smile didn’t waver; you just settled back into the middle seat and let your gaze trail out the window, trying to fix your eyes on something to calm you down.

You already had the sense that nothing would. Your teeth bit your bottom lip between them to forestall the threat of another laugh while your dad approached the vehicle.

From the radio, ‘Life in the Fast Lane’ kept playing.

As old as they were, Joel Miller and your dad had a funny way of acting more like kids than you ever had, at any age. As your trio approached the wide, gleaming gates of the Austin County Fair, you saw your dad nudge Joel, and Joel shoved him back, and somewhere in the midst of all the ribbing, you heard your dad say, clear as day:

“If I’m takin’ a whole day off work, I’m gettin’ hammered.”

You knew by that tone this would an interesting afternoon, to say the least. You held your ticket tighter.

And for a moment, you wished you’d worn underwear. It’d been a split-second decision to peel them off before skipping downstairs, and it had worked well enough—Joel walking with a limp all throughout the parking lot and trying to shield the tent in his jeans—but now you were the one in greater danger still. Seeing your secret family-friend-with-benefits in his tight, light, heather grey shirt and jeans, hips adorned with a hefty belt and moving deliciously with each new step he took, you were transfixed. Left to watch him and gawk and grow wetter between the legs with every passing second, there was nothing you could do about it now. Likely sensing this, Joel raked a hand through his grey-flecked hair and hummed to himself. His bicep bulged through the sleeve.

“Nice little view, ain’t it?” he asked, nodding to the outline of a dozen shining rides and attractions ahead.

Go fuck yourself, Joel.

“Can’t wait to ride that.” You pointed to the ferris wheel, though the finger in your mind was aimed closer to him.

“Funnel cake,” your dad beamed, eyeing a nearby stand.

The three of you weren’t walking for much longer before he insisted on buying one. Joel had had a hankering for lemonade himself, so he’d fallen in line behind you and your dad. When it was your turn to order, you paused.

Then, pointing again:

“Can you get me one of those?”

You’d had to stand on tiptoes to see it inside the display, but from Joel’s own height, he was certain to have seen what you meant. While your dad shilled out the cash, not batting an eye, the man behind him clenched his jaw.

Candy apple, hon? Real fuckin’ mature.

Your eyes met his as soon as you’d turned, treat in hand.

I thought you liked seeing big things in my mouth, Joel.

He would’ve scowled if he wasn’t next in line—and your dad wasn’t walking so close behind, sniffing his food.

Joel ordered his drink, drank it fast, and found his thirst no better quenched than when he’d started. You’d sat across from him at the table and made sure of that.

You dragged your tongue up the sugar-coated apple just like you’d done to his shaft that morning and blinked, savoring the taste. Feigning innocence as he looked on.

And what else could he do? If not watch you, then peer at your father, furtively, and make sure he wasn’t able to see so much as a second of this little show you were putting on now. Joel glanced around you, too. No one else seemed to notice what was going on, even when your lips left a soft, sweet suction near the top of the apple, and he could’ve sworn he’d heard you moan.

It was just in his head. He was remembering how you’d done it that morning, mouth sinking down his length and whimpering when you’d reached the base. The way your eyes had watered, your free hand had reached between your legs, and your lips had welcomed him in; it was all burned in his memory, and not retreating any time soon.

Neither was the blood rushing to his dick, he reckoned.

You didn’t seem to care. Even when a bright pink river of spit and sugar trickled out of your mouth, you didn’t flinch. You let it slide down to your chin. Right before it reached the end of your face, and you were certain Joel’s gaze was glued to the spot, you licked a little bit of it off. You didn’t get it all in one go, so you shifted your snack to the other hand and then swiped your thumb under your lips. You brought it up to your mouth and sucked it, just like you’d done with Joel’s cum on it earlier that day.

Joel chucked his cup in the trash. Your dad took another bite of his deep-fried pastry and, talking between chews:

“That was fast.”

“Need’a stretch my legs,” Joel announced, abrupt.

He turned to you, and your thumb came out of your mouth. The frown on his face was unmistakable, though your father probably thought it was just from having to squint against the sun. Not because he was incensed.

Out for revenge.

“Ready to get wrecked, kiddo?” he asked you.

Your eyes widened, and your tongue quit licking.

What?

Then you saw him nod to some spot over your shoulder. You didn’t have the nerve to follow his gaze as he did.

Faintly, you could make out a smirk crossing his lips.

“Arcade’s over there. Unless you’re too scared.”

Your dad raised a dumbass, not a quitter.

You’d accepted Joel’s proposal without a second thought, and your father seemed pleased to have the chance to peruse the food stands and beer carts to his heart’s content. You’d set off quickly. Your candy apple was still in your hand when you saw your friend lean over.

Joel opened his mouth, and he took a big, angry bite.

“You’re insane,” he said after, words muffled by fruit.

You took your first steps inside the dark, cool building littered with machines and fun activities of every kind, and deep down, you were happy you’d had that treat. You took a bite yourself, then discreetly patted his ass through his jeans and told him, ‘Only for you, Miller.’

You weren’t sure why you’d said it. As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you regretted it, no matter how stupid and playful the message was meant to be read. But then Joel nudged you back—actually wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side.

His mouth was close to you, and you could feel the smile:

“Just how I like it.”

