#i promise this fic sounded better in my head lmao

[impishtubist]

happy birthday, aqua-myosotis <3

For @aqua-myosotis on your birthday. I hope you have the best day!

---

In the days leading up to the full moon, Remus can generously be called cranky. Privately, James thinks that Moony the wolf is less volatile than Remus in human form right before the moon.

In the days after, though, Remus is a delight. He spends at least twenty-four hours moon drunk. The comedown from the moon is like a high for him, and taking care of him is always an adventure.

Today, though, Sirius gets called into work the afternoon after the full, so Remus duty falls to James alone. Remus convinces him that they must grab dinner in Muggle London, and then they’ll do some shopping while they wait for Sirius to get home. James is only too happy to agree. He loves spending money on Remus. It’s one of his favorite things. 

The owner of Remus’s favorite record store doesn’t bat an eye at Remus’s behavior, probably because Remus has actually been high in his shop on multiple occasions over the years. It doesn’t go over as well at Remus’s favorite bookshop, because he keeps dramatically reading passages from various erotica novels out loud until James, quaking with silent laughter, has to usher him out of the shop. 

James had been hoping that most of Remus’s moon drunk state would pass by dinnertime, but it shows no sign of abating. They’re on their way to the restaurant when Remus suddenly disappears from James’s side, and by the time James realizes what’s happening, Remus is already halfway across the street. 

“Rem!” James calls, running after him and casting a few discreet spells to make some cars stop in their tracks. “Hey, you can’t just do that.” 

“But James, look.” Remus has his nose pressed to the glass of a shop window. “It’s Padfoot.”

James chokes on a laugh when he spots the black puppy sleeping in a pile with its siblings. “Er, he’s a little small to be Padfoot, love.”

“Oh!” Remus says, ignoring him. “There’s another one. Hi, Paddy! Hi! Jamie, we have to go say hi to Padfoot.”

In all, there are four all-black puppies in the pet shop. Remus grabs James’s hand and drags him around the store to visit each one, and then he turns pleading eyes on James.

“Oh, no,” James mutters.

---

It probably would have been fine if it had stopped there, James reasons. What are four puppies, anyway? They already live with one Padfoot, who’s at least eight times bigger than one of the puppies. Four puppies is nothing! 

But then Remus drags James across town to visit another pet shop, and then to a third one, and then they stop by a shelter on their way back home. 

It’s at that point that James admits that maybe he should have put his foot down. 

But how is he supposed to resist those pleading eyes? Merlin, Remus is going to be the death of him.

“Hi, Padfoot, you’re so handsome,” Remus coos. He’s laying on their kitchen floor, and all of the puppies are climbing on him, all clamoring for attention. All fourteen of them. “Oh, yes, you are too. And you! Such pretty boys, yes you are. So many pretty Padfoots.” 

---

Sirius is too tired to dig for his key, so he unlocks their front door wandlessly and steps into the house with a sigh of relief. Merlin, what a day.

He’s only just shrugged out of his jacket when there’s a commotion from the kitchen, and the sound of many nails scampering across hardwood flooring. He turns around, and is instantly besieged by a dozen puppies.

Puppies?

Twelve--no, fourteen--black puppies are yipping at his feet, putting their little paws on his legs and wiggling their adorable little butts. 

“Hey, Pads.” James comes out of the kitchen looking sheepish. Remus is hanging on his arm, a dopey smile on his face. “Welcome home.”

“Padfoot!” Remus exclaims. “Look! I got you Padfoots!”

“You got me…me,” Sirius says.

Remus comes up to him and kisses his cheek. “‘Cause I love you a lot.”

“I love you, too, babe.” Sirius wraps him in a hug, glaring at James over Remus’s shoulder. “But we’re never leaving you alone with Prongs again.” 

James pouts. “It’s not my fault! He did the thing with his eyes.” 

Sirius kisses the side of Remus’s head. “You’ve got Jamie wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

“Yep,” Remus says, popping the p. Sirius feels his forehead. The post-moon fever has finally broken, thank goodness. A good night’s sleep, and Remus will be back to normal in the morning. 

“Come on, you.” Sirius wraps an arm around his waist and steers him toward the stairs. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

The puppies pile into the bed, too. There’s no room leftover for James or Sirius. 

“Er,” James says, “there’s Harry’s bed? He’s not going to need it until the summer.” 

But Harry’s bed barely fits James, let alone the two of them, and Sirius ends up having to drape himself basically on top of his husband to stay on the bed. 

“From now on,” he whispers, “I’m on Remus duty.”

[httpsserene]

Lando smut driveroom after hia dnf🫠🫠

𝐝𝐧𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐲 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬

summary: what goes down in their driver’s room with you after a dnf. content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. hurt/comfort (in a way). sexual propositions. angry sex (implied). depressed charles. mercedes f1 team slander. sir kink. periods. face-sitting, vaginal sex, masturbation, voyeurism, blowjobs, cunnilingus, shower sex (light or implied). pairing: the grid x fem!reader (1,4,16,44,55,81) genre: drabbles.

from serene: river baby, this one’s for you xxx we all know what inspired this one lmao !!! oh, i will not be doing extended fics for any of these, they are just quick drabbles as a little writing exercise for me! (okay, okay, okay, fine i’ll finish toasty part two i promise it'll be released soon)

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𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐦𝐚𝐱 #𝟏

You’ve never found Max’s skill for talking endlessly annoying or draining. In fact, you can recall telling him that hearing him eagerly explain about racing or other topics that interest him is attractive, multiple times. However, you’re not sure if you can withstand much more of him rambling through a retelling of every single lap he raced before he had to retire, looking for any possible point where he could’ve done something different to prevent it. 

The two of you are sitting on his small couch, pressed side to side, and you’re offering small nods of agreement and hums of understanding during his pauses between words that echo in the small private room. His helmet was shoved in a random cubby, his balaclava draped on top of it but, he hasn’t made any other progress in taking off his race gear. His gloves are still covering his hands as he fiddles with the straps around his wrists, his race suit and boots still properly secured, the smell of sweat and gasoline–the scent of man alluring to your nose–the heat of his body radiating against your side instigating the warmth that floods your cheeks, and the sound of his lisp curling seductively around his speech prompting less than pure thoughts as your heart flutters and thighs press together.

Max is unaware of the sudden twist in your thoughts as he verbally attempts to calculate just exactly where he could’ve improved his outcome, his voice rumbly with an undertone of displeasure, when you cut him off.

“Let me make it better,” you offer.

The Dutch driver cocks his head at you, his expression confused and humored, “How can you make my DNF better? I do not think you can go back in time and—”

“No, Max,” you interrupt, teeth tugging at your bottom lip gently, “Let me sit on your face.”

Visibly, you see his breath catch and eyes widen. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to formulate a response, tongue flicking out to dampen his lips as he thinks—before his pupils blow large, and he swallows audibly.

“Oh,” Max starts, finally tugging his gloves off and tossing them to the floor, then moving to undo the strap of his race suit, “That would make it better.”

𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 #𝟒

He’s pacing the small length of the room angrily, ranting about his retirement loudly enough that you know it’s seeping through the thin walls. You stare at him with a slightly concerned gaze, getting slightly annoyed as his race suit tied low on his hips threatens to smack you in the face every time he turns around. 

You’re well aware that Lando is quick to anger and brood as he freely makes everyone aware of where the blame needs to be placed. But, the dark and unyielding look in his eyes leads you to believe that he’ll be a little too real to the press today and you would hate to have to deal with a simultaneously enraged and ashamed Lando once he realizes what he said. Then, you’ll have to comfort him as he overthinks his words and doom scrolls through Twitter to see what people are saying about him. You would like to sleep tonight, so you can’t have him embarrass himself today. Thankfully, Lando’s a man, a very simple man at his core. 

You stand up from the couch and pull off his hoodie that you stole. Lando continues to rage and pace, not aware of your movement. You undo the buttons of your shirt, shrugging it off to stand in your bra and jeans. Lando doesn’t notice your state of undress until he spins around to find you topless and shimmying your jeans down your hips.

“Um,” Lando stutters, eyes fixed on your tits, “Why are your clothes off?”

“Get over here and fuck your anger out,” you command, “So when you talk to the press, you don’t say the stupid shit you're telling me now.”

Lando mumbles and pouts offended as he scrambles to lose his race suit, “‘s not stupid shit.”

You roll your eyes and reach out to tug him forward strongly, humming as the length of his body knocks against yours, easily stuffing your hand down his fireproofs and kissing on the meat of his neck, “mhm–I’m sure it isn’t.”

𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 #𝟏𝟔

The room is silent as Charles blankly stares at the wall, you’re not sure if he is aware of your hand comfortingly scratching along his back. He only offered words of exhaustion and depression as he slipped quietly into his room and curled next to you as he dissociated from his retirement.

You’ve tried everything. You cooed soothingly, you complained about the result, and you even loudly expressed how terrible you think the car and Ferrari are and he didn’t say a single word. He simply continued to stare at the wall, his suit and helmet still on, visor down, and expression unreadable. Anxiously, you shifted next to him, not used to experiencing Charles this out of it. And suddenly, the idea came to you. Breaking the silence, you suggested giving him head to relieve his stress. Charles said no. Your brow furrowed perplexed at his denial; he’s never rejected a blowjob before. You took it one step further and offered to let him fuck it out of you (you were previously adamant on the “no sex in the driver’s room” rule because sound carries), and you were sure the Monegasque was about to say yes before he shook his head violently like he was forcibly removing the thought, and mumbled something along the lines of, “I don’t deserve it.” 

That is something you will not let slide. Charles doesn’t need to punish himself after he’s already out of the race, but if he won’t allow himself to indulge in you, you’ll strongly encourage him to.

“Okay, Charlie,” you whisper, “If you’re sure.”

He doesn’t zone back in until he hears your whimpers seep into the air, snapping his head to look at you. He finds you with one hand tugging at your nipple and your other hand shoved under your skirt—from the movement, he can guess that you’re two fingers deep. You hear Charles choke audibly and you can’t help but toss your head back and giggle, the laughter turning into a moan of pleasure as your fingers pass over a sensitive spot.

“I-I think–merde,” Charles cuts himself off as he stares at your show, “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

The helmet stays on.

𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧, 𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬 #𝟒𝟒

You’re unsure if Lewis is even mad about his retirement. The man seems mentally deranged as he laughs gleefully about ending his race early. Understandably, he is complaining about the bottoming of the car and the hell it’s wreaking on his back–so, maybe the joy is justifiable, your man is…older.

The thing is, Lewis switches from rambling about his back pain to complaining about Mercedes and repeating how he can’t wait for a change in scenery at Ferrari. In the Mercedes motorhome. Loudly. You know he’s doing it on purpose based on the vengeful look in his eyes. He recalls almost every single moment the team dismissed his critiques and suggestions, every single moment they didn’t appear at his podiums, every single moment they thought he wouldn’t leave, every single moment they took him for granted. And, Lewis is more than welcome to express his grievances—but you would still like him to leave on good terms as Toto did promise you a custom G-Wagon (not that Lewis can’t get you one himself; you would just hate to see him ruin his connections).

Lewis also can’t help being hot. He sits comfortably splayed out on his couch, a towel tied loosely on his hips from his shower, chest bare as beads of water fall downwards and get caught in the maze of his toned abdomen, his tattoos become art pieces as you appreciate the sight fully. He continues to partake in his amusing one-man conversation as he clasps his chain around his neck—and you break.

“Let me suck your dick,” you blurt out, cheeks flushing, surprised at your own words, “...sir?”

Lewis pauses, raising an eyebrow at you from where you’re leaning on the room door. 

“Well, I don’t know why you’re still standing over there if that’s what you want. Kneel.”

The sound of your knees hitting the floor sings in the air, “Yes, sir.”

𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢, 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 #𝟖𝟏

Oscar’s already sequestered himself away in his room before you were able to intercept him on his way. The mechanics are lowly gossiping about how mad he was when he pulled himself out of the car and they watch after you in fear as you make your way to your boyfriend.

Oscar? Mad? He’d never take it out on you, there’s no reason for the mechanics to be worried. Except when you enter the room, the vibes are peculiar. Oscar’s calmly folding his race suit, boots tucked away into their proper place, standing in just his fireproofs—they compliment his body well, extremely well. He turns to look at you and there’s a smile on his face as if he hasn’t retired from a race. He opens his arms for a hug, and you hesitate for a moment before fulfilling his request. His arms wrap around you warmly and he nuzzles his face into your hair, pulling back briefly to press a kiss on your forehead before tightening his embrace. It feels more like he’s comforting you than you’re comforting him. He walks the two of you backward to his couch and pulls you down to sit on his lap. 

Somehow, Oscar brightens more, “Hi, baby,” he grins, hands moving to fiddle with the hem of your shirt.

“Uhh, I’m sorry about your race?” Your tone of voice is unsure.

“Oh,” he laughs dismissively, “It happens sometimes–it was listed in the job description.” His right hand slips underneath your shirt as he speaks, moving calmly to tug the cups of your bra down underneath your chest, squeezing lightly at the plush weight in his hand. 

You’re convinced he’s severely concussed, but it doesn’t stop you from arching towards him, your hips rolling forward unconsciously, “Ummm— ‘s there a-anything I can do to help?”

Oscar’s hand draws out of your shirt and halts the grind of your hips in a flash, he coos at you, “Aw, that’s so sweet of you to offer…let me fuck your tits—please?”

What were you going to do, tell him no?

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳 𝐣𝐫, 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 #𝟓𝟓

You’re going to slam your head on the corner of the sink and hope it knocks you out. You’ll do it if means the sounds of Carlos’ whining stop. He forcibly pulled you up on the counter of the sink and told you to stay put as he showered so he could talk it out to you.

Naively, you thought the sound of the shower running would muffle his words and you were wrong. On any other day, you would be fine to support him through his complaints but your period is due to start in a couple of days and the irritation and sore muscles are already affecting you. Originally, you were eager to watch Carlos shower—that’s a sight plenty of women and men alike would kill you for. Then, the glass fogged with steam depriving you of something to ogle. And, if there’s one thing a woman is experiencing besides pain, sensitivity, and anger before her period, it’s being horny. You rationalize your thought process as you get undressed; Carlos gets some stress relief and you get to hear moans and grunts of pleasure instead of his huffing, grumbling, and whining. 

You slide the glass door open and closed as you step in the shower, completely bare except for the necklaces, earrings, and anklet with the #55 charm he gifted you randomly, “Carlos, por favor, be quiet.”

The Spanish man’s mouth is agape as he stares at you, frozen in the middle of his motion of scrubbing soap along his arm, “¿Qué?”

You roll your eyes, tugging the soapy cloth out of his hand and setting it on the shower shelf, “There’s better things you could be doing with your mouth.”

Carlos blinks, returning to the present and sinking to his knees in the too-small shower. 

He stares up at you with his big, sweet, lust-drenched, brown eyes, his hair a mess from the spray of the shower, and his voice cracking as he speaks, “Yes, definitely.”

© httpsserene2024

[guiltyasdave]

every breath you take

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: Dave is investigating a case, but ends up being much more interested in the target's girlfriend.

word count: 1.7k

tags/warnings: dark content!!! stalker!dave, non-consensual voyerism, more things that i don't want to spoil, but if you don't like dark stuff you won't like this okay?, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, divorced dave, allusions to smut, angst

a/n: ...i was in the mood to try my hand at a dark dave, so i did :) written for @punkshort's au challenge, where i got detective!dave, which i took and ran with lmao

so much love to @sizzlingcloudmentality who has received a thousand voice notes over this, kept me from killing everyone, and gave me the idea for the final twist <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

It had started the first time Dave heard your voice, ringing through his headphones as he was sitting at his desk, taking notes on last nights’ recordings. He had just taken on the case, a promise of quiet observational work, gathering evidence. The only requirement to stay invisible. Easy enough.

Your name had popped up in the case file. Romantic partner. Female. Involvement unclear. A note in the back of his head, filed away. That was before he knew you. 

Before he sat at his desk, headphones on, not breathing for what felt like hours. Before he unfroze, straightening his back, digging through the file for a photograph of you. Staring at the blurry pixels, at the sweet smile directed at your boyfriend. 

His line of work had long lost the excitement it gave him when he first started, the buzz that he had once felt when after months of investigation, a case was solved. But this. This was new, this was fun. 

He found himself listening so much more intently when you were present, waiting for your name being mentioned when you weren’t. 

There hasn’t been much fun in his life since the divorce. Not seeing the girls nearly as much as he would like to. Coming home to an empty house in the evening, no traces left of the family life that he always prided himself with. One could say that he’s lonely, he guesses.

It’s late in the evening, his car parked in front of the unassuming suburban house, perfect with a white picket fence, the porch surrounded by carefully maintained flowers. Your work, as he knows by now. It’s so easy, imagining you in his house, so similar to the one you’re living in now.

He should be paying close attention to your boyfriend, should monitor his every step, should take notes, photos if necessary. Instead, his eyes are glued to you. 

Watching you move from the living room to the kitchen, picturing you in the same rooms in his house instead. Reaching up to a cupboard, crouching down in front of the oven, moving around the counters. He grits his teeth when your boyfriend comes up behind you, crowds you in, his hands all over your body. Lips against your neck. You leaning into the touch, a soft smile on your lips. That should be him. 

