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viaxslz · 18 days ago

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. 【 ARRANGED ℳARRIAGE 】

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 !reader, cw: arranged marriage au, slight angst, fluff (ig), kissing, strangers to lovers (if that’s what they call it), super duber long (ok might not disappear but who knows), not proofread :P, hyung line ver.

HAN

Han Jisung –(aka husband who swears he’s not panicking while definitely panicking) From the moment you said “I do,” Han Jisung looked like he was fighting for his life. He was sweating through his suit, grinning way too wide, and stuttering so much during the vows that the officiant asked him twice if he was under duress. You weren’t thrilled about the arranged marriage either. You didn’t know each other, didn’t choose each other, and for the first few weeks, it showed. The atmosphere in your shared home was polite but tense like two interns accidentally assigned the same group project, silently wondering who would flake first. Jisung tried his best. He’d attempt conversation over breakfast: “Do you… like toast?” “I mean, of course you like toast, who doesn’t like toast—wait, are you gluten-free? Should I die?” “Sorry. That was dramatic. I’ll stop talking. Unless you want me to talk. Then I’ll talk forever.” You stared at him like he was a sitcom character that got lost on the way to his own show. The man was nervous. Constantly. He’d bump into chairs and say “sorry” to them. He’d knock on the bathroom door even when it was clearly open. He’d rehearse things in his room before saying them to you. One night you overheard: “Hey, Y/N, how was your day? No, too fake. Try again. Okay—Hey, Y/N! How’s the weather in your heart tod—no. Ew. What the hell.” You almost laughed. Almost. But the truth is, Jisung wasn’t acting. He was just genuinely trying. Genuinely overwhelmed. Genuinely scared of screwing up something that had already started with zero consent or choice. One night, you came home exhausted from work, dropped your bag on the floor, and groaned into your hands. Jisung, who had been pretending to study something on his laptop, panicked. “Oh my god. Did someone yell at you? Did you eat today? Did a bird attack you again?” “…Again?” He scrambled into the kitchen like a sitcom wife from the ‘50s, muttering, “I can cook—I mean, I can microwave—no wait, I made eggs once without the shell—wait, do you like eggs??” You burst out laughing. You didn’t mean to, but it just happened. And Jisung froze, blinking like he’d just won a Grammy. “…Was that a laugh? Did I do that? Did I—should I bottle this moment? Is this my peak?” You couldn’t stop. You laughed until you cried, and he stood there, looking both victorious and deeply confused. That broke the wall. After that, everything became easier. You talked more. Shared dumb jokes. Started watching random shows together at night while Jisung made running commentary like: “If they kiss now I’m suing.” “I relate to this character deeply. He’s tired and scared and emotionally repressed. Sexy.” You noticed he was actually really smart. Quick-witted. Sensitive. And kind. Like the kind of kind that doesn’t make a show of it, he just does things. He once quietly fixed your phone charger without telling you. Left sticky notes on your notebook when you had a stressful day. Learned how to make your favorite comfort food just in case. But he never crossed a line. Never forced closeness. Just waited. Patiently. Softly. Then, one rainy night, you found him asleep on the couch. Hugging a pillow. Mumbling in his sleep: “Y/N… don’t leave…” You froze. The next morning, he woke up to you making breakfast. He shuffled into the kitchen, hair a mess, eyes still puffy. “Morning…” You turned around. “Why would I leave?” He blinked. “Wait. Huh?” You walked up, poked his chest gently. “You were talking in your sleep. You said not to leave.” Jisung turned red in real-time. “I—I—NO I—THAT WAS A DREAM—NO—IT WAS A QUOTE—I WAS REHEARSING A LINE—IT’S FOR A PLAY—SHAKESPEARE. YEAH.” You laughed and kissed his cheek. He stopped breathing. You whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.” He whispered, “I think I love you.” Then screamed into a pillow.

Now? Jisung still panics over toast. Still practices conversations in the shower. Still dramatically falls to the floor if you compliment him too sincerely. But he also wraps his arms around you at night like he never wants to let go. Says “I love you” like it’s a reflex. Like it’s the air he breathes. Your marriage may have been arranged. But the love? That part was his choice. And every single day, he keeps choosing you awkwardly, dramatically, wholeheartedly.