Your cheeks heated a little. You weren’t so fond of the intimate move—in public like this, even as dark as the arcade happened to be—but you couldn’t deny the flutter in your stomach. You swallowed the rest of your apple, and with it, any shred of emotion, or so you were hoping. You nudged Joel off of you under the guise of trying to point to something new, and his eyes followed.

“C’mon. At least pick something you’ve got half a shot of winning,” he said, swiftly. Sounding smug as he spoke.

You plodded on anyway, not hesitating at all.

“I’ve got more than half a shot,” you assured him, tone arguably twice as conceited, “Now if you’re scared—”

“You can’t use my own lingo against me, little girl.”

“Then nut up or shut up, old man.”

Joel scoffed. You chewed. The two of you approached the Skee-Ball machines with near identical looks of ambition and zeal, and sensing this tension wouldn’t dissipate with any more shit-talking, you got to work.

The first game was close. You beat him by less than ten points, and you guessed that that had been due in part to Joel’s own will. You saw him make more than two pitches so outrageously bad that you’d had to have guessed he was going easy on you. As soon as you felt that, you’d scowled. Pointed angrily at the scoreboard.

“You can’t just let me win, Miller!” you said, shrill.

Joel’s hands went up, and you knew he’d deny it all.

“No need to gloat, now, honey—”

“Fuck off,” you snapped, all while fighting back a smile, “Gimme your A game or don’t bother playing, honey.”

And he did.

The next game left you destroyed, roughly 900 to 320. You stepped back from the machine, feeling a frown start to form on your lips but knowing you’d asked for this, and just as Joel was about to lean in to offer a conciliatory hug, he had to stop. Both of you turned.

Somewhere behind you, you’d heard a voice.

It was young, male, and audibly amused.

“He really whooped your ass, huh?”

Your eyebrows raised as soon as you saw the source. Your scowl morphed into a smile, and your eyes were bright—too bright, almost. You ran over to hug the boy.

He was a boy, after all. Likely no more than half Joel’s weight soaking wet and wearing the biggest, dumbest grin that could only belong to a guy your age. He hugged you back, and his arms tightened around you. Comfily.

“Wade!” you gushed, squeezing him hard. You stepped back and looked him over, as if in shock, “It’s been…”

“Forever,” Too-comfy-cozy Wade finished for you.

Joel frowned.

“And here I thought you were gone away for good!” you laughed, “Went off to get that fancy Stanford degree—”

“—and you, in Boston—” the boy chimed in.

Before the reminiscing could go on much further, you remembered yourself and turned back to Joel. Still beaming as bright as you’d been when you first saw the kid, you gestured indistinctly, tongue-tied for a second.

“This— Joel, this is Wade Pritchett, one of my friends from high school,” you introduced him. Letting the two men—or, rather, mustached boy and muscled man—shake hands. Evidently, you were too stoked to notice.

“He moved out to Sacramento our senior year, and none of us thought— well, we— we figured we’d probably never see him again. Fuckin’ west coast hot shot he is.”

You smirked as you nudged his ribs, and something in Joel turned to month-old milk: sour, rancid, and heavy. His stomach turned inside him, and he hardly knew why. All he noticed was that he didn’t like the eyes you were making at him, and he hated the face Wade had for you.

Joel was just looking out for you, really.

You could do so much better than this douche.

“This is my friend,” you said to Wade, motioning back. Then, reconsidering just a second, “My dad’s friend.”

Joel didn’t like that.

Wade gave him a brief once-over and hardly seemed to see him at all. In that millisecond of a look, Joel saw it:

‘Old family friend. No worries there.’

Foolishly, Joel wished the chump could’ve seen what you’d been doing the night before—impaled on his cock and riding him as hard as your knees would allow you:

‘Daddy, please, daddy, daddy, daddy.’

“Joel?” Your voice cut in his mind like a knife.

Joel blinked.

“Yeah?”

“Okay if Wade joins?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah.”

Not that it mattered now. Royal pain-in-the-ass Pritchett was already getting the machine next to yours set up.

Joel eyed him once more and tried to swallow his pride.

Somewhere along the way, it got stuck in his throat.

Three rounds was all he could take.

You on Wade, Wade on you—goading each other on in the most sly, flirtatious ways. Or maybe it was just Joel imagining that. Regardless, the man didn’t feel guilty at all when, at the conclusion of the third game, he’d tried to feign a casual tone and told you your dad would be expecting you back any minute, better wrap things up.

“He texted me like twenty minutes ago saying he’d be neck-deep in craft beer for an hour. I think we’re good,” you replied, and the indifference in yours didn’t have to be faked. You grinned at Wade, and Wade grinned back.

“Well, he texted me a second ago that he was holding a spot for us in line at the ferris wheel, so let’s roll, kid.”

That was a lie.

Joel didn’t like himself for doing it. But, again, he didn’t like Wade Pritchett even more, and he reasoned that he was doing you a favor, anyway. He searched for the exit.

“It’s alright, my mom’s probably looking for me, too.”

We get it, Pritchett. You’re a mama’s boy.

“Ah, okay.” You almost sounded sad.

Don’t be, baby. You’re daddy’s girl, remember?

Wade pulled you in for a hug; Joel wanted to deck him.

“I’ll be in town all week if you wanna—”

“I wish. My flight leaves tomorrow,” you cut in. Now your tone was really despondent. Your mouth was pouting.

It was just Joel’s eyes. He was seeing things. He was thinking you cared for this guy more than you probably ever did, and he was getting himself worked up over nothing. He clenched one hand into a fist by his side and waited for the anger to subside. Sadly, it was slow to go.