Maybe, if he tries hard enough, later tonight he’ll look at his own kitchen counter and see you there. Maybe he’ll be able to pretend, even for a moment, that your sweet, sweet smile is directed at him. That your voice rings out with the sound of his name instead of the douchebag that calls himself your boyfriend. 

You deserve so much better. Someone to take care of you, to keep you safe. To love you the way you should be loved. You deserve someone like him and he doesn’t understand how you don’t see that. How you don’t look out the window, spot him across the street, and just know. The way he did. 

Of course things didn’t work out with Carol. How could they, when you were waiting for him? 

But you don’t look out the window. You turn around, a laugh on your lips. Silent, from his vantage point outside of your house, your life. But he knows the sound, knows how beautiful it sounds, how it always brings a smile to his own face. He has listened to it over and over, after all. Maybe, one day he’ll be able to experience both at once, to see your face scrunch up, crinkles forming around your eyes and your nose, while his ears pick up on the pearly sound that he’s gotten addicted to. It’s almost embarrassing, how much longer it takes him to listen to tapes when you’re on them. How often he rewinds, how meticulously he commits every single sound that you let out to memory.

It isn’t lost on him that you love your boyfriend. He’s not delusional, after all. You just don’t know how much better you could have it. It’s not your fault, of course. He understands, he wants to help you, wants to make you see. 

You don’t know who the man you live with really is, he doesn’t think. You don’t know about the blood-stained money that bought the house you live in, don’t question when he comes home late at night, when he leaves the room to make a call. 

Dave would never treat you like this. He’d be so, so good to you. Because he knows you, better than that guy ever will, and he hasn’t even met you. Yet. 

It almost seems too easy. He has dirt, more than enough of it, to send your boyfriend to jail for a long, long time. He could finish up the case. But he likes to keep watching. At least until he knows what to do with you. 

It’s late one evening, the golden light from your living room spilling out across the lawn. Dave’s back is stiff from folding his body into the car seat all day, but it’s a price he’s willing to pay. Just a glimpse of you would be enough. Right now, all he can see is the back of your boyfriend’s head behind an armchair.

As if his thoughts had summoned you, you glide into the room, just as gorgeous as always. Wearing nothing but lacy black underwear, a coy smile on your face, directed at the man that Dave has come to hate. The man who doesn’t deserve your smile, doesn’t deserve to lay eyes on you, let alone touch you. The hands roaming over your skin, pulling you closer until it’s body against body— they should be Dave’s. 

The shutter clicks quietly. No one but him will see these photos, they won’t be submitted to the case file. But he already knows that he’ll be looking at them over and over, pouring over them in the darkness of his home, until every inch, every crevice of your body is seared into his memories. 

You giggle, muted by the distance and the windows separating him from you, but he still hears the sound in his ear as if he was standing right next to you. He knows you. Fingers intertwined, you pull your boyfriend with you, up the stairs and out of view. It stings. He’d be lying to say that it didn’t. But not much longer now. He just needs a plan. 

He has already cleared any evidence that even hints at you possessing any knowledge of the criminal activities surrounding the man that you’re with right now. You won’t go down with him, you’re safe. Of course you are. Dave will always protect what’s his. You’ll see.

Later, when all the lights in your house are turned off and he has returned to his own home, his thoughts race with the image of you. All that skin on display, the smiles and giggles, the teasing. Maybe you do know. Maybe it’s a game that you’re both playing, maybe you wanted him to see. 

He lets the hot spray of the shower rain down his back, the heat slowly easing the hardened muscles in his back. Still, all he sees is you. He doesn’t even need to close his eyes. In his mind, you’re right there with him. It’s his body that you’re pressed against, his fingers digging into your flesh. He almost tastes your soft breaths, feels all the mewling sounds that he could pull from you against his lips. He could give you everything you want, could make you feel better than anyone else ever has. You’re meant for him. 

He’d turn you around, press you against the hard wall, one hand on your shoulder, pulling you back against his body as he fills you up. You’d be so tight, so warm and wet around him. He’d drive into you, again and again, over and over, until the only thing you know is his name. Until he’s everything you’ll ever need.

It happens one week later. You were supposed to be asleep. They were going to intercept your boyfriend before he could enter the house. Dave doesn’t know what went wrong, why the team fucked up like this. 

He runs inside when he hears you scream, standing in the kitchen. Your eyes wide, shining with the image of your boyfriend’s blood slowly spreading across the white tiles. With a wild expression on your face, you make a grab for the knife block. 

It all goes by incredibly fast. In the blink of an eye, Dave’s world comes crashing down around him. One of the men lunges at you, attempting to tackle you to the ground. Your head connects with the kitchen counter in a sickening crunch. A second later, your limp body hits the ground. 

It’s agony, waiting for you to wake up. He lets people think that he’s just invested in his case, that he feels guilty about how things went down. No one interferes when he handles the hospital proceedings, knowing better than to question him. Or when he doesn’t let anyone else near you. Or when he barely leaves your side, staring at your unconscious face, your hand weak in his. 

He listens attentively to the doctors, his brows knitted deeply, his lips pursed in worry. No part of it is fake. If his eyes widen at the words memory loss, the only plausible reason is his deep concern for you.

When your eyelids flutter open, when your gaze finds him for the very first time, his heart is racing in his chest. He squeezes your hand, resists the urge to smooth out the crease on your forehead. 

“Thank god you’re awake,” he breathes, not able to stop a smile from growing on his face.

You exhale sharply, pure confusion painting your features. So helpless without him. 

“W— who are you?” 

“I’m Dave, baby. Your fiancé, remember?”

A slow shake of your head, your brows pulling together. Quietly echoing his name back to him, more like a question.

Until the only thing you know is his name. Until he’s everything you’ll ever need.

thank you for reading, aaaahhhhh! i have never written anything really dark before and i'm a little nervous tbh, so please let me know if you liked this <3

[joelscurls]

feel it in your bones

next part

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone. 

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull. 

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling. 

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone. 

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school. 

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house,  re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck. 

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont,  with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it. 

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are. 

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor. 

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school. 

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it. 

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.” 

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front,  scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation. 

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project. 

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time. 

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall.  Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear. 

“Professor!” 

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower. 

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer,  strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.  

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name. 

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing. 

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon. 

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.” 

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?” 

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down. 

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes. 

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight. 

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them. 

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting. 

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.” 

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs. 

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer. 

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well. 

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced. 

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting. 

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...” 

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now. 

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking. 

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that. 

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules. 

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone. 

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs. 

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids. 

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder. 

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky. 

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches. 

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour. 

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle. 

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.” 

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone. 

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks. 

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say: 

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing. 

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.” 

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?” 

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even. 

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation. 

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you. 

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.” 

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.” 

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole. 

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side. 

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks. 

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door. 

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught. 

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.” 

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now. 

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re  both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.” 

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him. 

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames. 

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want. 

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind. 

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.  

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it. 

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh. 

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble. 

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?” 

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet. 

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin. 

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble. 

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips. 

After a beat, he looks up at you. 

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat. 

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave. 

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are. 

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.” 

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough. 

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.” 

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders. 

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles. 

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips. 

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?” 

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask. 

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore. 

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze. 

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his. 

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too. 

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly. 

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it? 

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair. 

You tap on the screen, waking it up. 

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you. 

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.” 

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you. 

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips. 

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same. 

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out. 

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away. 

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again. 

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you. 

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible. 

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter. 

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him. 

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late. 

“You buyin’?,” he jokes. 

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.” 

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move? 

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone  else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’. 

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it. 

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in. 

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough. 

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh. 

Joel raises an eyebrow at her. 

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored. 

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot. 

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers. 

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.” 

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator. 

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive. 

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind. 

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet. 

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time. 

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.” 

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island. 

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes. 

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.” 

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours. 

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you. 

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer. 

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous. 

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer. 

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second. 

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant,  “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently. 

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel. 

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island. 

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now. 

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling. 

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing. 

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead. 

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice. 

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it. 

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans. 

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat. 

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus. 

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much.  “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm. 

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop. 

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue. 

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.  

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch. 

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body. 

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied. 

But Joel isn’t just any man. 

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him. 

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move. 

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again. 

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there. 

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.” 

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours. 

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back.  A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words. 

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him. 

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.” 

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven. 

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy,  cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend. 

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound. 

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively  to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids. 

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard. 

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard. 

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels. 

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours. 

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food. 

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer. 

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional. 

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it. 

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds. 

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. 

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t. 

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.” 

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease. 

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!” 

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes. 

“What?” 

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again. 

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself. 

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.” 

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.” 

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.” 

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes. 

You’ve never been so excited for the future. 

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

[brucewaynehater101]

Didn't know who else to send this to, so suffer my brain rot, I guess ♡

Anyway I've been on a fake powers!Tim kick and just the idea of fake psychic/medium!Tim looking unrevealed!hood-jason in the helmet and telling him he'd personally fist fight the crime lords personal demons. Jason is just "child no???? Also how would you manage that??"

Turns out that second question really should have stayed inside the head because Tim just smiled serenely, and 2 hours later, the Joker had been brutally assaulted.

Also, Tim did this as Tim, not as Robin. Jason is now reevaluating litterally everything he was told about this prissy rich kid

Fudge. I love a good fake psychic!Tim AU.

Let's see... as far as fics, obviously we've got to recommend "cards on the table" by wesslan. It's a good Tim joins batfam late au.

Shit... There's another really good one where Tim pretends to be a psychic because he can't otherwise explain how he knows who the Bats are (he's afraid of going to jail or something). They even "train" his powers, lmao. I can't find it, though :(

EDIT: "psych you out" by lukewarmbeefstew. It's locked so you'll need an AO3 account

Anyways! Two AUs inspired by this idea:

First one: Psych inspired AU - Tim, instead of becoming the third Robin, opens up his own psychic detective agency. He utilizes his stalking, hacking, and sneaking skills to gain information on people and pretends all of this "came to him in a vision." He starts this agency a little before Jason dies. Therefore, Jason uses his services to find more info about his bio mom (cause he doesn't want Bruce to find out anything and the agency promises secrecy). Tim finds out all the crimes Shelia committed, passes that info to Jason, and unknowingly prevents his death. Jason and Bruce still have a falling out, but Jason just moves in with Dick instead. The Bats are trying to prove that he's lying about his capabilities, but they can't quite catch him yet.

Second one: Tim, as the Dick Grayson fan he is, doesn't want to implicate Dick by admitting that his Robin gave away their identities to nine year old Tim Drake. Therefore, he knocks on Bruce Wayne's door and tells him that his "vibes are rancid" and Tim's there to fix em. Tim ends up becoming Robin and spends the majority of his career ensuring anyone who can give away his non-psych status (e.g. Martian Manhunter, Raven, etc.) are not in the same room with Tim and a Bat. He also has to go out of his way to procure information via stalking without the Bats somehow figuring it out.

The second one fits the ask better! Tim in that one is unhinged and has a habit of speaking in what he calls his psychic mannerisms. He has to sound all mysterious and mystic and shit to sell the act, but he also ends up being blunt as hell. This is how he ends up telling Bruce that his aura is "like a kicked puppy Bat dipped in angst glitter sauce." No, he does not elaborate.

[quantum1mmortality]

Ok so I was thinking about a smut with a leech and wanted to ask you to do (i love how u write)

What about a AFAB!reader that likes to open her mouth and sometimes you do it without realizing it.

I read somewhere that eels have it like an invitation to mate or something like that (dont remember so much)

And about if is jade or floyd… well, both are my favs so I cant choose. What works better I guess

EEK TYSM!!! I feel as tho floyd would fit this better bc jade is a smart boy, probs knows that humans just open their mouths wide for random shit but floyd

...

Hes a lil stupid when it comes to these things(I love him I swear)

10/10, would fuck in the VIP room again

-floyd probably lmao(also the name of the fic)

♧CW!!! fem reader, breeding kink yas slay, unsafe sex(wear condoms kids), degrading(? Floyd calls us a slut for yawning around other men but he loves us 🤞), little to no foreplay hes too hawny, semi public sex, pwp?, mentions of jade but light, none that I can think of right now but floyd is such a silly little goose(im terrified of him)