“Maybe we could…go out for drinks later or something?”

That suggestion didn’t make things any easier on Joel.

“I’d love to.”

Your reply didn’t exactly set his mind at ease, either.

At last, he decided he’d had enough. Turning on his heels, he bid a terse goodbye to shithead Pritchett and walked out of the arcade. He didn’t stop until he’d hit one of the bar carts your dad had been raving about outside.

He contemplated buying a drink. Maybe two. In fact, he’d just been eyeing three cans of Coors Light and was fishing for his wallet when he heard your voice again.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?” His tone was clipped.

If you felt it, you didn’t show it.

“Are we riding the ferris wheel or not?”

He probably should’ve given a verbal answer in the affirmative. Instead, he’d just nodded his head and started off the other way, expecting you to follow.

The walk was short. You’d had to weave through a sea of fairgoers, including schoolkids, college-aged drunks, and more than a fair share of loved-up couples, but that wasn’t too bad. Joel just ignored each one and didn’t stop until you’d reached the line for the ferris wheel.

Or what was left of the line, anyway.

Unlike what Joel had told you, there was no wraparound queue for you to join. Your father wasn’t there. Once you’d passed a look over the dozen-odd people waiting patiently for it to be their turn on the ride, you felt your stomach turn. Joel had never texted your dad at all.

“He’s not coming, is he?” Dispensing with the obvious.

Joel still wouldn’t look your way. He’d just sidled up behind the last people in line—a group of older folks who all seemed eager to get on the ferris wheel. You scoffed when you saw Joel’s expression harden, and you planned to turn away. Then the people up front started to move. For a moment, you were torn between telling him off and leaving him there. At length, you settled on saying, low:

“You lied.”

Joel followed the moving line, and a few more people started to trickle in behind you. Before you could even think to speak again, you were nudged ahead by the force of that crowd, and had only to keep glaring.

“Hey—” you hissed, only five steps away from the platform now. The ride attendant was scanning the line, appearing to count the people approaching the gate, and when his eyes landed on you, you made out a little grin.

“Aww, your daughter scared’a heights or somethin’?”

He’d said it to Joel, sounding cheeky. His teeth gleamed in the light of a hundred different neon bulbs, and you had to avert your face to keep from revealing its disgust.

So everyone else still thinks he’s my dad. That’s nice.

You couldn’t see Joel’s expression, but you imagined it looked the same. You shuffled ahead, reluctantly, and heard a lady behind you laugh; the sound had a tipsy lilt.

“My kid’s the same way—you’ll be fine, hon,” she slurred.

Heights aren’t the issue here, you’d wanted to snap back, for no other reason than your own disdain for Joel and the present situation. He walked in front of you, still refusing to meet your gaze, and soon you were perched on the platform, sandwiched between two semi-rowdy throngs of fairgoers with no clear means of escape. You crossed your arms and stared up at the back of his head. The look you gave him probably could’ve burned holes in his skull if irritation had been the means of achieving it.

You were seated on the ride in minutes. The compartment was surprisingly large, and its walls high, with glass on every side. Under a waning afternoon sun, the views you expected to see were bound to be pretty. All that was left to detract from its splendor was Joel— hunkered down opposite you and manspreading. Wide.

Sitting in total silence with his denim-covered legs split in a ‘V’. Watching you and rubbing one thigh, absently.

“You’ve got some nerv—” you started in.

“Yeah, no. No. That kid was gettin’ on my nerves—”

It amazed you how fast Joel was to return your words with a hostile quip of his own, anger flashing in his eyes.

“What’d he even do?! He’s my friend— my best friend—”

Fury flitted to something like discomfort, momentarily.

“Oh yeah? Just friends?”

“What the fuck does it matter to you?”

In your own expression, rage flared unchecked. You didn’t particularly care what Joel thought now if he was immature enough to act like this, and the walls of the compartment were thick enough to prevent anyone else’s hearing a word of it. The ride continued to rumble along, letting on new passengers with each new stop.

Joel might’ve paused. Could’ve stared out the window for all you knew—everything but the wheel itself seemed to be moving at lightning speed, and time was sliding.

“Because I— I— I give a shit, kid. I care.”

“And that makes lying to me alright?”

“I was just worried for your—”

“Bullshit. What would you need to be so worried about? Me playing Skee-Ball with an old friend and maybe getting drinks? You can fuck right off with that.”

Joel opened his mouth to speak, but he shut it when the ride suddenly jolted to a stop. It sputtered. Then, after a long, tense moment, it slowly ascended again. You took this lull in speech as your own chance to re-intervene:

“That’s not ‘care.’ Or ‘worry,’” you continued, words dripping with condescension, “That’s controlling.”

“Controlling?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Joel Miller always did.

“It’s not—”

“It is—”

“Protecting you from assholes like him—”

“—he’s not—and I never asked you to do that!”

“So I just sit by and watch him touch what’s mine—”

“I’m not yours, Joel!”

Your last words echoed through the car like a shotgun’s report. You’d said it with such force—so emphatic for him not to be mistaken in what this was, or whose you were—when you hardly even knew how you felt yourself. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and one that Joel knew only too well. The last time you two fucked, he’d begged the same: ‘Say you’re mine,’ and no matter how close you’d been to release at the time, you simply couldn’t say it. Now, clear-headed and mostly clothed, you still despised those words. Emotions. Uniquely juxtaposed with Joel’s jealousy over Wade, you’d never wanted to say it louder:

“I’m not yours, and I never will be. So just stop.”

More cruel.

“Are we clear?”

The car came to a halt near the top. When Joel still hadn’t deigned to answer, you leaned in closer.

“I said, are we fucking clear, Miller?”

Then you didn’t have to wait.

“I hear you.”

Of course he heard. His face was hard. His eyes were like two brown stones in the sockets, and the line of his mouth was tight. Whatever use you might’ve had in trying to decipher that look was ignored for the time being; you were still too angry. And, perhaps owing to this state—with a white-hot look fixed on him and your head full of blinding, bitter thoughts—you were more than susceptible to surprise. You jumped when you felt it.

Felt him with a hand moving from his leg to yours.

It went quick but was almost too ridiculous to fathom—how swift Joel was in reaching for you, hoisting you into his lap, letting your limbs straddle his hips with all the ease of old, welcome habits. It might’ve worked just as well, were it not for the tension in your legs. The short, sharp, ‘Joel’ and a look flitting out to either side of you.

“What?” he grunted.

You heard a fly unzip.

“We’re on a—”

Before you could finish, and as if to furnish the answer for you, the ride shuddered back to life. Its descent was slow, but any movement now made your stomach churn. It didn’t matter that most of the cabin was encased in metal, the rest semi-tinted plexiglass, or that your space was almost entirely shielded from the view of other cars—it was too much of a risk, as was everything with him.

Joel remained blind to it all. Your cabin came to a stop, still high in the sky, and then you felt him grip something between you. In one swift motion, he had the head of his cock rubbing your seam. You sighed; his eyes were cold.

“C’mon then…show me what ain’t mine,” he murmured.

His voice was low. You hated those words. This was more than just that. Your cunt slid and accepted him anyway.

For a second, your gaze was level with his. Your hips hadn’t stirred, and he was crawling inch-by-inch inside you, pulling you down. The act could’ve been intimate, had the words that passed before not been so harsh—and the place not been a fucking amusement park.

When the ride resumed its slow, rumbling circuit, he didn’t make your bodies part, but instead flipped you around. Your back was flush with his front, and by all appearances, you were innocently perched on his lap.

What the tens, or dozens, or hundreds of strangers ambling around down below couldn’t see was that a cock was nestled inside you, too. That with every gentle bump of the wheel, a man several decades your senior was filling you to the hilt, sending waves of pleasure through your body and his while he stuffed you tight. What your dad didn’t know was that this was his friend. That the nose nudging the skin between your sleeve and your neck belonged to Joel, and his breaths were short.

Trying to calm the flutter of his pulse and the pull of his lungs, he flattened his hands on either one of your thighs. He rubbed his palms back and forth, and you glanced down to find the insides of your legs extra shiny.

Slick, pretty, and full of him. He tilted your chin back up.

“Nice and quiet for daddy—nice and still. No squirmin’.”

He nudged your hips forward, and his cock brushed a wet, spongy ridge inside you. You had to purse your lips to swallow a noise. You felt your cunt drool even more.

The car swung low, in the line of sight of far too many eyes, and then it stopped again. You weren’t at liberty to move at all, and still, the feel of Joel inside you was raw.

Grating, almost.

It made the prospect of conversation seem the tiniest bit easier, though—forced to face away from each other and act civil now. Right before the ride started up again, you gripped the armrest and anchored your feet to his boots.

“Feels…good,” you whimpered.

“That so?” Joel murmured back.

“So—oh.”

Your words fell apart at the next brush of his hand, sliding down to your heat and taking his index and middle fingers to the precious, pulsing bud in between.

Soon the car was up at a comfortable height. You sighed.

Your legs pressed together over Joel’s, and you felt him rub the tips of his fingers even harder, circles tighter.

“I know,” he said, sensing your words before they came, “I know it feels nice, baby. Keep that chin up for daddy.”

Don’t let them know I’m inside you. Stay quiet.

But his girth was so much. The tug of his smooth, throbbing manhood between your walls was almost more than you could take. You laced the fingers of your free hand with his over your thigh, and you held them tight as your hips wriggled back. You couldn’t help it, feeling a welt of pleasure start to blossom in your belly.

“Joel—” you started.

“Don’t talk,” Joel grumbled, stern, “It’ll draw attention.”

You sensed there was more to it than that. Your fingers threaded even deeper through his, and he squeezed them back. Between your bodies, there rose a soft, gentle tap, tap, tap with the thrusts Joel was able to deliver now that you were back up high and out of sight. If there was any time to speak, this was your window.

Joel probably wished you hadn’t, but you tried, anyway.

“You know it’s been years since—”

“Since?”

Now you didn’t want to say it. But you knew you had to.

“Wade’s been my friend since—”

Another influx of something soft and tender inside you. Joel holding your hand, pushing himself deeper, and trying not to groan when you clenched around him. Hating that he had to hear that name, most likely.

You despised the words even more before you said them:

“—since my mom left.”

It was an awful time to be bringing this up, admittedly. Both of you on the brink of release with Joel’s cock buried as far inside you as it would go, his fingers entwined with yours, and the ride drifting lower.

And lower, lower, lower still. Joel’s breaths picked up.

The car shuddered to a halt almost halfway down. You didn’t have to see his face to picture it a little more rigid than it’d been before. He’d known your dad long enough to remember the time his wife had walked out on him.