NOT PROOFREAD

~~~~~~~~~~~~~♧♧~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

♧ you were originally here to study.

Seeing as your boyfriend, Floyd, was nowhere to be seen. Sitting in the mostro lounge while waiting for Floyd to be on break was a normal occurrence.

Since it had been awhile with slight glimpses of him taking care of customers, you decided to start studying on your own. Opening up a text book and starting to read and take notes, Jade comes over with your order.

"Apologies for my brother taking so long. The customers he has are being seriously rude, we're trying our best to have him not squish them." Jade says as he places your tea on the table in front of you.

"How long will he be?" You ask as you take a small sip of your tea. Jade rests his chin on his hand as he closes his eyes, seemingly in thought.

"Soon." He simply says as he walks away.

Although odd, you've gotten used to Jades strange behavior. As you were about to return to studying, you spotted Floyd waiting on the table across from you. He shoots you a smile before turning back to his customers.

You took that as a sign to go back to studying. Flipping open your text book, you begin to take notes again. As you get further into the book, your eyelids begin to feel heavy. Resting your head on your hand, you start to close your eyes for longer periods once blinking.

As you began to drift off to a light sleep, you felt yourself yawning as you began to shift in your chair.

Having finally settled in a comfortable position, you begin to get lulled into a peaceful sleep by the surround sound of calming music in the lounge.

Drifting off, you get woken up by a sudden loud noise. "Boo!" It was Floyd, creeping up behind you just to scare you awake. Playfully punching his chest as you complain about how you just fell asleep, he takes your hand, leading you off somewhere.

"Floyd, where are you taking me?" You say between giggles. "Somewhere, it'll be fun, I promise." He says as he gives you a wink.

He leads you to the VIP room, which usually isn't occupied by anyone, like now. Just the two of you. He turns around to lock the door, he turns back to you, eyes widened with an unpleasant look on his face.

"That thing you did out there, I cant believe you did it infront of other men. Do you understand what they may think now? Think im not your boyfriend? Think I dont treat you well enough?" Confusion. All you felt in the moment was pure confusion.

"Floyd, what the fuck are you talking about? I was just studying, nothing happened." You could tell he was getting frustrated. "That thing! Where you opened your mouth wide!"

"You mean yawning? The.... thing people do.... when they're tired?"

"You can't do that around merfolk." Oh. Oh? This seems like something you can tease him on.

"Oh? And whys that, Mr eel boy?" You say as you chuckle. Somehow, floyd got even more pissed at this, he slammed both your arms above you and against the wall behind you, eyes still wide, and very much angry.

"You don't understand what you're doing. You're making a mating invite by doing that, what if the other merfolk saw? Or worse, what if Jade saw?"

"Floyd im sorry okay, I didn't mean to, seriously-" you were cut off by him smashing his lips onto yours, you fed into it, not resisting in the slightest.

He began to sink his head down to your neck, making soft bites on it and licking up the semi bloody aftermath. "If you want to act like a slut, then I'll fuck you like one." He says before digging his open hend into the flesh of your thigh and biting down on your collar bone.

You choke out a groan at the sudden pain as floyd slowly kisses the bite, making it feel more pleasurable than anything.

Once hes done, he looks up at you. "You're okay with this, right?"

"Yeah, just don't do anything stupid." You're able to say between puffs of hot air. Giving you a smile, he hooks his finger under the strap of your panties, taking his other hand off your wrists. Sliding down the peice of fabric while biting off his glove, he starts to suck on your neck as he begins to work his fingers into you.

Taking his thumb and rubbing it over your clit as he slowly sinks two fingers inside you. You moan out as he begins to curl them in you, sucking on the bite mark you made earlier.

"F-fuck... I cant take it anymore." Floyd groans out as he unbuckles his belt. Lining up his thick cock with your hole, "You're sure you're okay with this, right?" He says one last time in a panted breath.

"Yes just... don't do anything stupid-" and you were cut off once again by him doing something stupid.

He thrusts his whole length into you at once, earning a low, throaty groan from him as you were just trying to find stability. He takes both you thighs and wraps them around his waist, being able to hit much deeper in the position.

Mere seconds later, all the pain you felt turned into pure, absolute pleasure as he started fucking you against the wall.

Filling the room with moans of utter bliss from the both of you, having Floyd come completely undone after minutes. "I'm gonna fill you up so fucking good- make everyone know you're mine- have those other eel bitches know if you're gonna be a slut, you're gonna be mine, understood?"

You're barely able to make his words out as you start to feel lightheaded from the pleasure. His grip on you tightens as you feel him twitch inside you. "Fuck, im gonna-" he was cut off by a powerful moan as he came inside you, slowing down his pace in the process.

Floyd slowly sinks down to the floor as he places you down on it, leaving you for a moment as he grabs a wash cloth. He starts to clean you in silence, waiting for you to say something. You were too tired to speak, however.

Once you're clean, he makes himself presentable again as he picks you up and walks you back to your table. Once he sets you down, he walks off and brings back a bottle of water and some snacks.

"Dont worry, they're on me." He says with a wink.

As he turns to walk away, you grab onto his sleeve to get his attention. He leans in close to hear you over the bustling crowd. "Floyd, I didn't get to fini-" he places his index finger over your mouth.

"Now, now, I didn't forget my dear, I promise. If you're good today then I'll double it tonight, hm?" And with that, he walks off and returns to his job where jade and azul kept yelling at him for bailing.

As you sit in silence while occasionally looking over at Floyd, he makes eye contact with you while being yelled at. Going back to you table, you realize something, your tea has gone cold.

Oh dear, whoever will you call over to replace it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♧♧~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: i had no clue how to end this fic wiwhwihsiwow im going insane

[boba-beom]

*:･ﾟ❅･ﾟskate to my heart | KANG TAEHYUN

pairing: taehyun x fem!reader

genre: oneshot; fluff, bsf2l

summary: after watching taehyun at practice several times, he eventually asked you to watch his last, big game for the season in exchange for a date later the same night. with an uncertified label and known feelings between the both of you, would taehyun end the day with two wins?

wc: 4.1k

warnings: not proofread :< bestfriends 2 lovers, taehyun courting reader, a sprinkle of jealousy, taehyun almost fought someone eep, very little hockey terminology+knowledge (inaccurate representation most likely), physical affection, littlesttt bit suggestive, reader admires taehyun a lot but she gets shy sometimes, lil emotional, minor misunderstangin, taehyun has a super soft spot for reader and ADORES her, confession, a little cheesy, a kiss :>

a/n: requested by anonie! thank you anonie for sending this through <3 I enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoy reading! also 'courting' is when one person typically spends time and puts in effort with the person they are wanting to pursue! a little better than the talking stage lmao. I would also like to thank @gyupremacy @junniieesbby and @amoryeonjun for helping me come up with title options for this fic, ily guys (I may use one for a short sequel to this but that's for another day lmao)

a few days ago you had promised taehyun that you would come with him to his final hockey game for the season. in exchange, he made a promise to take you out on a date after, regardless if he wins or not.

and that led you to this very moment.

the sports venue was quite big, just the right size for the local games, with the building accommodating two rinks for figure skaters on the other side and ice hockey on the side you're on, in which you're seated by the acrylic panels so you were one of the closest to the rink.

just for taehyun.

he's the sole reason you've bought new outerwear and accessories to keep you warm within the rink, you even bought a jersey jumper with the colours of the team he is in. perhaps you went the extra mile and personalised it with his surname and birth date number.

"I hope you'll come to my hockey game this weekend. it's the last one for the season and it would mean a lot to me if you came along. and then afterwards I'll promise to take you on a date, please?"

his words echoed in your head as if he had told you just before you arrived at the sports venue. a smile had started creeping up on your face as you remembered the way he almost begged you to go on a date with him; his eyes gentle and his hand enveloped yours.

taehyun's team, rockets, had plenty of fans. some being seated a few rows behind you on your far left. it wasn't hard to miss them from the way you could hear high pitched squeals as soon as the players for rockets stepped their hockey skates onto the ice, watching the team skate past you one by one.

as each player glided past you, the cheers for the team were non-stop, whistles, screams and chants behind you. yet you managed to block them out a little — as if the lack of sounds would help you see better — and your eyes were darting around to look out for one player in particular.

then the crowd started to cheer significantly louder than before. that's when your eyes locked with a pair of large, round ones that had a familiar hold on yours. he sent you a subtle wave paired with a quick wink, and you thank god that you were sat at the front to catch that.

you waved your blue and red striped scarf, that you had bought just for him, as you called out for him and his team name as an attempt to hide the fact you could feel your cheeks heating up.

but taehyun noticed. you couldn't hide that from him.

the game wasn't going to start for another thirty minutes since the players were gliding around for their on-ice warm ups. you observed the way players would get comfortable on the ice, taking in long strides, others in smaller groups to do their crossover drills from one end of the rink to the other.

you noticed some of the crowd coming closer around you, to the acrylic panels since they were able to stand there within the duration of practice up until the puck drop. luckily you remained in your seat and was still able to have some space around you.

a call of your name caught your attention, but you knew it wasn't taehyun's voice from the sounds of it. a player from the opposing team, wearing the black and white kit, had slowed down skating in front of you, and attempted to spark your attention but you remained neutral and kept a tight lipped smile.

"yah! penguin. shouldn't you be on the other side of the rink?" your ears focus on taehyun's voice, muffling the sounds around you.

knowing taehyun, he was just being protective over you but you still had to make sure he didn't get into any fights. the game hadn't even started yet. he made his way past the opposing player, gliding past him as he slowed down right against the acrylic and knocked on it.

you okay? he mouthed at you with a little nod of assurance.

you gave him a soft smile with two thumbs up to give back the reassurance, but taehyun still felt compelled to stay a few seconds longer. he gave you a knowing look with a head tilt and brows raised slightly, but you couldn't help but laugh a little at his determination to make sure you were okay. again, you noded and smiled as you moved your wrists flicking outwards in a 'shoo' motion so he could get back into warming up with no distractions.

it was amusing that that was the first time taehyun behaved assertively in front of another player outside of the game. he usually had good sportsmanship with all players, however, this time around it seemed as thought he was more bothered than you were.

watching taehyun was nothing out of the norm for you since you always offered to come with him during his practices, admiring the way his skin glowed and reflected the light from the ice below him. watching the way he moved from one side of the rink to the other with steady and swift movements while in control of passing the puck was something you were always amazed about.

there had been a few cases when taehyun was free on the ice, face turning to look straight at you since he always knew where you would sit, and once he had your attention he'd quickly wave at you. you knew if you were on the ice yourself you would melt right through.

*:･ﾟ❅･ﾟ

after a good twenty minutes of the game, the first intermission had started. the teams made their way to their designated sides off the rink, rehydrating and even getting something to nibble on within the fifteen minutes they had.

some players came back onto the rink five minutes before the game resumed, skating to their assigned places. meanwhile you kept your eyes out for your best friend, but the same player from the opposing team made a return towards you.

you noticed but you paid him no attention, keeping that same tight lipped smile while your eyes were darting everywhere but in front of you.

he knocked on the clear barrier, and mouthed 'can I get your number?' and gestured his hand to a phone sign in which you slowly shook your head and mouthed a 'sorry'. he didn't seem to take it and asked again, begging at this point. you were about to shake your head again until a player in blue and red skimmed behind him and backed him up against the clear panel.

you stood up to get a better look and it was no other than taehyun. he was about to grab the other player by the collar of their kit until you had your hand flat on the surface and banging it against the acrylic three times to grasp his attention. taehyun's fist didn't reach the collar, thankfully, catching the worry in your eyes and he retracted his unravelling fist.

a sigh left you as you saw him back up from his opponent, your head shaking slowly at him while you mouth 'it's okay'. he was lucky he hadn't gone ahead with it otherwise it'd led to a five-minute major penalty towards him. he still had two thirds of the game left.

once you sat back down in your seat, you readied yourself for the next twenty minutes of the game. the teams were back in their designated sides of the rink, and taehyun was set in his position as center.

you focused on him, knees slightly bent, hands holding the hockey stick and his concentration on the center before the referee dropped the puck. he hits the puck as soon as it collided with the ice, and his movements remained swift and sharp as he and his teammates led the puck to the other side of the rink.

it was clear seeing the puck passed from taehyun, center, to the left winger then right winger, but so many players blocked your vision. it had you thinking the puck had been taken by the opposing team, though in a fraction of a second your ears were filled with the crowd cheering. from the sounds of it rockets had scored a goal, and you looked up at the screen above the rink to watch a quick replay of who scored the goal.

it was no other than the star player who has your heart.

you stood up, cheering and clapping, waving your scarf as you try and find him in your field of vision. almost as if you were in a movie, the hockey players skated aside and taehyun's skating towards his original position, facing you. you could see his teethy smile as he pointed out at you, hearing a few 'ooh's and whistles from the audience.

the pounding in your chest felt like it was about to burst and the heat crawling up to your cheeks were starting to burn you up. you shook your head at him again, this time sheepishly, as you bit the inside of your cheek, refraining your grin but you couldn't hold out and let out an endearing laugh.

*:･ﾟ❅･ﾟ

it was the second and last intermission of the overall game. the game time period had just finished up nicely, rockets' scores in the lead with nine and the opposing team with five. you had a good feeling about rockets winning the final twenty minutes of the game.

there were about eight minutes left of the intermission before they resumed the game, so you made your way through the row to the restroom.

as you walked down the corridor to find the toilets you felt a loose grasp on your wrist, making your gasp hitch in your throat and turn your head to see just the person you couldn't wait to see until the end of the game.

"tae, what are you doing here?" you whispered at him, the confusion on your face clear as day.

"I was too excited, I wanted to see you."

you noticed the way his slightly damp and dishevelled hair was grazing just by his brows, his face glowing from the sheer layer of sweat. and his eyes steady on yours.

"well," you slid your wrist out of his hold and played with his fingers. "we still have that date later tonight, remember?"

you looked up at him and you see a proud smirk on his lips, nodding his head slowly in attempt to keep in his excitement. but the rose hue on his cheeks were a big giveaway.

"I'll see you later then. I'll do my best for you, keep your eyes on me."

taehyun lifted your hand and lightly pressed his lips against the back of your fingers. the familiar feeling of your heart about to burst in your chest returned, and you caught the way the tips of his ears blushed the same pink tinge you saw earlier.

"do your best, my star player." you smiled at him, and he let out a soft scoff intertwined with his laugh. watching him walk away to get back onto the rink and finally letting you go to the restroom.

walking into the restroom you slammed your hands flat on the countertop beside the sink, looking at your reflection in disbelief.

"my star player?! really?" your expression changed when you repeated it again, smiling at yourself and shaking your head. "I must be out of my mind."

you can't believe how fast your feelings were brewing for your best friend. there's always been this unspoken dynamic between you, indirect words that mean something a little more, looks that only has your heart fluttering in your chest — and his. gestures that tended to linger and only either one of you would notice that it was a second longer than what would be considered 'platonic'.

snapping out of your reverie you went to use the toilet before making your way back to your seat. you had the final twenty minutes left and then the evening to talk to taehyun properly.

*:･ﾟ

there were five minutes left until the game was over, and during this game the opposing team had scored three times, bringing the current score for rockets with nine, still, and the opposing team with eight.

you hoped the game wouldn't end in a tie. it would be a shame to end the final game of the season in a tie. rockets were doing so well throughout the past two game, but this third game seemed to be the opposite of what they call 'the charm'.

"come on, come on. just one more point." you whispered to yourself, chanting nervously. your hands gripped onto your jacket, taking it off and revealing your customised jersey jumper reading 'KANG' with '05' underneath in bold.

as soon as you were sat comfortably, you checked the time once more; just under four minutes until the end of the game.

one last point and you'd be celebrating later in the evening.

you watched the puck passed around by the opposing team, almost accepting defeat until the players started skating towards the other end of the rink. rockets had the puck by their sticks and from all you could see, it was being passed repeatedly between the left winger and left defence. losing sight of it again it seems like the right winger had it until you saw taehyun receiving it.

with an extremely quick knock of his hockey stick against the puck, it flew into the goal for the final time this season and the speakers let out the horn indicating the end of the game. the screen above showed the final scores, rockets - 10 / guests - 8.

just in time, and your star player was surrounded by his teammates, each of them skating up to him and knocking the front of their helmets together. watching him being congratulated by his team was so endearing to watch — especially knowing just how much work he's put into this sport, knowing how much he loves it.

the crowd behind you was still full of cheers, whistles and chanting. but your eyes were fixed on taehyun as he took his helmet off, his hair a little more damp and dishevelled compared to when you saw him during the second intermission. that didn't stop him from looking incredible with his face literally glowing from his sweat and the ice reflecting off of the droplets.

he made a beeline towards you for the last time on the ice, a huge grin adorned on his face along with his asymmetrical dimple making an appearance.

was it because his team won? perhaps. was it because you were wearing the jersey with his name and birth date? most likely.

his smile was too contagious you didn't realise when you started smiling so hard, you were laughing a little too. the continuous cheers had you joining in, clapping towards taehyun, all while he mouthed a 'meet me by the foyer'.

after the crowd started moving, you made your way straight to the foyer, watching the audience walk past you as they exited the venue.

you're leaning against a pillar, watching the last strand of the light in the sky disappear through the floor to ceiling glass panels as your stomach was filled up with butterflies from the thought of going on a date with your best friend and making it a joint celebratory dinner.