“When we were, like, thirteen—” You continued, as if you needed to remind him of any of the particulars. Joel hardly knew you back then, though, “—he was my friend. Wade’s been one of my— my closest— he was there—”

You couldn’t be sure if it was the subject of discussion or simply how close you were to cumming that kept your tongue from forming a coherent string of words, but here you were. Joel’s grip on your hand had loosened, and the movements of his hips had slowed considerably. You hoped he’d be too lost in his own pleasure to care.

“I remember,” he returned quietly.

That was all he said for a moment. Out of habit, your legs parted more for his touch, and you whimpered, feebly, as the fingers kept circling your clit. The ride started again.

“You don’t have to—” And again, his voice was low.

“I’m not saying that as an— as an excuse or anything.”

You didn’t know why you were saying it at all. You just wanted Joel to know he didn’t need to be jealous. That Wade had been a friend through a dark and bleak season of your life, and that was all it had ever, or would ever, be.

While the car was still suspended in air, and the sights below all relatively small, you got the sense you’d have to deal with this budding bliss inside you a bit quicker than anticipated. Joel was all wordless encouragement. You almost wished you could’ve seen his face as he urged you to come undone, keep making yourself feel good, that’s it, cum for me, but frankly, it was probably for the best you couldn’t look him in the eye right now. Beyond just needing release, you wanted him to see you in a more vulnerable light than you’d ever been—facing away seemed the least painful position to have that happen.

With your fingers and his still interlaced and your hips moving a little more quickly, Joel could feel your pleasure soaking his jeans, and he pulled you down closer to him.

He nudged the back of your neck with his nose. He panted against it gently, tenderly. Then he kissed it.

“Don’t need’a say anything else, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

Under any other circumstances, an apology from a man would have been the last thing to send you over the edge, but today, you couldn’t help it. Just as the car started up again, you hit your peak with Joel still stuffed inside you, and you gripped his hand as hard as you could. You fought to keep the moans contained behind your lips, but it was hard—and Joel’s constant, tender caresses with his lips and fingers made it that much worse. He trailed kisses down your neck and shoulder and told you gently, ‘That’s it, good girl, that’s my girl.’

My girl.

Again.

You almost didn’t mind it being said this time around.

Almost.

In truth, you didn’t have half a mind to think much of anything in that moment. You just curled your toes and pressed your back into Joel while the warm, euphoric waves coursed through you, and you let yourself be content with what he’d said. Whatever he meant by it.

In the minute that followed, you sensed he was perilously close to finishing, too. So, as soon as you’d made it down from your high—and the ride, too, was circling back and making its way through the final cycles—you crawled off of Joel. You got on your knees. For the first time in what seemed like hours, you locked eyes with him; your mouth moved lower still. You’d barely latched your lips onto the head of his cock before he was shooting off rope after rope after rope of his cum. Warmth splattered down your tongue and throat, and you swallowed it all obediently.

You didn’t need to be told when the ride was over. You heard a buzz, felt it jolt, and, unfortunately for you and Joel, your car was one of the first to be let off. You had to hurry off your knees and back into your seat, across from your panting, silver-haired friend, just seconds before the door to your left swung open. You began to stand.

Joel followed you out. His spend was still stuck to your throat in some places, the scent of his skin and his stubble and his extra heavy load all fresh to your senses. You wiped one corner of your mouth and kept walking.

And it was in this state you remained another second or two. You were just about to take your first steps off the platform, mind floating over somewhere tranquil and warm, when your thoughts were presently interrupted.

Your steps, too, were cut short. Joel had stopped you.

Then he grabbed your face, and he kissed you.

Your world froze a moment. You didn’t have time to think, or react, or even kiss him back, so you just stood there and let him hold you to him. It was over in a blink.

And one glance over Joel’s shoulder after he did it, to the ride attendant and nearly every last person in line, said they were just as stunned. Some sick, by the looks of it.

‘He’s NOT my dad!’ you wanted to yell, out of habit.

Seeing the eyes Joel had fixed on you—the smile that followed—their suspicions didn’t matter to him at all.

You walked off together, still considering those words:

My girl.

A month wouldn’t be so bad. Two was tolerable, even.

The next few hours spent with Joel made it seem like you could go a year or longer without seeing his face, and nothing between you would change too much.

He was a friend. A good friend. Not just your dad’s old companion, but your own. Whatever else was left beyond that could be explored down the road, but for now, you were content to just let him hold your hand in places you weren’t likely to be seen, and kiss you in those he hoped your dad wouldn’t be. Maybe fuck you on a ferris wheel.

At the thought of going back to college tomorrow, not seeing him again until Thanksgiving or Christmas at the earliest, you didn’t feel too sad. You did get an extra burst of yearning when Joel’s hands would find your hips and push you off to some shaded, semi-discreet area and he’d tell you, softly, ‘I don’t know what I’m gonna do without ya, kid’ before kissing you with a hunger all over again. That made you think you might miss him a little.

You’d warned him not to lie to you again. He promised he wouldn’t. You believed him, at least as far as your general mistrust of men would allow, and you had left it at that.

Now the tips of his fingers were brushing your own, and his mouth was grinning—coated in all sorts of sauces from the barbecue you two had been devouring. It was approaching six o’clock. He held the last Carolina-style pulled pork slider up to you, and you shook your head.

“I’m stuffed,” you said, pained.

Really, you were. You and Joel had decided to join in on the fair’s 25th annual BBQ and Chili Cook-off an hour ago, and now your stomachs were suffering immensely.