a pair of hands abruptly weighed your shoulders down, having your heart leap out of your chest as you turn around to a giggly and cheerful taehyun.

"tyun! you were amazing out there!" you exclaimed, jumping up to hug him with your arms over his shoulders and his bag sliding down his arm, only hugging you with one arm around your waist.

"yeah well, I had to put on my best. you were watching." you playfully nudged his arm, biting back your grin but his was too contagious to hold back. "no but seriously, the team did so well tonight. they're going out to celebrate, actually."

your smile faltered in the littlest bit, thinking carefully before you asked him.

"do you want to go too? we can always rain check the date... if you want? I don't mind, seriously." you felt the guilt appear inside you, not wanting to hold him back. you saw how happy he was out there and it wasn't all the time you saw taehyun like that.

"hey, no." taehyun shrugged his bag strap to hang from his shoulder, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, slowly walking out the exit together to toward the car park. "I have a date to go to and I wouldn't want to miss that for the world. I see those blokes almost every week anyway, I'll live."

taehyuns words brought the flutter back in your chest and you raised your hand to hold onto his that's hanging over your shoulder. the evening air was cool and taehyun's freshly washed hair was finally out of his face. from the angle you could see, he was literally the definition of perfection in your books.

letting his words process in your head, all you managed to say was, "ah, you're so cheesy." you let go of his hand to open the car door, sitting inside as you waited for him to put his stuff in the trunk and sit in the driver's seat.

"yeah, but you like it though." his voice had a playful tone, probably with a smile on his face, it was dark in the car. he wasn't even looking at you, buckling his seatbelt and inserting the key to start the car.

yeah. I do.

*:･ﾟ❅･ﾟ

it's almost been an hour since taehyun dropped you home to get ready and he did the same. you texted him saying that you were done and just waiting for him to pick you up, which didn't take too long because he fortunately didn't live too far away from you.

your phone's notification sound went off as he sent you a simple I'm outside text, but that was the norm with him. you grabbed your purse and shrugged on your coat over your dress, examining your final look through the body-length mirror in the hallway before unlocking the door.

a taehyun in a black button down, top button left undone and sleeves folded to a three quarters length up his forearm that matched nicely with his dark slacks was standing in front of you. and how could you look past the bouquet of red roses arranged with baby's breath, elegantly wrapped in decorative cellophane.

"for my beautiful date."

your lips formed a subtle pout as you retrieved the flowers from him, noticing the sheer bow wrapped around the stems.

"taehyun," your voice was meek, just audible enough until you cleared your throat. "these are stunning, thank you, handsome."

you walked back into the hallway to place them in an empty vase in which you emptied out a couple of days ago after you'd turned the old arrangement into dried flowers.

returning to the entrance, you released a heavy sigh while walking through the door, controlling yourself to not gawk at the gorgeous man stood on your porch.

"why?" taehyun stepped aside for you to shut and lock the door.

you could feel him hovering behind you, and you noticed his shadow casted over your shoulder and could be seen against the wooden door.

"because..." your voice trailed.

once you were done checking you had locked the door properly, you turned around, paying no attention that you were incredibly close to taehyun's face, his eyes darting to your lips before looking back up at your eyes. you lost your balance as your back almost crashed into the door if it wasn't for his hand resting on your lower back.

"because?" he parroted.

your chest was slightly heaving, knowing that he could potentially hear your heart drumming in your chest for the nth time that evening.

"um, because... we're gonna be late for our reservation." you hastily slid aside and walked towards his car as he trailed behind you, his hands in his pockets and letting out an amused scoff with an endeared smile on his face.

*:･ﾟ

to your relief, you had arrived just in time for your private reservation and you had nothing to worry about. the restaurant was beautiful — it was elegant. the high ceiling with dark grey marble pillars in each corner of the room to withhold the structure. a contrast from the ligher shade of grey for the tiled flooring.

"how long until the next season?" you asked taehyun, curious as you fiddled with the corner of the napkin on the table.

despite being with taehyun almost on a daily basis, this was something you weren't used to. the atmosphere was a little different, a little thicker and laced with something that hasn't been spoken about, but it's there.

you were nervous. you knew that, taehyun knew that and he could definitely see that. he reached his hand over to scoop up your fingers gently into his, and the motion of his thumb skimming over your knuckles somewhat helped with those nerves.

"this season only finished a few hours ago, ___." the continuous movement of his calloused fingers against yours had calmed you down enough, but you couldn't manage to look him in the eye until he tugged on your hand lightly. "but probably not for another couple of months or so, we'll see."

you both held eye contact, the longest you managed ever since he picked you up from your house. he opened his mouth to say something but you had already beat him to it, starting to speak before you realised.

"I meant it when I said this, but you genuinely looked so happy out there on the rink." he listened and nodded as he let you continue. "just seeing you so passionate about what you love on the ice rink at first hand was amazing, honestly." you let out a half hearted chuckle.

"well, part of it's because you're there to support me. throughout my practices, trainings and today's game." it was your turn to caress the inside of his palm, letting him know that you'd always be there for him. "and I have something to say."

you nod, listening intently.

"if it wasn't for you supporting me throughout, I don't know if I would've even continued up until now. I got this far because of you. and I know you can sense... whatever this attraction is between us too. you're my best friend and always will be," he paused, noticing the way you bit the inside of your cheek. "but I also want to be your lover."

taehyun didn't know if it was the reflection from the hanging lights above you, but he swore your eyes lit up. you didn't know if you were going to cry because you almost thought you were getting friendzoned, or it was because taehyun had cleared the air and asked to be your lover.

worry washes over taehyun's face, setting aside his utensils as he picked up his napkin to lightly dab on the stray tear that fell without your knowledge. he cooed at you, and you weakly laughed at yourself.

"I was afraid you were going to friendzone me for a second." you had taehyun lightly scoff and slowly shook his head at you, but his gaze softened, brows relaxed and eyes twinkling. "I'd love you to be my lover, tyun. and I'll love you twice as much."

your tears brimmed at your eyes, threatening to fall one after the other until taehyun decided to get out of his chair and walk over to you, a knee on the ground while he cupped your cheek and cooed you with sweet, reassuring words.

"I'd be a fool if I friendzoned you," he dabbed away the tears towards the outer corner of your eyes, "you okay?"

you nodded your head in certainty, cupping his cheek and you noticed the way his eyes are so focused on you, holding the galaxy within. the eyes of your best friend filled with nothing but love and adoration for you.

"tyun?" he hums at you whispering his name. "can I kiss you?"

he huffed an exhale paired with a hopeful nod, and his eyes are focused on your lips.

"please do."

you both let out relieved sighs once your lips collided. his hand gently slid from your cheek to the back of your neck as he deepened the kiss, melting into one another's touch. his moan got caught in the back of his throat the moment he felt your teeth gingerly tugging on his bottom lip before parting the kiss.

"you're just full of surprises, aren't you?" he chuckled at your expression once you realised what you did.

"well, there's a first for everything, isn't there?" your tone smug with a hint of confidence, taehyun attempted to keep a stoic expression.

"that's so cheesy." he stood up, stroking the top of your head and tucking a few loose strands behind your ear.

"but you liked it though." you replied, and he returned to his seat, facing you with a defeated but pleased look on his face.

"yeah, I do"

taglist: @choiwrld @yjusei @feyregels @ahnneyong @prodsh00ky @wccycc @lizdevorak @fairybin @laylasbunbunny @acaiasahi @ttyunz @cha0thicpisces @fairybinie @ja4hyvn @yunkiwii @aprilisque @https-yeonjun @lovejoshua @seolis-world @jak-ey @bb-eilish @iggynor4 @amethysts-1620 @ericyjun @luvsoobs @yeonyeonyeonjun @junniieesbby @kyrkitten @day6andetcetera @dainsleif-when-playable @txt-yaomi @soobinsman (send an ask to be part of the taglist, here's the taglist sheet for reference)

[mellowswriting]

I saw your request about fic ideas! I love your fics with javi p and his housewife kink so something with that!

a warm welcome

pairing || Javier Peña x f!Reader

word count || 3.5k

summary || After a two week long work trip, Javier is exhausted and desperate to come home to his wife. Luckily for him, you’re ready to welcome your husband home. 

content || no use of y/n, SMUT, housewife kink, unprotected p in v, kind of rough sex, dom husband!Javier, domesticity kink (is that a thing? i’m making it a thing.), ‘grumpy asshole who’s only soft for one person’ trope, sweet and soft but a little possessive, Javi is pussy whipped lmao

a/n || the way this has been sitting in my inbox for a criminal amount of time... but I finally got inspired by the pure sex this man radiates

Javier Peña Masterlist  |  Main Masterlist

The moment Javier slipped that ring on your finger and made you his wife, he thought life couldn’t get any better. He always knew the two of you would strive to fulfill all those promises, vows of love and support, of a warm and happy life together. He anticipated a typical life - longed for it, actually. Mowing the lawn and going out on date nights. Holidays and sleeping in on the weekends. Arguing over what restaurant to order from and negotiating chores. All of the achingly mundane parts of married life came just as he expected, but it also came with so much more. 

Javier never expected his life to have the air of a goddamn Thomas Kinkade painting. 

Nearly two weeks have passed since he’s been home. The damn agency dragged him halfway across the country to speak at a conference and he couldn’t be more relieved to be trudging up his porch steps. He’s exhausted. All of the traveling and schmoozing he was forced to endure has left him tense and jetlagged, and all he wants is to collapse into bed and forget the whole thing. 

All of that melts away the second he pushes open the front door and takes in the sight in front of him. The living room is lit up with the fire blazing away in the fireplace. Blankets and pillows are laid out in front of it in a makeshift bed, the coffee table shoved off to the side to make room. The robust scent of food lingers in the air, something slow-cooked and rich. And you. Oh, you. Leaning against the archway that leads into the kitchen, wearing that soft black robe and the brightest smile he’s ever seen. 

“Welcome home.” You greet him. 

Javier drops his bags right there in the entryway and closes the space between you in three long strides. This is all he needs. The honeyed sound of your voice, the sweet smell of your perfume, the softness of your cheek against his palm - every part of you sends relief washing down his spine. Javier kisses you like a man starved, as if the sustenance to feed his soul lies right between your lips. Fuck, he missed this. He missed you. 

If the agency ever tries to send him off like that again, he just might have to quit. 

Javier wraps his arms around you and holds you close, taking a moment to simply hold you there in his arms. A relieved sigh heaves from you both and for the first time in weeks, he feels whole again. You nuzzle closer until your chest brushes his and a low, pleased sound rumbles in the back of his throat. It’s obvious you aren’t wearing much beneath that robe. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I missed you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his hand rubbing up and down your back. Your body relaxes into his and something in his chest expands, preens at the safety you take in his embrace. “How was everything while I was gone?” 

“Don’t worry, I kept all the fires burning like a good little wife.” You tease. It earns you a playful smack on your ass. 

“Oh, I know you did. You’re always good for me.” Javi’s fingers catch your jaw and tilt your head up, and he smiles at the way you lean into the touch, into his praise. “But I want to know how it was, what you did while I was away. I want to know everything.” 

You can’t help but go a little weak in the knees when he gets like this. The dominant air about him is intoxicating and every ounce of your being aches to soften into him, to place yourself into the capable hands of your Javi. He’s just so good. Such a good man, a good husband. He loves pampering you and supporting each of your endeavors, no matter how big or small they might be. The balance is soothing. The equal meeting of needs, soothing of souls. A complementary give and take that leaves you both fulfilled and cared for.

“Well, I finally tidied your office while you couldn’t hover about it. I reread In Praise of Folly for the hundredth time. I tried some new recipes… not all of them were good, but you’ll love the roast I made. It’s warming in the oven, by the way.” You tick down the list, humming contemplatively as you think back over the last two weeks. “Oh, I got a mani-pedi.” 

“Oh, let me see them.” An appreciative hum falls from his lips at the dark polish coating your fingernails. His thumb brushes over them thoughtfully, a little smile on his face. Maybe it's weird, but he’s always loved this; providing for you, letting you use the money he earns to do nice little things for yourself. “Pretty. I like the color.” 

“Thank you, honey.” You sing-song. 

Javier kisses your knuckles. “Go on. I want to hear more.” 

“Let’s see, what else… oh, and I got something for you, too.” A mischievous tone threads into your voice, one he knows all too well. Your teeth nip at your soft bottom lip as you flutter those eyelashes at him - and he knows he’s fucked in the best possible way. Your fingers trail down your sternum, teasing the robe open just enough to expose a hint of white fabric beneath it. White lacy fabric.

 Oh, fuck. 

You slowly untie the robe and let the black fabric slip down your shoulders, a stark contrast to the pure white lingerie you hid away beneath. The lacy chemise hugs the cinch of your waist and flares out slightly at your hips, accentuating the curves of your body that make his mind race. It’s new. You went out and bought something brand new and sexy just for the moment he came home to you, and it does something to him he can’t quite describe. The fabric is so thin and delicate, and he can see everything; the obvious lack of underwear, the imprint of your nipples, every inch of the gorgeous woman he missed so much. Your warmth radiates into his palm as his hand follows the line of your waste and settles on your hip. 

“Oh, look at you…” Javier’s voice is threaded with wonder and he can feel you shiver beneath his touch. He squeezes your hip, careful not to tear the fragile fabric. “My pretty little wife, all wrapped up like a present for me.” 

There’s no mistaking the undercurrent of desire that rumbles low in his voice, beneath the praise and appreciation. You lean into his touch, your shoulders subtly pushed back to give him the perfect view of your breasts. Something hungry and aching cleaves through his chest at the glimmer in your eyes. He knows what you want, what you need. He can read your body like the well-worn edges of a beloved novel. Reading familiar lines time and time again, only to feel that same surge of emotion: the love, the awe, the comfort. 

No matter how many times he gets to hold you like this, see you like this - Javier can never get enough. 

There is a fragile balancing act that hovers in the air between you in moments like these. You gaze up at him with that demure heat burning in your eyes, a hint of a coy smile tugging at your lips. He stalks after you slowly as you lure him into the makeshift bed of pillows and blankets layered out in front of the fireplace. The flames send heat licking up the bare skin exposed by the slow work of his fingers unbuttoning his shirt. You reach for him, your gaze roving over his chest with an obvious hunger, an appreciation that still has his breath catching in his throat after all this time. Your fingertips brush his stomach as you slowly undo his belt and unbutton his jeans. 

It isn’t until you teasingly rub his cock through his briefs that the fragile balancing act finally tips and shatters. Javier surges forward and captures your lips in a rough, desperate kiss, his hands fumbling to strip away the last of his clothes. He drags you down onto the floor, drinks in the surprised giggle his manhandling brings out of you. The amusement doesn’t last long. Not when his teeth drag along that sensitive spot on your neck and his fingers find their way between your thighs. 

Javier’s presence is all-consuming, evokes a pure reverence that sucks the very air from your lungs. He brings out something base in you, something that runs on pure animal instinct and lust - and he isn’t any better off. There’s a wild light in his eyes as he drinks in the sight of you beneath him, all wrapped in lace and eager for his touch. He rucks the chemise up and out of his way, and his self-control nearly snaps over how wet you already are. He has barely laid a finger on you, yet you glisten in the low light of the fireplace. So eager. So ready. 

The muscle in his jaw jumps with the clenching of his teeth. Nearly two weeks without the feeling of your wetness on his fingers and the heat of your pussy fluttering around his fingers - never again. He swears he’s addicted to your body. He practically went through withdrawals without having your slick cunt to bury his face in. His fingers curl up into that sweet spot harshly and you gasp his name, your thighs closing around his wrist. 

“No, open up for me.” Javier rasps, his voice rough and demanding. He’s too impatient, too strong; his other hand wrenches your thighs back open before you can even obey him. He plants his hand firmly on your inner thigh to keep you nice and spread out for him. “That’s it, let me feel you, honey. I missed this perfect fuckin’ cunt.” 

The pad of his thumb rubs a light, teasing circle against your clit, and the harsh contrast from the rough thrust of his fingers makes you tremble. You whimper his name but Javier can’t draw his gaze away from your body, from the sight of his fingers sinking inside of you or the shift of your breasts with every harsh breath. He can’t stop himself from leaning over and kissing your sternum before trailing his lips over to tease your nipple through the thin fabric. His tongue is hot against your sensitive skin. Your spine curves, arching to chase his touch, and your fingers grasp the soft hair at the back of his head. 

 Curses and begs fall from your lips in a broken mess of sentences, each plea bleeding into the next as you beg him to just take you already. Those cries pry at his willpower, at the rationality that still holds his actions captive. The rampant desire that sings in his veins doesn’t distract him from his tenacity as a thorough lover. He wants you nice and ready for him, all warmed up and soaked from his talented fingers. 

He shakes his head hesitantly. “I should… I should get you ready, sweetheart. Don’t wanna hurt you.” 

You huff a frustrated sound. Before he can tease you for being so desperate, your hand blindly feels around the mess of bedding until you produce a familiar clear bottle - the lube he usually keeps stashed inside his bedside table. He shakes his head with a disbelieving grin as he snags the bottle from your hand. Of course, you would be so prepared. He wasn’t the only one going crazy without his other half.  You have been wanting after him just as much as he has - if not more. 

Javier doesn’t bother wasting any more time. The shock of cold lube is quickly erased by the heated glide of his cock along your pussy and you moan his name. The sound sets his jaw on edge, sends sparks of possessive desire arcing up his spine. Those pretty brown eyes meet yours as his cock nudges your entrance and he can see his own desperation mirrored in your face. It’s all the fuel he needs to finally sink into your cunt in one fluid thrust. 

He can make time for teasing later - once the basic need to take and fuck and claim has retracted its claws from his skin. 

The harsh bite of your nails into his skin makes him hiss and thrust into you sharply, a pleasurable punishment that you take beautifully. Your thighs just tighten around his hips and rock into his thrusts, and Javier is reminded for the millionth time just how much he loves you. He doesn’t let up. Every thrust jolts through your entire body. The only thing that keeps you from sliding up in the blankets is the bruising grip of his hands on your hips. An even, steady rhythm that leaves your mind hazy and drunk on him. Javier watches, attention rapt as your lashes flutter and your hands twist the blankets in a vain attempt to steady yourself. You should know by now that he won’t give you the opportunity to gather yourself. No, he wants to see you in a fucked out daze. He watches the flash of surprise across your face at the grind of his cock against your g-spot. Even as you whimper and writhe and tighten around him, he can’t take his eyes off of you. 

He just can’t get enough. He needs more. 

His thumb finds your clit with practiced ease and you tighten around him so fiercely that he damn near spills inside of you right then and there. It’s been too long. His stamina is all shot to hell. Every quiver of your cunt, every tremble of your thighs, every wrecked sound you give him - he’s consumed by you. Left feral in the heaven of your body. 

“Just like that… fuck, you feel so good…” The honeyed praise sweeps through him, has him slipping onto his forearm just to feel you closer. His forearms bear his weight as his face buries in the crook of your neck. The change in position is slight, but it sends your back arching up into him nonetheless. It’s all too much, too good - the kind of sex where you just can’t get close enough, can’t feel enough of your lover’s skin against your own. Rushed and messy and so full of love that it almost hurts. You hold him close as he fucks you senseless, one hand buried in his hair and the other anchored at the back of his neck. “Oh my god.” 

Pride burns hot in his chest. He knows that sound, that tone. All high and whiny and begging so pretty. You’re close - he can feel it in the short, rapid pulses around his cock, the sweet beckon of your body asking so sweetly for just a little more to push you over that edge. You deserve it -  his beautiful little housewife, keeping the fires burning at home, being his safe haven in this crazy, fucked up world. You have him wrapped around your finger and there isn’t a single place in the world he would rather be. 

Every stroke of his thumb against your clit sends shockwaves through you, forces those rough, high-pitched sounds from your throat, and Javier loves it. He leans back just enough to get his eyes on you, his nose brushing yours as those bright eyes consume you. This is his favorite way to see you - expression twisted with pleasure, skin slick with sweat, unencumbered by self-consciousness. Just you and him and the filthy, slick sound of sex in the air. 

“You’re close, aren’t you sweetheart?” Javier murmurs when he feels your fingers tighten in his hair, sees that familiar flash in your dazed eyes. His teeth nip your jaw teasingly - he just can’t help himself, even when you make a disgruntled little sound in response. He just rubs your clit faster and you melt for him all over again, your cunt tightening so harshly that he hisses your name out through grit teeth. “That’s it, that’s my girl. Fuckin’ come for me, come all over my cock.” 

You do. You break for him with a strangled sound and Javier doesn’t stop. He couldn’t even if he wanted, even if you begged. He watches, awed at the sight of those tears finally spilling from your pretty eyes as you writhe and shudder beneath him. Your soft sounds of pleasure soothe those maddening instincts, the ones that first reared the moment he became your husband. It vibrates low through every atom of his being, rumbling in his chest in a pleased hum. He draws out your pleasure just to hear more of those lovely little sounds, all high and delicate. You blink up at him through dazed eyes and you smile, adoring and purely intoxicated. 

Javier kisses you softly, drinks in the happy hum from your lips. A sweet lull in the neediness, a moment to take you in like this. Warm and happy and fucked out in his arms. Your lips are soft against the stubble on his cheek, a stark contrast to the teasing nip of your teeth against his jaw. Javier looks down at you, an eyebrow raised as he takes in the glint of mischief in your eyes. Neither of you needs to say it. He knows exactly what you want by the look on your face and the light smack you give his thigh. 

And he’s more than happy to give it to you. 

His spine straightens as he yanks you down by your thighs. Javier pins you with his hands on your hips and fucks you deeper, his cock hitting so deep that your lungs damn near collapse. Your eyes roll and that dark, possessive fire sparks in his chest. There’s nothing he loves more than taking you apart with soft, tender touches - but this… this is a close second. Holding you down, keeping you in place so you have no choice but to let him take, take, take. 

“Fuck.” You whine, clawing at the blankets as the stimulation wrenches through you, overwhelms each of your senses until you’re left trembling. Every plunge sends you reeling, but you can’t help yourself - your hips lift to take him deeper, your knees dig into his ribs, your nails bite into the back of his neck. You take him beautifully - like you were made for him. Made to be his wife, to be fucked on the living room floor next to a blazing fireplace. Made to be his. 

All his, forever.

A rough sound grits out through his clenched teeth as he comes deep, his moan breaking with the last of his last sharp thrusts. Your cunt pulses around him rhythmically, only serving to draw out his pleasure until he’s trembling above you. Javier lets you coax him to melt into you, his hips still fitted seamlessly with yours as he lets his full weight sink into you. Your arms wrap around his shoulders. You just hold him as his breathing slowly returns to normal, as his softening cock slowly slips out of you. It’s calm. Peaceful. 

He has no idea how long has passed when he finally heaves himself off of you. It doesn’t take you long to tuck yourself into his side. Your body molds to fit his; your thigh hitched over his, your cheek resting on his shoulder, arm slung over his chest. Javier curls his arm around your side and traces the intricate patterns in the lace over your ribs, even as you squirm away from the ticklish touch. 

“Javi, stop…” You whine, propping your chin up on his chest to give him those puppy dog eyes. 

“No,” He sighs nonchalantly. It isn’t easy to resist that cute pout of yours. “Can’t keep my hands off you, baby. Missed you too much.” 

That melts your resolve. Your gaze softens so much that he damn near chokes. He isn’t a bashful man by any means but the way you look at him as if he hung the moon and stars in your sky… he can’t help the pink tinge that blooms across his cheeks. You’ve softened him over the years. Kneaded at him until he became tender and pliant, and maybe a bit of a romantic. Javier brushes your hair out of your face and the back of his fingers caresses your cheek slowly. 

“You hungry?” He murmurs. That urge to take care of you is never quite sated. Now that you’re well fucked, he plans on making sure you’re well-fed, too. 

“Mm, I could eat.” You shrug. 

“Stay here, I’ll bring you a plate.” Javier gives you a quick smack on your ass before dragging himself to his feet. He can feel your eyes on him as he stretches, all too aware of your appreciative gaze on his naked body. He calls out as he makes his way into the kitchen, “Then I’m having you for dessert.” 

The sound of your laughter brings a smile to his face as he sets about making plates for the both of you. He couldn’t imagine a better life, something he would want more than this. Good food, a beautiful home, and most importantly - his amazing wife.

[danikamariewrites]

Office Naps

Rhysand x Reader

A/n: My first fic! YAY! I’m open to constructive criticism (I’m very sensitive plz be nice lol) and my request are open so feel free to leave one if you like this or just wanna chat. Enjoy!

Warnings: fluff (I don’t think I can write sad things yet lmao)

Being the mate of a High Lord takes a lot of patience. Especially when the Court of Dreams and Nightmares started to overlap. Keeping Kier and his company satisfied with their brief visits to Velaris has meant Rhysand meeting with the governors more and more each week. Now that they have his extra attention the governors are adding more requests and bringing new problems to each meeting.

You’ve been feeling a little neglected, but you would never tell Rhys. He’d feel guilty and carry that guilt around with him to punish himself. That’s the last thing you want.

To make up for lost time you decided instead of mopping around all day having lunch with Rhys in his office would be better. Walking down the hallway of the townhouse with two plates in your hands and a book under your arm you stop in front of Rhys’ office door. After knocking you hear a muffled come in and open the door to the sight of your mate looking disheveled. His usually perfect black hair is sticking up and pushed back at the time, his shirt is creased in places, and papers are strewn across his desk.

As you approach he finally looks up, a smile gracing his perfect features, “Hello darling.” He purrs. You smile blushing, putting the plate down on his desk trying to avoid the important documents that cover the surface. “I thought I could have a late lunch with you in here today,” you say sweetly. He grasps your empty hand bringing it to his lips and planting a kiss on your knuckles. “That sounds wonderful darling.” You move to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk but before you can Rhys’ arms are sliding around your waist pulling you into his lap.

You giggle as he nuzzles your neck leaving a few kisses before pulling back. “I’m sorry we haven’t been spending time together lately.” He says, guilt laces his features as he looks up at you with those beautiful violet eyes. “It’s alright my love. There’s a lot going on, but know that I’m here for you, always.” You say softly. Rhys cups your face with his large hand stroking your cheek. “After we eat will you stay and just sit with me?” He asks hopeful that you won’t leave him alone with the mess he’s drowning in. Just sitting with Rhys makes him feel like some of the weight has been lifted off his shoulders “Of course my love.”

…

After your quick lunch and an impromptu make out session that Rhys cut off before it could go any further to your dissapointment, you’re sprawled out on his office couch reading. You love this couch, it’s probably your favorite in the whole house. Its just so godsdamed comfy you could stay there forever.

Hours pass by and as you finish your book you find yourself drifting in and out of sleep. The sounds of Rhys’ scrawling and the crackling of the fire lulling you to sleep. Suddenly you feel arms under you lifting you up. Rhys leaves his office with you in his arms heading towards your bedroom.

You stir, cracking your eyes open a bit mumbling Rhys’ name. “I’m sorry darling,” he coos worry clear in his voice, “I didn’t mean to wake you, I just thought we could turn in early.”

“S’alright.” You say softly. “Can we cuddle?” Rhys chuckles as he says, “Of course we can my darling.” “All night?” You yawn snuggling into his chest. “Yes darling, all night I promise.”

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 68 | Part 69 | Part 70

Lmao nice.

Side note- I know I’ve been more active on Tumblr as of recently, though I haven’t been posting more of this fic. I think I needed that hiatus more than I thought I did. Trying to keep up the posting schedule I had was draining me too much, and I was overwhelmed. So I’m going to do things a little different after this fic. For starters, if you’re not following #starambles, please do if you want to keep up with what I’m writing. That’s my writing tag. I also link everything in my masterlist. I’ll have separate fic tags for each multi-chapter fic, but I will no longer be doing taglists. This does not apply to IISS: I will complete this fic with the taglist it’s amassed. However, I will no longer be adhering to my previous schedule. Instead I will post whenever I’m ready to. It may take a while, but I figure if it’s this or no more IISS, the answer would be this. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, that’s completely fine; just let me know! Also someone please confirm this tagged you in the correct way. Thank you for understanding.

Steve takes stock of himself, smiles a little as he says, “I am, yeah.” He’s a little surprised, but only a little. Eddie’s proven himself great at getting Steve out of his head. “Thank you.”

Eddie gently squeezes his hand. “Wanna stay up here a little longer, before we face the circus downstairs?”

Steve hums. “You can go back down, if you want.”

“You do that a lot.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“You do that a lot. You put everyone else’s comfort before your own.”

Steve shrugs. “I’m good at going without. I don’t need a lot.”

Eddie leans his head back with a sigh. “I’ve got a feeling going back in time will change that. Now you’ve got me and Alli to tell you when you’re being a self-sacrificing idiot.”

Steve winces. Covers it up with a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Eddie looks at him, brows furrowed. “What?”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. Steve.”

Steve tilts his head back, squeezes his eyes shut. “Just. It won’t make sense, in this time, because half of it hasn’t happened yet, but you’ve known Dustin for all of a day and I’m willing to bet you already know how he’d act when I don’t know something he does. And-” he takes a breath. It only stutters a little. “Nancy. It was- she meant it in a sweet way, y’know? But she’d tell me, you’re an idiot, Steve Harrington. And… I know I’m not the smartest. I know there’s obvious things that I miss all the time. And I can only blame so much of it on the concussions, y’know? But at the same time… I’m not actually stupid. Impulsive, maybe, sometimes, but I do have a brain that actually works most of the time. So.” He shrugs. “I dunno. I just don’t like being called an idiot.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Sorry, Stevie.”

“‘S okay. You didn’t know.”

“No, but I should know better than to call people stupid. Wayne would box my ears for that. In fact, I think I’ll go downstairs right now, ask him to remind me.” He makes to get up, but Steve, laughing, pulls him back down.

“Don’t you dare,” Steve chuckles. “I like your ears un-boxed, thank you.”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees. “I’m not gonna call you that again. How’s asshole sound? Self-sacrificing asshole has a nice ring to it.”

Steve collapses in giggles. “I guess if I deserve it.”

“You do,” Eddie promises him, then grumbles to himself. “Trying to get me to go downstairs, I swear.”

Steve giggles some more. “Okay, I get it,” he swears. “I’d like to stay up here for a few more minutes, then we can go back downstairs.”

“Okay.” Eddie grins at him. “I’ve got a couple ideas on how we could spend a few more minutes.”

“Oh?” Steve asks, leaning closer. “And what would that be?”

“I think you know,” Eddie murmurs, close enough to Steve that he’s practically speaking into Steve’s mouth.

Neither of them mind, clearly, because in the next second they’re kissing, Steve’s hands on Eddie’s shoulders for stability, Eddie’s hands gently stroking Steve’s back, up and down, up and down. He moves out a little and grabs at Steve’s hips, and Steve hums into his mouth. Eddie grins into the kiss, so in retaliation Steve twines a hand into Eddie’s hair.

Eddie gently bites Steve’s tongue, and Steve holds in the noise that wants to come out. He gently pulls back instead. “Eddie,” he murmurs. “We should stop.”

Eddie sighs and rests his forehead on Steve’s collarbone. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Steve snorts. “I’m not. I like what we just did. But I also know we should get back downstairs soon.”

Eddie hums in agreement. “Yeah. Lemme just sit here for a minute and think about, like, grandmas with dentures, or something.”

Steve laughs. “That’s probably a good idea,” he admits. He shifts, rests his back against the bed again, sighs. Smiles when Eddie grabs his hand again. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” He pauses, just long enough for Eddie to start to fidget, before finishing with a smile. “Here at the end of all things, Eds.”

Eddie groans and flops over on top of Steve. “And you know Lord of the Rings? Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Fly?” Steve asks, which causes Eddie to laugh.

“Nah,” he says, rolling so his head is pillowed on Steve’s lap. “I think you could just ask gravity not to work and it would let you fly.”

Steve snorts and cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “I think you’re biased.”

“I can be biased and right.”

Steve just hums. “Your hair is surprisingly soft.”

Eddie blinks. “Um. Thanks?”

Steve chuckles. “I just mean it’s surprising because of how frizzy it is.

Eddie snickers. “You want to take care of it, don’t you?”

“So bad,” Steve agrees, also laughing. “Your choice, though.”

Eddie smiles. “Maybe once the chaos has calmed down?”

“Sure.” Steve sighs. “Ready to go downstairs?”

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

Steve smiles. “Then let’s go.”

Eddie rolls off of him so Steve can stand. He then offers Eddie a hand up.

“Wait,” Steve requests, right as Eddie’s reaching for the doorknob.

Eddie pulls back, turns to Steve. “Yeah?”

“Kiss first?”

“Kiss always,” Eddie agrees, and happily leans in.

After they pull apart, there’s a knock at the door, and a tentative voice. “Steve? Eddie?”

It’s Dustin.

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[justwearthegoddamncardigan]

Hi Rin! I've been reading your writings and I've been having the best fun, thanks you for the hard work! Seeing that you are accepting requests I was wondering if you could do a Minho x reader? (Female if possible but ofc if not that's good too!) With reader having a sweet and caring personality and Minho at the beginning scoffing at her bc he thinks everyone is too soft on them but newt and others commenting of him being hyper aware so they tease him saying he has a crush? And then a scene where he starts developing feels and he's like nonono but there's no way out hehe. Hope you have a very lovely day!

This is so cute!!!!!! Thanks for requesting (and waiting 😭) ❤❤

Got a very teenage vibe from this as I was writing, hence the title

Teenage dream

Minho x fem!reader

Set during tmr (movieverse, before Thomas)

Notes: this is more of a Minho pov fic? Hope that's ok :))) Kinda switches back to reader at the end though

Warnings: vomit tw, language, reader's drunkness levels change drastically within minutes, ALSO TEENAGE AWKWARDNESS TO THE MAX, I swear Minho has better game in my other fics, he's just a silly sweet guy here lmao

"Light 'em up!"

Minho stands back as the other boys throw their stakes into the bonfire, watching you giggle at their raucous cheers from across the Glade, an involuntary smile rising on his face.

Before long, the party's in full swing; meaning everyone is now yet again horribly, stupidly drunk.

Minho, as usual, has only had a bit of Gally's concoction, and is idly chatting with Ben as he hears a loud crash.

"What the..."

He leaves Ben, jogging over to the scene to see... of course.

It's you, the two-months-in newbie, and you're sprawled out on the ground in a mess of barrels that have been knocked down, potatoes spilling everywhere.

Your arms are tangled with Newt's- Newt? and you're both laughing, harder than Minho's seen Newt laugh in a while.

"We- the potatoes. The potatoes," Newt manages to say, gasping between cackles.

"Eh. Problem for tomorrow," you sing, extracting yourself from the barrels and potatoes that are now all over the ground.

"Here," says Minho, containing his eyeroll and stepping forward to offer Newt an arm.

"Thanks, man."

Minho tugs Newt up, and yep, he's plastered cause Newt flies up and stumbles forward, crashing into an amused Jeff and nearly sending them both tumbling down.

You stand beside Newt, body folding in laughter as you reach out to grab his arm.

"What's going on?" Alby's voice cuts through the chaos.

You wobble over to him, grabbing one of his hands and clasping it between both of yours in a praying motion. "Sorry, Albs. We'll clean it up in the morning, promise."

"Yeah, you better," says Alby, and his voice is stern but Minho can see the smile reaching his eyes.

What the hell? What happened to their strict leader?

"Thanks, leader man," you say with a grin, patting his chest and giving him a cheesy thumbs up.

Suddenly shouts sound out nearby, and Minho turns to see someone staggering around before turning and throwing up right onto a tabletop.

"Dammit, Ben," mutters Jeff, pinching the bridge of his nose and rushing over.

"Did someone throw up?" Minho hears you ask, before you jog over, veering slightly off to the side as you run.

He sighs and follows you, to where the Gladers are standing around Ben making various ew and gross sounds as if they don't have someone chuck up at least every couple months.

"I ain't cleaning this up for you," Minho tells Ben as he helps him up.

"The whole damn table is gonna stink for months," groans Jeff, looking over the table the Medjacks lent for the bonfire.

"Sorry," mumbles Ben, his words slurring slightly.

"It's alright," you say comfortingly, grabbing a piece of wood you got from god knows where and scraping the stuff into a bin.

"Hey, strong men," you call. "Grab this table and go spray it at the hose."

"Sorry," repeats Ben.

Minho sighs, and shakes his head. "Not your fault you're a lightweight," he says light-heartedly, punching his friend in the arm gently.

He watches as you wash your hands quickly before grabbing a cup of water and bringing it over to Ben.

"Here," you say, handing it to him. "Don't worry, the table's fine. Worst case we'll use it as firewood for next time."

You trip slightly as you step back, and Minho shoots out an arm to grab your waist before he even knows what he's doing. "Alright?" he asks.