You made a face in disgust when he tried to push it closer, ‘Joel, I’ll projectile vomit if you don’t— don’t—’

You squealed when he leaned in, thinking he was planning to smush the patty in your face—you’d done that to him with some coleslaw not too long ago—but instead, he dropped the burger. He pressed what non-sticky parts of his hands he could get on your face and, cupping your cheeks between his palms, he kissed you.

Then he kissed you again, and again, and again.

This time, it felt more like an attack. Not an attempt at being affectionate, which he’d shown himself amply capable of all day, but really just a way to smear your lips and chin with sauce and get you extra pissed off at him.

It worked. You bit his lower lip at the last kiss.

And, instead of wincing in pain or biting you back, Joel surprised you by groaning a little bit against your mouth. His grip loosened from your face, and he leaned back.

‘Behave’ was all he said. Smirking.

If any one of Joel Miller’s quasi-fatherly lectures had ever met with success before, this would not be one of them. You only rolled your eyes and were about to reply with some variant of ‘Make me’ when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out to see the new notification.

Nothing more than a reminder to check in for your flight. But that sight also roused some awareness in you that it was just then starting to get late, and you hadn’t heard a word from your father in hours. You and Joel had been extraordinarily fortunate that day in hearing that your dad happened to run into some friends at the livestock show, and had been occupied—plastered, most likely—ever since. You hadn’t thought to question it before, just happy to have your dad out of your hair for the afternoon, but now that it was late and all the shows were long since over, you had to wonder if it wasn’t time to shoot him that text. Bring your last happy, fun-filled night with Joel for the next two months to an end, and head home.

You started to send him a message. Joel peered over your shoulder, absently wiping his hands on a napkin.

“He said he was headed over to a concert last time we talked. Some band he likes,” he hummed, “Wanna go?”

You weren’t too keen on seeing the likes of any Creed-adjacent artist your dad so loved to listen to himself, but if it gave you an excuse to stretch your time with him and Joel, you didn’t mind. You nodded, then deposited your phone back into your pocket. You were just about to stand when Joel held you back. He’d snagged your hand.

“Hang on, ya got a little—” he said, soft. Then he lifted his napkin and started wiping at the sides of your mouth. His motions had all the crude, brute force of a man who’d never wiped a person’s face before—he seemed more concerned getting the vinegar-based glaze off your cheeks than impressing you with how tender he could be—but the gesture was received well enough. For once, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes and just smiled.

“You’re taking me to the airport tomorrow, right?”

“Long as it’s alright with your dad.”

“You could spend the night, too.”

Joel paused. He flitted a look from your lips to your eyes, then, finding a sly playfulness in both, only hummed. Stopped wiping long enough to kiss you on the cheek.

“We’ll see—”

“I’ll be real good—”

“Oh, I bet you won’t.”

But by the end of it, Joel was grinning too. He didn’t protest when your lips returned the favor from his, and they left an equally sweet and clean kiss on his cheek.

He didn’t bat an eye when your hand slid up his leg either. He just squeezed yours back and helped you up.

“Gonna get me murdered, I’m tellin’ you,” he murmured in your ear as you stood, just like he’d said to you earlier.

You figured if he’d had his pick of ways to risk his life, sneaking into your room tonight wouldn’t be the worst possible option. You threw your trash away and started off for the entertainment pavilion, following the music.

It was almost like you could feel Joel contemplating whether to sling his arm over your shoulder while you walked. Not once, but twice did his fingers twitch beside him, and he looked around you both from side to side. He decided against it, at length, and contented himself instead to just nudge your elbow and tell you that he liked that dress a lot—he hoped you would wear it again.

Come up for a football game, and you might see it then, you’d urged him back. The red of your dress wasn’t quite the perfect match for your school’s hundred-year-old crimson and black color scheme, but that was alright. You’d bend the rules for him. The two of you were just approaching the outskirts of a big, noisy crowd when Joel was about to respond. Your eyes glazed over a sea of people, surprised by its size, when you cut back in:

“We’re never gonna find him in here.”

Joel assessed the crowd. Checked his phone. Heard the wail of a guitar from somewhere up at the front and instantly surmised this was a Lynyrd Skynyrd cover band—and that your dad wouldn’t leave until he’d heard every song. Silently, he kicked himself for suggesting coming to look at all. He could’ve taken you on a few more rides, filled your overstuffed belly with a little more cotton candy, popcorn, or ice cream, if you’d been up for it, but instead, you were obliged to find your old man. It wouldn’t have been awful if it wasn’t so hot and—

“Hey,” Joel broke in, before he could think.

His eyes had landed on a person—a pair—in the crowd that you hadn’t seen, and his heart clenched in his chest.

You’d barely tilted your head to him, “Yeah?”

“We should go,” he told you. He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so rushed, or strained, but it was.

He couldn’t help it, especially when your gaze had shifted fully to him. Your eyes searched his, curious.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I…” Joel trailed off, looking around. Scrambling to procure an excuse of some kind, “I gotta…go piss.”

“Then piss. I’ll wait here,” you replied.

You didn’t get it. Really, there was no way you could. You hadn’t yet seen the short-sleeve, turquoise-colored PFG shirt at the back of the crowd, the beaming face Joel spotted above it. You hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of the man’s profile, much less the full, wide smile on his face, the beer in his hand, or the woman by his side. She was either laughing, or singing, or nudging his hip. They looked happy. And yet, you shouldn’t see it.