You grin, patting his arm. "Guess I'm not as steady as I thought I was."

"Oh really," Minho lifts an eyebrow. "You thought you were steady when you fell into three barrels of potatoes?"

"Ya know, the one time that happens..."

"You mean, just now?"

"Yeah, that one time,"

"Stop with this couples banter," groans Ben. "My head hurts."

"Hungover and drunk at the same time," you say, nodding so sympathetically Minho genuinely can't tell if you're acting or not. "Here, let's get you to bed."

⭒----⭒

"Every month we manage to top the last month's mess," announces Alby, sitting on a table as he addresses the Gladers, most of whom are still waking up and groaning.

He throws out orders for each group, eyes shut and massaging his temples as he speaks, before he gets to; "Y/n, Newt. Gardeners."

"Minho and I already packed up the potatoes from yesterday," begins Alby, and Minho warms as he feels your eyes on him.

"Some of them were crushed under the barrels," Alby continues. "We lost some supplies."

You bite your lip, looking up nervously. You exchange a glance with Newt, and you're wearing identical guilty expressions.

Alby rolls his eyes. "Like scolded children, both of you. Just get to your jobs, go on."

"Thanks mate," says Newt, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

"Yeah, thanks Alby." You give him a little sheepish smile before leaving.

"I'll check on our leftover supplies," says Newt. "Minho, come with?"

"Wh- sure," says Minho, following behind.

⭒----⭒

"Something on your mind?" asks Newt, shifting some food barrels around.

"You're all too soft on her," mumbles Minho, crossing his arms.

"What's that?"

"You, all of you. With Y/n. You shouldn't be letting her get away with things just cause she smiles, or reward her cause she does one tiny nice thing."

Newt turns around, an amused expression on his face, which is infuriating but also extremely worrying.

"What," snaps Minho.

"Nothing," says Newt, all innocent. "What do you mean 'get away with'?"

"Like just then," says Minho. "She got drunk at the bonfire and made a whole mess, then what? Just flirted her way out of trouble? That's bullshit right there."

"I was with her, I made that mess too."

"You weren't the one who fell into the barrels," Minho fires back.

"And how would you know that? You must've been watching her pretty closely." Newt's full on grinning now, hands on his hips in mock sternness.

Minho deflects. "Whatever, she shouldn't get away with making a mess like that."

"Mate, everyone gets shucking plastered at the bonfires. Don't tell me you've been blind to Zart passing out on the ground every month or how Ben can hardly get through his morning runs."

"I mean, yeah, but people don't knock whole barrels of crop over."

"Winston damn near fell into the fire last month."

"That's different," insists Minho.

"Fine," says Newt, sighing. "Can we go back to when you said she flirts her way out of trouble?"

Minho freezes. "...what?"

"Go on then," says Newt, grin stretching on his face. "What'd you mean?"

Minho averts his gaze, uncharacteristically conflicted. "Ya know, just like... how she had her hands all over Alby last night, when he should've been yelling at her or something."

Newt raises an eyebrow, tilting his head at Minho. "What, did you want her to get in trouble?"

"No! Of course not," protests Minho. "Just- in general, it's not fair. To flirt like that and... you know," he finishes weakly.

"That's not flirting mate, she's just an affectionate drunk."

"Yeah... Whatever."

"You know," begins Newt. "One of these days you'll understand, and the rest of us'll be here, laughing our damn asses off at you."

Minho scrunches up his face, confused.

Newt laughs, tossing an arm around his friend. "Give it time, you'll get it."

⭒----⭒

It's a month later, after the next bonfire, that someone finally has the courage to tell it straight to Minho.

" -and people think she's like, the greatest soul to bless the Glade. It's stupid. The other day, she helped Gally carry something, ya know, cause his shoulder was shucked, and I swear, the whole of the Builders had stars in their eyes." Minho huffs, rolling his eyes.

"And," he continues. "She looks after Greenies like they're incapable of walking. Then suddenly everyone loves her?"

"Everyone loves Newt," Ben points out. "Why aren't you getting all pissed about him?"

"I'm not pissed," argues Minho. "I'm just observing... stating. People give her credit for just being a vaguely decent human being."

"Minho. You sound insane. You're literally listing good things, and twisting them into... whatever bullshit point you're trying to make."

Ben continues. "Y/n is a decent human being. She's kind, caring, better than the rest of us assholes at accommodating the newbies. She helps people out. Is that so bad?"

"I mean, no... but-,"

"But nothing!" interrupts Ben. "Why are you so obsessed, anyway? Haven't you given some thought into why you're hyperaware of her every move?"

"Oi! Are you telling him?" Newt's voice rings out from across the empty dining hall.

"Yes," says Ben, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Cause this is exhausting."

"Shuckin' finally," says Newt, clapping Ben on the shoulder as he slides into the bench beside him. "Someone needed to do it soon."

"What," snaps Minho.

"You have a crush," says Ben, tugging on his hair exasperatedly. "A stupid schoolyard crush- which I don't even have memory of, but you're just so, so-"

"What Ben is trying to say," interrupts Newt. "Is that you like Y/n."

"What? No, I-"

"And," Ben cuts in. "Somewhere in that thick head of yours, your lovey-dovey feelings are fighting with your denial and causing this." He gestures vaguely towards Minho.

"I don't know what you're talking about," retorts Minho.

"Of course not," says Ben flatly. "But now that we've told you, it should only be a matter of time."

"I mean..." Newt struggles for a second, before giving up, shoulders sagging. "Yeah, Ben's summed it up pretty well."

⭒----⭒

A crush? There's no way. Minho frowns to himself, lost in thought as he walks out of the shower block.

The Glade is in the best time of the day right now. It's when everyone's wrapping up the day's work and hitting the showers, before waiting around for dinner.

Minho's showered early today, so the dining area just has a few people idly sitting around chatting. He nods at Newt, who makes eye contact with him across the dining area and starts walking over.

Newt stops though, as someone else slides into the bench across from Minho. It's you.

Minho widens his eyes at Newt, who simply grins and turns to sit somewhere else.

Fine. Minho sighs internally, turning to you. "Y/n, hey."

"Hey," you greet, flicking your hair back. You've got a small towel resting on your shoulders to keep your clothes dry while your hair's still wet. Minho notes this information for no particular reason.

"Listen," you say, leaning forward intently. Pretty. The thought crosses Minho's mind without his consent. You look clean, fresh out of the shower, sunset casting your face in a warm glow. Nope, no way this is happening.

"Uh Minho, ya with me?"

" 'course," he responds quickly. "What's up?"

You grin, clearly seeing through him, but you continue anyway. "So, Ben tells me the forest around the Runners' hut is really pretty. Flowers and all. Is that true?"

"Yeah," says Minho. "The pond is nice too."

You hum, nodding in thought. "Take me sometime?"

"Yeah, sure," says Minho.

You know what, shuck it.

"Do you wanna go now?" he offers, resolve clicking inside him.

Minho's heart picks up at your smile, beaming at him. "Yeah, let's go."

⭒----⭒

"I can't believe you've never been here," says Minho, standing with his hands in his pockets as you wander around the forest.

"I can't believe no one ever brought me here," you reply. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah..." He trails off, watching you bend and smile at some purple orchids. "...beautiful." Fuck.

"Can I be honest with you, Minho?" he hears you ask.

"Of course," he responds, leaning on a tree.

"I was kinda worried," you begin, still looking down at the orchids. "That you didn't like me, or something."

Minho's eyebrows fly up. "Wh-"

"I just- I wanted to clear it up. Cause you seem like a cool person, and I'd like for us to be... friends." You sound uncertain, and Minho feels like an absolute shit.

"No!" As your head whips up, he hastily continues, "I mean, yes, of course, just-"

He groans. "It's my fault, I'm just- I was stupid. An idiot, actually. I've been-"

You've got a confused expression as Minho huffs out a frustrated sigh. "It wasn't anything like... what you're thinking. I just had some other feelings- thoughts, in the way. And I guess it came off like I didn't like you. But I do. I like you a lot," he admits.

You let out a soft laugh. "I'm glad. I didn't want it to be," you gesture vaguely. "Ya know."

Minho smiles, and seems to shake himself slightly, nodding towards a tree near the Runner's hut. "Come check out these ones."

He leads you to a tree with white flowers peeking through the leaves.

"Hey, Minho."

"Yeah?"

"What'd you mean 'other feelings'?"

Um. "What?" He asks nervously.

"You said there were 'other feelings' in the way. What did that mean?"

"Just... in general," he says weakly. "Feelings, thoughts. Etcetera."

You frown slightly at him, confused, but you're distracted as he reaches up to the tree.

"These're Ben's pride and joy," he says idly, plucking one of the flowers. "A damn pain to grow at first, but now they just bloom on their own."

You swallow as he turns to you, holding up the flower.

"Here."

Your heart beats fast as he steps into your space, and tucks the flower into your hair, behind your ear.

Neither of you move. Minho's hand is still hovering at your cheek, your face tilted up to meet his eyes, open and earnest.

Oh. Oh.

You break first, ducking your head down. "So, uh-"

"Yeah," says Minho, hand rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

He takes a deep breath. "So I, uh- I don't know what I'm doing, like... at all. Ya know, Ben and Newt had to sit me down and... whatever. I just- I like you," he confesses in a rush. "And I know I've done a shucked job of showing it, but I really, really like you."

You huff out a laugh, incredulous. "Minho, I like you too. That's mostly why I wanted to get closer to you."

"Oh," says Minho. "Well... do you think we could go on a date sometime? Maybe here, with the flowers. We could do dinner?"

You smile. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great," says Minho, grinning in a way he knows looks stupid (he doesn't care). "Cool.

"I guess we should be getting back, then." Minho gestures back to where the Glade is probably eating dinner now.

"Yeah," you agree, starting off behind him.

"Minho?" He turns at your voice, looking down at the hand you've extended, palm-up.

As he puts his arm out in the same way, slightly confused, you slip your hand in his, interlocking your fingers. You see his wide grin as you glance to your side.

"Hey, Y/n, think that date can be tomorrow?"

"Yes, absolutely."

Went full teenager throwback for this one - the awkwardness is tangible

Thanks for reading <3 Requests are open as always :)

[finniestoncrane]

I'm here with my boyfriend, Nick Valentine. Romantic Comedy. Front row.

I'll have salted popcorn, banana ice cream, and a cup of ranch.

Thank you so much

(God lord I'm sorry the order sounds stupid. Also I'm sorry for my stupid message about really old monster movies. I gave you like... 12 messages on just that)

HOORAY!! my first nick valentine fic!! i love this old man so much ;-; (also don't worry all the orders sound a bit nuts, there's only so much cinema food i could add before i had to start putting in condiments lmao) 💚🩷 cw: just pure fluff here 🔞minors dni🔞 send a request • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie2k (to follow or to block)

"I think I've got this thing working. Took a lot though. It's a bit of an antique, and a rusty one at that."

"Takes one to know one, huh?"

Nick looked up from the projector, his degloved hand still fiddling with the dials, his eyes narrowing as your playful teasing registered with him.

"You're lucky I put up with you, kid."

He shot a quick smile in your direction before he heaved himself up, walking towards the pile of film reels to take a look through them. You crouched down by the second pile, searching for a horror, as if there wasn't enough of that in your day to day life.

"Well, well... what have we here?"

You turned to Nick who was as giddy as you'd ever seen him, presenting you with one of the reels.

"A noir detective movie? Really?"

"Don't knock it before you've tried it. This one was my favourite."

"I don't know... I'm more in it for a horror movie."

"You don't think we live through enough horror movies as it is?"

Scoffing, you folded your arms.

"You don't think I live through enough noir detective movies as it is?"

Nick tossed his film to you, catching you off guard and causing you to drop the one you held in your hands.

"You got a piss-poor negotiation style, kid, you know that?"

That was it. Argument over. But given how excited he had seemed, you couldn't help but go along with it. And once you had the film in the projector and made sure it was showing on the decrepit screen, you followed him back outside to a rusted car. He opened the door for you and then walked around to the other side, sitting on the bench seating beside you and lighting up a cigarette.

The seat creaked below him, a spring bursting out and pressing into him. You giggled a little, standing up and pulling him over to your side before sitting down in his lap.

"Is this really comfortable? We could try another car."

"I like being close to you, Nick. Makes me feel safe."

He smiled, just a quick expression before he coughed and distracted you both from that sweet sentiment.

"This is a great way to waste an afternoon. I promise, you'll love it this movie."

And you did, if only because it reminded you so much of Nick. If only because as you sat in his lap you could feel his excitement. It was soothing, to watch him experience some joy, some relaxation. Soothing enough that you hadn't quite realised that you were falling asleep until Nick shifted you awake.

"Hey, you're going to miss the ending."

"It's ok, I think I figured it out. The detective saves the day and the world feels better for having him around."

"How did you know?"

The sarcasm in his voice was evident, but you chose to ignore it as you buried your head back into his chest and tried to go back to sleep.

"Just a hunch."

[jhuzen]

Will there be a part 2 of the "Attention" fic?

infidelity [gn/m.reader]

the answer to that is a solid yes AND a big apology for taking a hundred years to post this. this ask has been in my inbox for freaking months. and it’s mostly because i have been remaking this fic until i got the most satisfying fic LMAO. i’m sorry for taking so long 😭 i hope this is compensation enough. btw this part 2 to this! but honestly, you don’t have to read it lmao.

𖦹 crack taken seriously, hsr mention but this is mostly genshin, this is just a fic of me making fun of cheaters aka you, highly based on that one tweet of the “welcome home, cheater” one, pushing my grand overseer reader agenda like in my early fics teehee <3, sagau, sahsr au

“I should probably go back…”

Jing Yuan begged to differ. The general himself had his reservations about your sudden eagerness to depart. After all, you were a good company — one that amused him to the core and even kept him awake for the better part of the day. You are an interesting being to him after all — much after learning from the exuberant girl from the famed Astral Express suddenly emphasizing your importance when they left you under his supervision.

You, in much simpler words, are adorable in the Luofo general’s eyes. With eagerness and curiosity melding in those gaze of yours that could leave anyone transfixed — wanting and desperate.

You truly live up to the title as the grand overseer across worlds. You were the sole beholder of their sentience, despite the fact that right now, you’re barely aware of your status and your circumstance, it was more than enough for anyone go cherish your presence. How could they not? It was a blessing to see you descend from where you were, behind the great barrier that they all could only stare at when they looked to you for guidance.

Alas, that mattered little, not when you were beside the amused general and his coy smile, fingers raking through your hair; reminiscent of the pattern when he would do the same thing to Mimi when you visited his abode to meet the furry beauty that was his pet.

Quite frankly, you weren’t all too sure if this was something you were used to, being treated like an animal companion, with even the way Jing Yuan’s hand would suddenly roam behind your very human ears, scratching behind out of habit.

The only thing missing was him giving your food to you in a bowl, actually, and you’d be no different than Mimi at that point. Wait. No. You were sure Jing Yuan’s lion also ate out of a golden encrusted plate when you saw his hired caretakers come and feed Mimi.

“Bark for me, won’t you?” The general teased with a purr and it was more than enough for you to pull the plug at your willing compliance.

You removed his hand from your head and only shot him a subtle glare, “That’s a request I can’t honor even if my life depended on it.” You sighed, “I should get going now though, General… I made a promise to help our conductor in sweeping the floors. Apparently Caelus tracked some dirt inside when he decided to lug some trash.”

“Must you really? You’re the grand overseer, no? I believe such a title deserves a limitless freedom in doing whatever it is that they wish,” he coaxed in a suave tone, quick to win anyone over. And honestly, that sounds nice. But you’ve never seen Pom-Pom look so stressed when you saw an unwilling March and Dan Heng drag some trash either wrapped in gold bags or regular black ones inside the express when they came back from Belobog.

You somehow regretted leaving first — but even you had urgent matters to attend to at that moment.

“Ah—!” The lax Jing Yuan jolted at your sudden outburst.

“…Anything troubling you, Grand Overseer?”

“T-Teyvat! I completely forgot…!” Your eyes were blown wide as the panic settled within you. You had promised Nahida you would make it to the Interdarshan championship. She was so excited when she communed with you just days ago, completely elated that even your beloved Wanderer would participate as a representative in a Darshan.

Albeit confused by your sudden squawking, Jing Yuan understood and only watched you pace around while you lamented what sounds to be a rehearsed apology that you will no doubt tell to someone you hold precious.

“How envious, to receive an apology from you even sounds like a great honor.” Jing Yuan teased with a chuckle. “Well then, off you go now. Don’t be away for too long. I rather enjoy our time together.”

“O-Oh, yes, of course… I truly apologize for cutting our time together short. Do give my regards to Fu Xuan and Yanqing if they drop by. I have to go and talk to the crew and also bid my goodbye for now.” You bowed before turning away, briskly walking your way towards the door outside of the general’s office, only to bump into Welt and March.

“Oh! There you are! Ya ready to go shopping?” March held an exuberant energy as she asked, clasping your hand in hers tightly with an excited gleam flashing through her eyes.

Welt, however, was far more observant than March, “Judging from that look in your eyes… you have some affairs you’ve forgotten to tend to, Your Benevolence. Would I be correct in my judgment?”

“It’d be a miracle for you to be wrong at this point,” you laughed amidst your panic. “But yes, unfortunately. March, I hope you don’t mind a little bit of postponement… I have somewhere to be urgently.”

March’s bottom lip stuck out into pleading pout, “But you promised!”

“March, let’s not force them. It is as they say — an urgent affair.” Welt only looked at you with a small nod and an encouraging smile, “Don’t be too worried. I’ll let Himeko and Dan Heng know of your absence. Just be safe.”

“I will definitely come back and visit.” Your smile and reassurance was enough to quell March’s disappointment and Welt’s initial concern. “Please tell Caelus not to track more dirt inside. It’ll only serve to frustrate Pom-Pom further.”

“It’s a useless attempt, but for you, I’ll try,” March winked as she waved to you with Welt.

With a nod to the two of them, you were off to Teyvat — lucky that you have little need for the Star Rail in the first place to travel. Otherwise, it would most certainly take you the entire conceivable time just before you could even come back to one of the many worlds that you oversaw and to a fault, even took care of from afar.

You stepped into the familiar grassy fields of Sumeru’s rainforest, looking up to see that the city isn’t too far off. There was a gentle breeze that blew by, almost like a kiss from a certain archon, but you paid little heed to it. You normally always took your time to appreciate the sights in Teyvat, finding its vast lands and many biomes incredibly fantastical in sight. But even that couldn’t keep you from the fact that you’ve broken several promises that you willingly made to some residents here.

You can only imagine the disappointment in everyone’s faces once you’ve admitted to the fact that… other people may have swept your attention away in the first place — hence your sudden absence.

You owed your first apology to Nahida. She is after all, one of your far more favored archons around, treating her like your own, definitely something that would make Rukkhadevata proud among every other archon out there. And then there’s also a matter of apologizing to your dear Aether, you made another promise to him that you would spend your time with him in Sumeru’s far end by the Realm of Farakhkert to meet the infamous Sorush and the majestic race of the Pari (you once made a claim that Aranara’s are superior, and your endeared traveler was reluctant in protesting to your words it seems).

Now that you thought about it — you were sure you made quite a lot of promises to the residents of Teyvat. A lot of commitments were hammered into your special sanctuary that Aether had built for and with you inside his teapot.

Commitments that you’ve forgotten in favor of space travels with a couple of trailblazers.

Onlookers turned to your direction, completely flabbergasted at your casual appearance. What were you doing in Sumeru city (not that they were ungrateful for your gracious presence) — but it was as if you were solely taking a stroll on your own. Where are your entourage? Was the Acting Grand Sage even informed of your arrival? What about the archons that always accompanied you? Where is Buer?

Best of all, why does your face contort into an expression of what seems to be utter guilt?

You hiked your way to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, refusing any help offered to you by the guards that were courteous enough. You were prepared to face Nahida’s crestfallen look — prepared to start indulging her wishes to make up for the tomfoolery you engaged in. The corners of your mouth trembled as it itched to finally spill out the plethora of apologies that you’ve prepared.

“Oh. So you exist after all.”

Only for your well-rehearsed (by the last minute) apologies to fall apart when the Wanderer’s voice rang from above. You looked up to see him perched on one of the ledges just above the door of Nahida’s residence. He was stationed like a watchful hawk — and he was, constantly on the prowl for anyone suspicious daring to come up to the sanctuary.

Suddenly, a memory of you promising him to go fishing by the coasts of Sumeru had you wincing. And with the way the puppet’s mouth turned up in a smug smirk showed that he was aware of an engagement you swore you’d do with him.

“Ah… I hear you go by Hat guy now?” You tilted your head, giving him a reluctant smile.

“Spare me the meaningless prying. Where have you been?” His eyes narrowed, suspicious and a tad bitter at your absence and incompetence in attending a tiny little leisure that you yourself insisted he join you on. Who the hell even creates plans first and suddenly flakes out? The Wanderer has never felt more betrayed, quite frankly.

You suddenly looked like a guilty spouse that came from a messy affair, with the way you shifted your footing and how you averted your gaze quick. The Wanderer was intolerant of such a behavior however when he finally came down from his little high up spot to face you with no escape. He will summon a void and trap you in it halfway if you so much as make an attempt to escape.

“I’ve been… away…”

“Were you now?” His scrutinizing gaze only served to intimidate you further when he came up close, his nimble fingers tracing against your clothing. “Whose is this?”

And before you, he held a familiar long strand of white hair — possibly acquired when the general of Luofo decided to frolic around with you, coaxing (or coercing, more like) you to give him a much deserved head massage for his hard work (though in truth, he barely did anything that day).

“…A cat.” Technically not a lie. Jing Yuan does exhibit certain behaviors that you can classify as a behavior that a feline has.

“Is it now?” His voice went an octave higher — clearly mocking you if his churlish grin wasn’t enough of a sign about his suspicions of you and your… agendas prior to your unprompted visit in Teyvat.

A terse silence engulfed you and your Wanderer before he flicked away the hair and dragged you inside Nahida’s sanctuary.

“She was disappointed that you were absent the entire Interdarshan event thing. Where in the abyss were you?” The puppet hissed, his grip on your wrist tightening. Somehow you found it far more comforting compared to the times where people would treat you like some fragile object that could break at any second.

What’s not comforting however, were his words. You couldn’t bear the thought of letting Nahida down, and now you’re faced with that very thought becoming a reality that you now have to get through just for the sake of your sanity.

You smiled a little despite seeing the Dendro Archon’s back turned while she minded her own business. There was always something comforting when wasting your hours away inside the sanctuary. Just having to teach Nahida from your old world knowledge about people, and to an extent even teaching the Wanderer with your wisdom that rarely pops out (according to him, with full intent to insult you). It’s not as daring as the time Venti decided to fling you up and catch you or Ei’s insistence on you eating your tenth dango during your walks.

For now however, you had one goal in mind — and that is to make amends with your favored archon and puppet.

Teyvat altogether created an unspoken rule to never ever doubt you — the Grand Overseer. You have a position that transcends even farther than the Primordial One, your eyes that gaze on many universes and worlds. You are the one that took care of the blooming life in each planet that teemed with it, thriving under your guidance.

There was a collective decision among all gods and mortals alike to never doubt your endeavors, much less your love for them. You care a lot about them, and based solely on your constant descent towards their world, it seems as though above all other worlds, you favored them. They were the proof of your benevolence, granting the residents your presence while you walked among them.

Right. That was the case that everyone agreed upon.

However, there was an underlying layer of unease. Heaven forbid may it be doubt; they could never! But perhaps… a tiny bit of uncertainty in the layer of cautiousness as the residents watched you with adoration.

It first started with the wrong names.

When Albedo, Sucrose, and Timaeus wholeheartedly welcomed your help when you visited Dragonspine with Klee. Jean was far too busy with her work and while she wished to, could not have time to bask in your presence after the announcement of your sudden arrival. In turn, you only assured her and relieved her of her added duty in watching over Klee.

Klee was the one to visit big brother Albedo, to surprise him that you were finally back. And you complied. Dragonspine is an extension of Mondstadt, and you had plans to check up on every single resident of the nation.

Suffice to say, you were quickly hooked up in a chair, pulse detectors attached to your temples while you watched Klee doodle away on the floor. For a respected overseer, you certainly were a people pleaser, letting Albedo scan you out of his own volition (Sucrose was fussing the entire time, she didn’t want you to be hurt in the process, after all!).

“Look Grand Overseer! This is you and me and Dodoco!” Your vision was quickly filled with a flurry of bright colors on paper, one that was filled with an abundant amount of red and the other with the colors of your clothing.

“Ah! So it is! Good job, Hook!”

Everyone in silence soon tore themselves away from their work, looking at you with evident confusion.

Klee blinked, tilting her head as she looked just as lost and surprised as the other three researchers in the mountain, “Hook? That’s not how you say Klee…”

Your heart hammered against your ribcage and tried to save it with a cough, “D-Did I now? Ah, my bad… I meant to say was that you… did a great job! It immediately hooked me in!” It was a half-baked excuse — hell, call it a raw excuse even and everyone aside from Klee caught on as the explosive child beamed with pride, just happy that you loved her heartfelt creation.

Albedo eyed you in suspicion before returning to his work.

Then there was your misplaced reminiscence.

In your defense however, Snezhnaya does feel like Belobog. Sometimes… most definitely not because of the fact that both places are constantly subjected in a thick layer of snow.

The Tsaritsa was all but cruel to you. She loved you like any other archon out there and always basked in your presence — even keeping you for herself a week or two longer, leaving the next nation in your rotation of visitation completely restless at your tardiness. However in her gentle kindness was a terrifying beast that laid dormant.

Only then did you catch a glimpse of it on the morning that you and her spent on your appointed room in the palace, both you and the Cryo Archon siting on the balcony while you sipped on a hot beverage, enjoying the mountainous coated in freshly fallen snow.

You sat your cup down and blew on your hands. The Tsaritsa laughed at your actions, pleased that you can truly feel the love she embodied through the cold winds of her icy nation.

“Cold enough for you, Grand Overseer?” She jested with a light tone.

“…Yep…” your teeth lightly chattered. “…T-This place is a lot c-colder than Belobog, I’ll tell you that… B-But not more than Jarilo-VI as a whole…”

All of a sudden, you could feel the creeping coldness from beside you and looked to where the archon sat, her striking eyes looking at you with curiosity… with a smidge of coldness behind them.

“Pardon? Not colder than where?”

Her tone was pressed despite her sweet adoring smile. She took pride in her sovereign kingdom of cryo. It was all for you, to feel the comforting cold after you spent your last stay with Murata in Natlan. This was her giving you love, and suddenly, it wasn’t enough?

The better part of your mind decided to feign ignorance. And you lived to see another day.

And then the sudden secrecy.

By all means, of all people, Zhongli indulged in your stories the most. Whenever you visited Liyue, you were almost always found beside him if Ningguang wasn’t asking for your presence or if you weren’t getting coerced into another drinking competition with Beidou and her crew. And in this case, you were preoccupied with a little something while you accompanied Zhongli in his usual spot.

He listened earnestly to the storyteller while you busied yourself writing a little something on a parchment you had acquired from the Wangsheng parlor when you fetched Zhongli for his break.

And ever so slightly, he’d find himself glancing at your hunched over form, while you stewed in your little activity. He didn’t particularly mind the lack of conversation from you. Having you beside him was more than enough, actually. But it wouldn’t hurt for you to have him be just as engaged in your little agenda, would it?

The former archon peered at your work, only to be faced with scripts that were oddly reminiscent of Liyue’s characters. Albeit there were significant changes that made the language still all too different from his nation.

“…Might you be translating ancient texts, Grand Overseer?” He inquired and was met by a suspicious jolt from you.

It was a text Dan Heng gave you before to practice the language used in the Xianzhou fleet. Only now did you have time to do his little practices upon your descent. You had plans to check up on everyone as soon as you were done in Teyvat, and perhaps impressing Yanqing with your language prowess was a good party trick (and eventually not get bullied into eating something spicy because of your ignorance).

“Ah! N-No—! I— yes. No.”

Zhongli tilted his head and you were quick to recall your flubbed answer, shoving away the parchment into your little pocket. There was a frantic look in your eyes and Zhongli was concerned, naturally.

You used to be so willing in divulging everything to him in exchange for his stories, with the both of you managing to talk from dusk to dawn without fail with him needing little to no sleep and the time dilation that your body couldn’t seem to adjust to. You weren’t afraid to share what you were preoccupied with, and even often let him experience new things from your own world.

So why are you keeping secrets now?

But perhaps, the breaking point was your standoffish nature.

Aether has always cherished his raw connection with you and was proud to wear his closeness to your divinity, not because of infamy, but because of how incredibly special you treat him. While, certainly, you have made the people of Teyvat special on your visits, but what sets him apart from the rest is your adamant expression of affection towards him. For some reason, he was favored alone, not as a part of a collective unlike Venti and his people, or Zhongli and his. He alone was yours to indulge, even more behind closed doors in his teapot realm.

However… something was off after your abrupt visit.

Something had changed when you came home.

You were far more distracted, occupied with that tiny device you always held in your hand. Suddenly, Paimon wasn’t the loudest one in the teapot mansion with the incessant beeping that your phone made. It never did that before, it was always tucked away somewhere, sometimes even letting him place it in his inventory if there was little time to go back into the teapot.

He had always deemed your mode of communication useless. Especially on your travels. It was always so silent, like a useless artifact that you keep on you.

But suddenly it was teeming with life, buzzing endlessly that could drive any man with weak resistance into the threshold of insanity. You’d often pick it up and grant the little device a heavenly smile and proceed to be on it for hours upon hours.

It was a heartbreaking time for him.

It was heartbreaking whenever he would peer at your device, only for you to keep him in the dark as you made some lame excuse.

It was heartbreaking whenever he could no longer recognize your words when you talked about your own anecdotes, throwing name after name at him while he listened intently.

And oh was it heartbreaking when you called him by the name of someone else.

“[Name], have you seen my earring?” He took pride in his informality with you showing your comfortability and familiarity with the renowned traveler.

“Over on the table, Cae— ther… Caether… Aether.”

Not so much with that tiny slip.

Yes. Perhaps that was it. And all the preceding reasons.

Perhaps it was why you sat like a condemned criminal in the court of Focalors, as every archon looked at you with scrutiny and skepticism in their eyes. Only sweet Nahida looked at you in concern. Ah, your poor child. You’d rather her look away than experience the possible punishment you were about to receive.

“Grand Overseer, make no mistake, this is a trial born from the accumulated concerns of us all. This is a trial born… from our love.” The hydro archon’s voice bellowed through the courts. She normally wasn’t one to personally try the defendants, however you were a special circumstance.

You always were.

…Sure doesn’t feel like it…

“M-May I at least know what my charges are…?”

“Infidelity, Grand Overseer.” Ei answered for the collective. “I can only hope you are not found guilty.”

You grimaced. You’re quite glad that this was a private trial, with only the archons, retired or otherwise, gazing at you. Make no mistake however — this was an intimidating position to be in. You may be the Grand Overseer, but you’re quite sure the only thing keeping you alive is their thinly veiled fanaticism and adoration for you. Otherwise, you would have been incinerated long ago.

It might have been your luck. But it was something you would wholeheartedly thank as the moment Focalors slammed her gavel down, the horrifying screech of something you can only classify as a hideous ally pulled you out of your impending doom.

The alarm on your phone rang incessantly, a glaring reminder of your subpar and mundane reality, waking you up from a dream that you could barely remember.

You shot up, only realizing you fell asleep in front of your own computer. You looked up to see your game open, with your beloved traveler gazing down at you with a disappointed frown on his face.

You chalked it up to your awful sleep and rubbed your eyes, closing the game and migrating to the other, where your in-game phone was filled to the brim with messages.

Smothering a yawn in your hand, you can only shake your head.

“My games have been really weird lately. I should probably leave them alone for now. Maybe have fun with Elysia and the girls.” You muttered to yourself but not before powering your computer down.

Truly, your utter cluelessness is bound to drive everyone insane.

Fret not however, they will make it work. They will let you know of their sentience. They will make sure that you are aware of how much they admire you.

It’s only a matter of time until then.

[sohnric]

[TEASER] partners in crime – j. changmin

after a series of unpredictable events, you and ji changmin, the foster kid with a shady reputation, become partners in crime. in a world where every choice has a consequence, you two must decide how far you're willing to go as you balance on the edge of danger with the promise of a better life.

pairing: ji changmin x fem! reader

genre: criminals au. acquaintances to lovers. coming of age, slice of life. angst, hurt/comfort. thief! changmin. partners in crime au (duh). slight high school au. inspired by a real case of robbery in a jewelry store here lmao. also loosely inspired by the kdrama extracurricular!

wc: for the teaser :: 1k || for the full fic :: approx. 32k

warnings: for the teaser :: existential dread, a fake gun, robbery || for the full fic :: mentions of alcoholism and juvenile behavior, swearing, changmin's character is a little inconsistent at first. changmin is a foster child, dysfunctional families, yn's father is absent. mentions of minors going on dates with older men, a man trying to take advantage of the reader, a physical fight (with the use of a knife), more to be added as i edit lmao

SEND AN ASK/COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST! Posting when the editing is done and my beta reader gives me the approval and validation <3 (end of may??)

Eyes catching the glimmer of the silver chain in between your fingers, you press your skin into the metal and drag your nail over the stones in the pedant. You watch over the glass vitrines situated all around the store, various different shades of gold and silver staring back at you, almost laughing to your face with the prize tags slapped onto them, showing prices worth more than your groceries for the month. 

Contemplating your next decision, looking behind your shoulder to catch the security camera watching you, you think over your next steps. Angling your body so that it’s shielding what you’re doing with your hands, you gently take out the drawer that you’ve taken the silver chain out of, pretending to put the jewelry back where you got it from.

Your movements are careful, calculated. You’ve rethought this plan over and over again, birthed in your mind the moment you saw the sign ‘hiring’ on the glass door of the fancy jewelry store in the town center– made adjustments to it, tweaked it around and tried your hardest to make a good impression on your boss so she wouldn’t suspect anything– but now that you’re actually in front of the important part, the one that’s supposed to help you the most in your hunt for money, you can’t really bring yourself to do it.

Who knows. Maybe you could just keep the job– you don’t make much, though, considering you only work part-time. With the way your shifts are scheduled and the amount of time you have to put into working, you don’t really see the jewelry store as a good source of income– you are barely home and have time for anything. 

And it’s not the kind of money you need. Not at all.

Sighing to yourself, you shake your head to clear it off all thoughts– it’s time to do it. You can be sneaky. You can be uncaught. You just have to put your head to it.

Fingers shaking, you move the chain towards the front pocket of your jeans, ready to hide it in there and then sell it in the pawn shop a few weeks later to not raise much suspicion– when the sound of the front door opening brings you out of your thoughts, making you jump in surprise. Eyes snapping to the customer entering the store, you get ready to sport the kindest, warmest smile you can– to seem innocent and not at all suspicious. However, the grin stops growing mid-way as you recognise the appearance of the customer, smile freezing and turning into a concerned frown. 

This is not how you’d expect a customer of a fancy jewelry store to look.

The person is dressed in black, skinny jeans adorning their thighs, the hood of their jacket pulled over their head and a mask covering the bottom half of their face. Before you get a chance to dwell on it any further, they take out a gun– and they point it to your face.

There’s a moment in time where you feel like everything freezes. A moment in time where you just stare the gun into its eyes and wait for the person to shoot you, a moment in time where you can’t even think. Your brain clears, the only thought present at the tip of your tongue being– this is not how I imagined to go.

Your hands start shaking as you put them above your head, pupils dilating in terror. You guess this is something you should’ve expected when taking the job in an expensive jewelry store, but even though you’re aware a situation like this could exist in your timeline, you don’t really expect it. It’s like that with all bad things in life– you keep telling yourself that there’s no way something like that would happen to a person like you.

There’s no way your father would leave. There’s no way your mother’s world would crumble. There’s no way you’ll be left in charge of everything. There’s no way you’ll have to be the one to steal groceries because you can’t afford to buy food to put into your sister’s mouth. 

There’s no way a man would pull out a gun on you in the middle of your shift.

And yet, it happened. Everything.

In a moment of absolute terror, though, it feels like the world starts spinning again and the force clutching your chest relaxes a little when you stare into the man’s eyes. 