Joel would kiss you—that was it. It would be the riskiest thing he’d done, but at least it’d save you from seeing.

So he tried. Joel leaned in and ventured to press his lips to yours, gripping your face, but the second he did, you pushed him away. Your eyes were wide. Cheeks heating.

“What the hell, Joel?” you hissed, “Dad could be—”

Your gaze darted to the side, and then you stopped.

The eyes grew wider. Your lips stayed the course, as if to keep going, but no sound came out, and all that was left of your mouth was a round, stunned ‘o.’ You blinked, like you couldn’t believe it: the two people were kissing now.

Joel reached for your arm, but you were far too fast. You shot off to get away, toward them, and didn’t stop until you’d made it to the edge of the crowd where they stood. The music was loud, the audience was rowdy, but still, even at a distance, Joel could hear you as clear as day:

“Dad?!”

The man and the woman split as quickly as they could.

You were standing there, watching them watch you in utter shock for a second or two. Joel wasn’t counting, but he did find himself next to you before he could blink. He was reaching for your arm again, then stopping. Looking to his friend, whose gaze was plastered on his daughter with all the markings of awe. Embarrassment.

“Honey—” he started.

“What the fuck is this?”

Bad question. Terrible timing. Joel knew what it was—clearly his friend knew it too, but you weren’t supposed to find this out yourself for at least another month or two. That was what he’d told Joel back then, anyway.

“Sweetheart, this is my—this is Helen.”

You looked like you wanted to be sick.

“I know who she is!” you spat. You waved an angry, inarticulate hand in Helen’s direction. Helen looked away.

“Why don’t we go someplace quieter?” That was Joel, cutting in over the thumping bass and the strain in the air like he might’ve been a father to you himself. Wanting to shield you from what was coming next if he could help it.

Once more he reached for you, and still inflamed, you shoved him off. Your eyes were too hurt to turn away.

“What? This is y—your—” you started back, stammering.

“We were going to tell you, honey, I swear.”

In all the years he’d known him, Joel had never seen his friend look so contrite—or fucking moronic. The man had ditched his beer, was wringing his hands trying to pace a little more carefully your way while he spoke, but you weren’t having it. Or anything, really. When Joel brushed his touch against your elbow the slightest bit, about to murmur words low in your ear, like, ‘We’ll talk. C’mon,’ you’d jerked your arm away from him entirely.

He didn’t need to see your face to hear the pain in:

“Fucking stop, Joel!”

That caught your father off-guard. He didn’t hesitate before he cut back in, looking more pointedly at you.

“Hey. You don’t talk to your Uncle Joel that way,” he said, sharp. Joel winced. He went on, “I’m the one who told him not to say anything, okay? Now just calm down—”

And whatever effect his friend had intended to produce created just the opposite in you. Instead of focusing on your dad, your eyes shot to Joel, and in an instant, your body was turning. Your face was half-hatred as you did.

“You knew?!”

“Honey, I told him—” your dad tried saying.

But your look was too enraged. Your jaw was too tight. Your mouth could barely form the words you wanted to say, and your eyes were like two bloodied daggers. Joel was amazed you could speak a syllable at all, but when he heard it, he got a sense for why that was. He had to.

“You knew?”

You were hurt.

When you left, he followed. He wasn’t sure what he’d bothered saying to your father as he did, but it sounded like an excuse—‘It’s fine. I’ve got her.’ He didn’t, though. You were gone quicker than he could turn around, and by the time he’d made it far enough away from the crowd to yell your name, you were too removed to hear it. He saw the top of your head through a whole new cluster of strangers, and he yelled it again. You kept walking.

Joel was fast, but you were adept, all things considered. You slipped through the crowd with ease and gained more and more distance than he could attain in twice the time. Joel bit the inside of his cheek and kept going. He didn’t reach you until you were approaching the front gates, when he called out for you again, out of breath.

You probably wouldn’t have turned if you’d had a choice. But as it was, you were up against a bottleneck effect of more people trying to leave than the exit could fairly handle at once, and everyone at the back was at a standstill. Your jaw tightened when he said your name.

“Darlin’— hey— baby, just let me—” Joel had weaved his way around your neighbors, but the area was cramped.

You didn’t move. Your gaze was trained elsewhere.

“—explain. Let me explain, and I promise, I didn’t—”

The line shifted forward, and you moved with it. Your body was turned; while you kept walking, shuffling, Joel earned a few uneasy looks from the people around him.

“I didn’t mean—” he forged on.

But as soon as he reached for you, he knew he’d overstepped. Confirming every onlooker’s suspicion that you didn’t want to be disturbed, you snatched your arm away, and your eyes flared with anger. You faced him.

“Fuck you.”

Before he could reply:

“Leave me the hell alone, Joel.”

And, while the words were still fresh on your tongue and no one else tried stepping in themselves, you walked off.

You left him again—for what other place, Joel wasn’t sure. You just made off the other way, breezing past carts and stands and now-shuttered booths and more faces than either one of you could count. You kept walking until you found an open space a tolerable distance away from all the noise, then went further.

Your face was fixed in a hard, immutable stare when Joel approached you again. The look behind your eyes was worse; he could tell in a second you were about to cry.

“Darlin’—”

“You knew this whole time,” you said. Seething.

“I didn’t—”

“My dad’s been dating the woman he cheated on my mom with and you didn’t think to fucking tell me?!”

“I thought—”

“Not ONCE?! Huh?” you screamed it this time, “Known you my whole goddamn life and you hide that from me?”

Joel winced. He knew the tears were coming before they even filled your eyes, but the sight still made him hurt. You wouldn’t let him near you, either. You just shook your head and swallowed a lump and blinked hard, and he felt stupid. Whatever favor he’d thought he was doing your father—and you—seemed infinitely small to him now.

That knot you’d tried pushing down in your throat kept you silent for a minute. Joel opened his mouth to insert a word or two himself, but then you looked keen to keep hold of the conversation, no matter how much it hurt, and you were starting again. Blinking harder. Hating it.

“She’s the reason mama left,” you said, hoarse, “Helen was her best friend, and then she went and— and— and— fucked my dad, and because of that, I didn’t have a family for half my fucking adolescence. You knew that.”

Another beat. Joel’s own throat constricted considerably as he considered his next words, but there was no need.

“You saw how much I hated my father, and her, and myself for years, thinking there was something just…wrong with me not being enough to make her stay. And you knew all that, and you still kept it a secret from m—”

“I know, baby. I shouldn’t have kept it from you, I know.”

He’d also known your dad was in the wrong. That hadn’t stopped Joel from trying to rationalize his friend’s actions while they happened: it was a one-time hookup with Helen, then a casual, no-strings deal that the man only indulged when he was feeling extra lonely, then a thing, a relationship of two, three, six months now. Joel had known all along what kind of profound ramifications these decisions would have if you were to ever find out. But his friend wasn’t so easily swayed from old habits, and Joel couldn’t stomach having to break it to you.

Then the roadtrip from Boston happened.

You seemed to be remembering the same.

“Was fucking me a way to make yourself feel better?”

Your words had never struck Joel with more deliberateness or force. He croaked ‘No’ in a moment. You took a step back, and there came the look again—more spiteful than before and repulsed to its core.

“Is that why you offered me a ride back in the first place? Just felt guilty for all the stuff you knew my dad was—”

“No. No, no, honey, I would never, ever—”

“Then why hide it?! Why all this? Why bother?”

You gestured between his body and yours; you didn’t seem to know what you meant. Your cheeks were wet with tears. You had to scrape your palms down your face, sniffling and struggling to clear your own vision, but the efforts appeared to be in vain. You couldn’t stop crying.

“For you,” Joel said, and he hated the way his own voice was splintered. He didn’t know how to make it better, “You were off at school when it started, then— then Boston. Just thought it’d be safer…for you…for us—”

Somewhere in his brain, he’d meant to say that he didn’t want the news of your father to hurt you, or else jeopardize a shred of something Joel had had with you.

It was stupid. Your instantaneous reaction said as much.

“Us?!”

Joel blinked. The eyes across from his were alight.

“Us, Joel?! Are you fucking kidding me? There is no us.”

Their brilliance wasn’t appreciative by any means. If anything, the words made the flow of your tears even worse. You pressed your hands to your face, rubbing your cheeks and trying to shield your eyes, and saying again, ‘There is no ‘us,’ Joel, that’s not an excuse—you knew!’

With his insides in knots, Joel wanted to hold you again. You were still in pain, and your scowl wouldn’t move, and when he tried to touch you, you stepped back in disgust.

He knew better than to think he could reach you now.

“Whole thing was a mistake,” you spat, unfeeling.

“Baby—”

“You and me. Dad and Helen.”

“You don’t mean—”

“Anything you need to keep a secret probably isn’t worth keeping at all, right?” And when you said it, he could tell you’d meant it to hurt him. As if the tears and the time and the sheer resignation in your eyes didn’t say enough.

Now Joel felt an ache in his bones, worse than it’d ever been, and he still couldn’t touch you. Where the heart demanded comfort of a kind you couldn’t give, the head knew better than to ask, and his hands fell limply at his sides. He saw you cry and had only himself to blame.

You turned back to the fairgrounds’ exit. The crowd was as big as it had ever been, but anywhere away from him seemed to be as welcome as anything else, Joel guessed

He’d try something stupid. Again. Even more desperate.

Never in his life had he said the words to someone else, and he sensed it wouldn’t do a thing to change your mind right now, but he’d say it anyway. If not to extricate himself, to let you know what he felt beyond every thing that had taken place tonight. He reached for you again.

“Darlin’, I lov—”

But before the words could register with you, the simple act of pressing his fingers to yours made you blanch. You hadn’t heard him at all, and seemed only concerned with jerking yours away as fast as you could, then shrieking:

“I HATE YOU, JOEL!”

Then you choked back a sob, trained your glossy gaze on him in one last pitiless look, and left him. He didn’t move. He didn’t try to. Sights and sounds and the ground underneath him seemed apt to swallow him whole, and still, he couldn’t move an inch. Somewhere ahead of him—too serendipitous, really—he heard you call a name.

Of course, it wasn’t his. You weren’t running to him.

It wasn’t Joel in the crowd making its way out the gates. It wasn’t him standing a little ways off to the side, eyes wide and confused as he watched you rush over. Almost stumble over yourself falling into his arms and hugging him, burying your face in his chest. Joel watched it all with a raw and hollow heart and wished it were him.

But it was Wade.

Wade hugged you back and held you close, and the look on his face was too bewildered and distraught for Joel to blame him. He hadn’t been the one to hurt you. Joel had.

He watched you leave.

There was nothing more to say.