Strange, isn’t it?

There’s a sense of familiarity in his gaze. Something mirroring a weird kind of surprise, a weird kind of recognition. A million different thoughts flow through your brain, eyes scanning his figure– the skin of his hands as he grips the gun that you now recognise to be one of the kinds you use when you play airsoft, not a real one– the lean posture of his figure, but most importantly, the spark in his dark orbs that somehow invites you to do everything he tells you to. Not because he’d kill you if you don’t– but because somehow, you know this might be of gain for you.

Trying hard to play out your previous panic, riding off the erratic heartbeat in your chest, you walk over to the cash register and open the drawer. Eyes meeting with the intruder, you precisely take out the bills stacked in the register, throwing them on the counter in a careless, yet seemingly nervous manner. 

“The jewelry,” he mumbles, pointing towards the vitrines with his chin, waiting for you to obey his words. 

It doesn’t take you much to take out the drawers full of silver and gold, letting the man take whatever he pleases, his bag filled with expensive chains and rings, all while he keeps the gun on you to get the full effect. 

You could be given an Oscar for how good your acting performance was in this very moment.

Your eyes lock in another meaningful gaze, one that suggests that all cards are on the table now and you share a secret you will never be able to shake off, before he disappears out of the store into the dark. Acting stunned for the camera, you only reach for the phone when you’re certain he’s far enough to not be caught, dialing 911 and telling the line all about the robbery.

Ji Changmin chose the bad jewelry store to rob.

Or maybe, he chose the best one he could.

[niphredil-14]

TMNT Rapael/Reader- "Held Space"

A/N: this took me absolute ages and is unedited because i got lazy. shoutout to my now ex-gf for dumping me which gave me the inspiration to finally finish this fic Pairing: Best-friend!Raphael (i imagined this as 2003, but frankly could be any of them)/reader Content Warnings: cheating, insults, toxic bf, best-friend raph Word Count: 2.1k

She stood on the subway, arm reaching up to hold onto the handgrip as she quickly switched her gaze between her phone and her surroundings. There were too many people around, and so little space, but she did her best to shuffle around to keep some semblance of a personal bubble. She was lucky that she didn’t have too many stops between her work and home, and though it felt like much longer to her, within fifteen minutes of hopping onto the train, she was stepping off, eyes flicking down to her phone when it chimed. Unlocking her phone, it opened up to her text thread with one of her best friends, the contact name, raphie, followed by a ninja emoji, a turtle emoji, and a red scarf emoji. She had promised to text him once she had got off work and was heading home. Most of the thread had been meaningless rambles, a few memes, and lots of complaints about the horrors of customer service from her, and even more complaints about Leo from him. It was the newest additions to the thread that captured her attention.

You: I mean, at least my bf’s on cooking duty tonight. I don’t think that I could handle having to cook after today lmao

raphie: yeah, so long as you trust him to not fill it chock full of nuts and not know where your epi-pen is again.

You: yeah that sucked

You: But that was one time! And I feel like it can he easy to forget someone’s allergies if it wasn’t all that important before. And he’s been better lately!

raphie: better as in actually good? Or better as in just not ghosting you for weeks at a time even though you live in the same apartment??

She sighed as she looked down at her phone. Raph had insanely high standard for anyone that was close to the people he cared about, and she was sure that it was just his protective side showing a bit. She figured that if Raph just knew him a bit better, that he wouldn’t be so harsh on him. She thought that it was just because Raph didn’t know him like she did, and that, really, Sam hadn’t been all that bad recently. Things seemed to be looking up. There was a brief time that he wasn’t being so loving, but in the past month, he had really turned around, he was amicable and affectionate, and kept up his side of the chore chart, he was really putting in an effort. And Raph, she thought, just didn’t know what he was talking about. She pondered all of this as she walked the few blocks from the train station to her apartment. With every step, her exhaustion grew, until the reached her door. She struggled with her keys for a moment, before finally getting them into the lock and turning the handle, letting the door swing open. She took a step into the apartment, shutting the door behind her, and dropping her purse down on the floor beside her. It was when the purse did not land flatly as it normally would that she looked down, and found that another purse had gotten in the way of a successful landing. Confusion wrote itself across her face, as her eyes then trailed around the room, finding several feminine items that most certainly did not belong to her. She experienced a strange sense of extreme clarity and clear-headedness that was always so unexpected in moments of great pain and betrayal. She let her gaze travel all over the room a few more times, as she then noticed the sounds emanating from her bedroom. She pulled out her phone and opened her most recent text thread.

You: raph

raphie: ?

You: I need you to come to my apartment now.

She slid her phone back into her pocket, not waiting for a response, and quietly opened the door again.

“Baby! I’m home! I thought you were gonna start on dinner?” She called out as she slammed the door shut. The noises from the bedroom ceased, and she imagined the panic on the lovers’ faces. She waited a moment by the door, and heard a voice yell from the bedroom.

“You have a girlfriend?” A feminine voice spoke. His voice was muffled through the door, though she could tell that the girl with him cut him off. “You fucking asshole!” She heard the two of them moving about in the bedroom, and moved to the kitchen, opening up a cupboard and grabbing a wine glass. The bedroom door slammed open, and a flustered woman stormed out and up to her. “I am so sorry! He told me that he was single, I had no idea, I swear.” She looked at the woman, and despite her anger, couldn’t logically stay mad when she knew that they had both been wronged.

“Not your fault that he’s a lying piece of shit.”

“No kidding.” The woman replied. They both stood there, somewhat awkwardly for a moment before the woman apologized again and left. She was given only aa moment of peace before her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend came stumbling out of the bedroom, evidently only just having finished putting on pants. He was paid no heed, as she reached for a corkscrew in the far back of a cupboard.

“Baby, I can explain!” The words flew out of his mouth, and he took a large inhale, as if preparing to ramble. She cut him off before his lungs had filled.

“There’s no need. You shouldn’t waste the little time that you have to gather your essentials.” She spoke, her voice calm and even.

“What?” He asked, incredulous.

“You can come back for the rest of your things Saturday at 3pm, as for now, just fill a bag or two with your most immediate essentials and leave.”

“The fuck?! You can’t kick me out! This is my home too!” He stepped towards her, and she looked at the clock. She knew Raph wouldn’t ignore her text.

“Not according to the lease. Which has only my name on it.”

“Bullshit! That doesn’t mean shit. And you didn’t even gimme a chance to explain!”

“There’s clearly nothing that needs to be explained. Despite what you may think, I’m not stupid. I’m fully capable of putting two and two together.” She cut off another one of his fruitless attempts to argue. “Sam. My name is on the lease, I, alone pay for the rent and all the bills. On top of my full time job, I also do a solid ninety-percent of the cleaning and chores, and pay for all of your stupid subscriptions. As far as the law, or anyone with basic common sense is concerned, I own this apartment and everything in it. Now, round up your shit, or at the very least your wallet and car keys, while you still have time to get out of my home.”

“The fuck do you mean,’still have time?’ I’m not going anywhere. You can’t force me out of my own damn house.” She could hear the bedroom window be forced open, and the thud of two feet landing on the ground.

“You will leave, or you will be forced to leave.” She said, doing her best to not allow her emotions to show in her voice. He continued to step closer to her, still yelling.

“You really think you can force me to do anything, bitch?” She turned to face him, and looked past him, seeing Raph quickly approach. A smile beautifully matched the cold look glowing in her eyes.

“I don’t need to. You’re leaving.” She said, firmly. He lurched, but a much larger arm than his came around his neck, and applied heavy force, forcing a choked out wheeze to fall from his lips. Sam was pulled backwards into a firm body, his hands unsuccessfully clawing at the arm around his neck.

Raph spoke with a large smirk etched across his snout. “This guy botherin’ you, ma’am?” Humor dripped from every syllable. She returned his smile kindly.

“As a matter of fact, he is.”

“Well, then, lemme take care of that for ya.” Raph said, sliding his arm away from Sam’s neck, and grabbing onto his thumb, twisting so that his body would follow as Raph dragged him to the door and threw him out, leaving him crumpled on the ground, gasping for air. She walked up beside Raph, and tossed Sam’s wallet on the ground in front of him, before retreating back into her apartment once more. Raph gave the pained man a cruel smile as he spoke. “And stay out!” After slamming the door in his face, Raph turned and walked farther into the apartment, reentering the kitchen once more, where he found her finally pouring herself a glass of wine.

He stepped towards her slowly, careful to not startle her. “Hey, uh, you okay?” She stood with her back facing him still. He saw her take a large sip of her wine, looking out the kitchen window. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke, her voice losing its conviction by the syllable.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks, Raph.” He took another few steps until he was only inches away from her. She still kept her back to him, and so he reached out and placed a gentle hand on her upper arm, carefully turning her to face him. As soon as they were face to face, she crumpled. Her lips pulled tight in a grimace, and her eyebrows scrunching up, the skin of her nose and cheeks already flushed and rosy, and her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Oh sweetheart.” Raph said, bringing his other hand up to her un-held arm. “What happened?” Her head lolled slightly to the side, and a heavy sigh escaped her.

“You were right, and I should have listened to you.” She said, her voice breaking at long last. “I just-“ She stuttered. “I just wanted to believe that we were happy and that everything was good, you know?” He nodded along, and rubbed gently strokes on her arms as she told him the events of the night. “I don’t understand why he would do that. I did my best to be a good girlfriend. I did everything for him. Why wasn’t I good enough?” She was rambling, just letting all of her negative and untrue thoughts come barreling right out of her mouth. Raph’s grimace grew as he was forced to listen to all her depressing self-talk.

“Stop that.” He cut her off sharply, more so than he meant to. He attempted to correct his harshness by giving her a small, reassuring smile. “He’s just a dick, you did nothin’ wrong, it wasn’t you.” She inhaled, and he continued to talk before she got a chance to argue with him. “You were perfect, and he didn’t deserve you. I know how much work you put into the relationship, and how much effort you put into planning special things for him. You were not the issue. He was just the biggest piece of shit around, and you were unfortunate enough to fall for him.”

“Raph,” She said, quietly.

“’m not done.” He continued. “He was damn fuckin lucky to be blessed with your presence, let alone to have you as a girlfriend. You got any idea how lucky any man’d be to have you, huh?” She sniffled, and he pulled her in tighter, letting her hide her face in his shoulder. “I wish I coulda convinced you to leave him sooner. You deserve way better than that garbage, you hear me?” She burrowed her face deeper into the scaly skin of his shoulder. “You hear me?” He repeated, and waited until she nodded into his shoulder before he continued. “I know that it hurts now, but believe me when I say that you don’t need him. You could do so much better than him, Sweetheart, you don’t even know.”

The only sound that came from her in response were sniffles, routinely interrupted with a hiccup as she sobbed into his skin. He held her there for several moments, not offering any more words, simply sharing the experience with her and holding space for her pain, but he couldn’t just stand there for long. Gently, he adjusted his hold and lifted her off of the ground, holding her tight to his body, and began to steadily walk into the living room, dropping the both of them down onto the couch. He continued to hold her close, as he rubbed large, slow circles on her back, allowing her to push all of her tears out, uncaring of the slight dribble of snot beginning to drop onto his skin.

“You’re gonna be okay, Hon, I’m here, I’ve gotcha.”

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Jooooo!!! Hiya!!!! Can i request solomon + tell no lie? I just think this prompt kinda suits him lmao. Lots of love!! 🫶🫶🫶

Solomon - Tell No Lie

Solomon x GN! reader

Prompt: It’s impossible to lie to your soulmate.

AN: Hi Ven!!! Much love to you as well!! 💜 Sorry for the delay, but anyways this is kind of a silly fic based on a thought I had of Solomon sometime ago, and thought it worked well with the prompt...or at least I hope it did 😅 I really hope you enjoy it! Thank you for being patient and take care of yourself!!

Warnings: Solomon referring to reader as dear, darling, and beautiful, Solomon being Solomon shenanigans (I promise!), slight miscommunication but nothing angsty, established soulmate connection/relationship

Another stressful day babysitting the Avatars of Sin, you can hardly wait to go back to Cocytus Hall where it’s significantly more peaceful and quiet…as long as Solomon hasn’t snuck into the kitchen while you were away. 

You have your D.D.D. up to your ear as you wait for the sorcerer to pick up, wanting to let him know you’re on your way and that Lucifer is escorting you this evening. You hear the faint shut of the door behind you as Lucifer joins you out under the front awning, staying quiet as he notices your ear-to-phone stance. 

The phone goes to the last ring, and you don’t think Solomon’s going to pick up – which is odd because normally he picks up in less than two if it’s you – but he does at the last second, sounding as carefree as ever. 

“Ah, hello, my dear. Ready to come back home?” 

“Yeah, though Lucifer offered to walk me back,” you reply, giving Lucifer a quick appreciative grin, which he returns as he waits patiently beside you, “we’re just leaving now.” 

The sorcerer hums softly. “I see. I’ve…had something come up, so that works out perfectly then.” You pick up his nervous tone with ease and know automatically something’s troubling him.

“...Is everything okay?” You know that a question like that is his weakness. Really…any and all of your questions are his weakness. They’re inescapable, unavoidable, and you like that you can use that to your advantage often. 

He answers a hair too quickly, probably hoping you won’t interrogate him further, while still being truthful. “Yeah! Yes. Everything is great, I think.” 

“Uh-huh… So, what is this “something,” Solomon?” 

There’s a delay in the answering this time. You can almost even hear him trying to physically restrain himself from saying anything, but it’s no use. He cannot lie to you – not that he likes to anyway, but there are things better left unsaid sometimes. 

Solomon sighs into the phone as the truth pushes past his lips, “I have a kid...” 

To say you are dumbfounded is an understatement. You’re silent for longer than is comfortable, blinking slowly and unable to formulate any questions. Once you gather yourself, you fill your lungs as you try to grapple with what he just said. 

“I’m sorry… What?!” The alarm in your voice is quite apparent, causing Lucifer to glance over in worry, wondering if he should get involved or not. 

On the other side of the line, there’s some crashing sounds and light scolding from Solomon that’s hard to make out. It seems he’s holding the phone away from him. He soon brings the phone back to his ear with words coming out in a rushed flurry. 

“I need to go, I’ll see you when you get back home!” Before you even get the chance, the sorcerer hangs up on you, and you’re left just as clueless as you started. You pocket your phone, your body tense and thoughts nervous for what you’re about to go home to. 

Lucifer picks up on this as the both of you start your way towards the iron-wrought gate. “Is everything alright?” 

You sigh in response, shaking your head as you try to sort out the conversation in your head. “Honestly…I have no idea.” 

Due to how shocked and concerned you are, with millions of questions buzzing in your head, the walk to Cocytus Hall is silent. You also feel your heart in the pit of your stomach as you wonder what this means for Solomon and yourself. Lucifer doesn’t prod you any further, which you’re thankful for because what are you supposed to tell him? 

Once you arrive, you thank Lucifer for escorting you before heading directly inside to see for yourself just what the hell is happening. 

The first thing you notice upon entering is the odd smell wafting throughout the hall. It doesn’t smell anything like the chemical warfare Solomon cooks up in the kitchen with its distinct odor, so that’s at least a relief. You venture further in, making your way to the common room to see if the sorcerer is there. 

Your foot crosses the threshold, but pauses mid-step as your eyes land on something black and fuzzy laying on the couch. 

“Me-e-eh.” 

“What the-” you start, but you recognize the sound of footsteps approaching from behind and you quickly glance over your shoulder to see Solomon with a little metal bowl filled with water. His eyes are trained on the bowl, simultaneously lost in his thoughts while making sure not to spill any, so when you clear your throat to get his attention, his head snaps up instantly.

He plasters on a cheerful smile which reaches his eyes upon seeing you home. “Welcome home, darling.” 

You say nothing, now standing with your arms crossed as you stare at him with a blank expression as if waiting for him to explain why there is a baby goat sitting on the couch. Solomon lets out a sheepish chuckle as he rubs the back of his neck, indicating that he knows you know now.

“What do you think? He’s cute, no?” 

“He’s cute, alright…” you pause, taking a peek at the little thing which is staring back at you in curiosity. You turn back to Solomon. “Is this the “kid” you mentioned earlier?” 

A beat of silence passes between you two before he replies, “...yes.” 

Your brows knit together so hard you might just start knitting a sweater with them. “Solomon, why didn’t you just tell me it was a baby goat? Wouldn’t that have been, oh I don’t know, simpler? I thought something else was going on!”

His eyes dart from yours to the bowl in his hands, feeling a bit ashamed of himself for worrying you so much. “I suppose so, but I didn’t lie to you. He is technically a kid.” 

The sound of tiny hooves clicking against the wood floor draws your attention back to the goat, who trots its way over to the two of you, looking almost expectantly at Solomon. He smiles softly as he crouches down to set the bowl of water before the small creature. 

“Here you go, little guy.” The goat sniffs at the bowl, inspecting it, before tentatively lapping at the cool, fresh water within. Solomon reaches a hand out and gently strokes its fuzzy back, gazing at it fondly. It seems the two have already bonded. You almost can’t be mad with how cute this scene is to you. 

A little smile tugs at your lips as you start again. “Where did he come from?” 

Solomon glances back up to you. “Would you believe me if I told you I honestly just found him wandering around down here in the street?”  

“I kinda have to. You can’t lie to me.” 

He chuckles in response. “Indeed I cannot. Though, you can’t lie to me either, my beautiful soulmate.” 

“Hey, you can’t just throw some sweet words my way and think you can get away with this. You really had me spooked earlier,” a faint chuckle weaves its way through your words, finding this whole thing ridiculous. Still, you can’t deny how flattered you are, because you know it’s the truth. 

He truly does see you that way. 

“I know, I know. Flattery will get me nowhere… But you can’t blame a guy for trying,” he says as he shrugs with a hint of a smirk. “Anyways, I plan on looking into some notable farms in the human realm and contacting them to see if any of them are interested in taking him. He can’t stay here, unfortunately, as this wouldn’t be a sustainable life for him. But for now, he’s ours.” Solomon stands to full height and snakes his arms around your waist. 

You grin as your hands come up to rest along his shoulders. “Ours?” 

Solomon chuckles softly with a nod. “Yes,” he pauses for a moment, glancing down at the little goat who looks back up at him and “mehs” at him loudly. “I’ll think I’ll even let you name him.”