FELIX

Felix – (aka sunshine husband who has no idea how to act cold so he just gives you cookies instead) You expected a lot of things from an arranged marriage. tension, silence, maybe even mild resentment. What you didn’t expect was a man with a literal Tupperware container of homemade brownies on your wedding night, shyly holding them out like a peace offering.“Hi… um. I baked these. I don’t know how to start conversations so… chocolate?” You stared at him. He stared back, looking like a golden retriever that got dropped into a corporate meeting by accident. The beginning was awkward, of course. You weren’t strangers, but you weren’t close either. You tiptoed around each other in the house, always polite, always a bit too careful like roommates who accidentally got married and didn’t want to make it weird. Felix, for his part, was trying. So hard. Too hard, honestly. He’d overthink everything. “Do you want me to knock before entering the kitchen?” “Is it okay if I call you… uh… your name?” “I organized the pantry alphabetically. Is that weird? Should I undo it?” You: “I just wanted cereal.” But then came the baking. It started small, a cookie here, a muffin there. Then suddenly it was “surprise banana bread Tuesday” and “midnight croissant therapy.” You’d wake up to little notes by the coffee machine: “Today might be rough, so I made cinnamon rolls. You got this.” “Don’t forget to eat, okay? There’s matcha cake in the fridge. Love, not-so-legally-your-husband.” And that’s the thing about Felix. He wasn’t trying to impress you. He just cared. Genuinely, openly, maybe even recklessly. You caught feelings faster than you were willing to admit. How were you supposed to not fall for the man who learned your coffee order by week two, remembered your deadlines better than you did, and looked at you like the sun was doing him a personal favor by existing through you? Still, neither of you really acknowledged the shift. He stayed sweet. You stayed guarded. And your house became this soft little bubble of tension-filled domesticity, where nothing happened but everything was happening. Then one night, you had a breakdown. Work was suffocating, your family was pressuring you about the marriage, and you just… snapped. You stormed into the kitchen, tired and overwhelmed, and finally said it: “This wasn’t supposed to be real, okay? You weren’t supposed to be nice. You weren’t supposed to make me feel like this was a home.” Felix looked like you’d punched him in the chest. Slowly, he set down the cake batter he was mixing. “…Do you want it to be real?” You: “What?” “This marriage. Us. I… I know we didn’t choose this. But I wake up and think about you. I go to sleep hoping you had a good day. I bake because it’s the only way I know how to show you that I care without scaring you off.” You didn’t say anything. He smiled, sad and small. “I didn’t want to make this harder for you. But if being nice made it worse, I’ll stop—” You kissed him. You pulled back. “Sorry. Was that—” “Do it again.” Now? Felix still bakes at 2 a.m. Still writes notes on the fridge. Still organizes the pantry like a spreadsheet. But he also kisses your temple before you leave the house. Holds your hand during grocery runs like he’s afraid to let go. Whispers, “I know we didn’t choose this but if I had to do it again, I’d still choose you.” The marriage might’ve started with a contract. But the love? That came frosted, warm, and wrapped in a Tupperware full of effort. And you’ve been choosing him back ever since.

SEUNGMIN

Seungmin – (aka the emotionally constipated husband who shows affection by roasting you into submission) You didn’t expect him to be warm. Honestly, you would’ve been suspicious if he was. Seungmin greeted you on your wedding day with a polite nod and the emotional availability of a tax form. No smile. No small talk. Just a: “I’ll take the guest room. Don’t leave your dishes in the sink.” Romantic. At first, it was like living with a very tidy ghost who silently judged you for breathing too loud. You tried initiating conversation, but all you got were one-word replies: “Good morning.” “…Morning.” “How was work?” “Fine.” “Do you need anything from the store?” “Decency.” You were this close to throwing a pillow at him. Or a toaster. Whichever was closer. But you noticed something strange. Despite the deadpan sarcasm and constant eye-rolling, he… listened. Mentioned once that you liked strawberry yogurt? Magically appeared in the fridge. Said you had a meeting on Thursday? He reminded you like a snarky Google calendar. Offhandedly said your back hurt? There was a hot pack on your desk the next morning. But when you tried to thank him, he’d brush it off with: “I didn’t do it for you. I just hate hearing you complain.” Uh-huh. Sure. Over time, the silence shifted. It didn’t feel tense anymore just… calm. Comfortable, even. You started eating meals at the same time. Watching the same dramas on opposite ends of the couch. Bickering like a married couple without actually being one. You: “You know, if you smiled once in a while, you’d be kind of cute.” Seungmin: “If you talked less, I might live longer.” You: “You love me.” Seungmin: “Blink twice if you’re hallucinating.” But he didn’t move away when you scooted closer on the couch. Didn’t object when you started doing laundry together. Didn’t stop you when you fell asleep on his shoulder one night and mumbled, “Don’t leave.” He just sat there, tense for a moment… then relaxed, and whispered, almost too softly to hear: “I won’t.” That was the beginning. One night, you found him in the kitchen at 1 a.m., making ramen and quietly humming. You padded over in your socks, leaned against the counter, and mumbled, “Did you ever want this? Us?” He didn’t look at you right away. “No.” Ouch. “But now that I have it… I don’t want anyone else.” You blinked. “That was weirdly romantic for you.” He shoved a spoonful of ramen into your mouth. “Shut up before I take it back.” Now? Seungmin still teases you mercilessly. Still roasts you in front of your own plants. Still rolls his eyes when you do something mildly annoying and mutters, “This is why I should’ve married a cactus.” But he also tucks you in when you fall asleep on the couch. Picks up your favorite snacks without being asked. Keeps one of your hair ties on his wrist and pretends it’s not a big deal. He’s not loud with love. Not obvious. Not flowery. But he’s consistent. And in the end, being loved by Seungmin feels like this: No grand speeches. No dramatic confessions. Just someone who stays. Quietly, steadily. And never lets go.

JEONGIN

Jeongin –(aka the flustered baby husband who talks back but blushes when you talk nice) Jeongin walked into the arranged marriage like a man headed to war. Not dramatic at all. Except he was dramatic about it. Silently, of course. He was young, successful, trying to prove himself in his field and suddenly he was being told, “Surprise! You’re getting married to someone you barely know. Smile for the wedding photos!” He did not smile. He grimaced. Your first few days of married life were… quiet. Not hostile, just awkward. You felt like you were both house-sitting the same apartment with unspoken rules and polite small talk. You’d pass each other in the hallway like coworkers forced onto the same project. “Hey.” “Hey.” “Did you eat?” “Kind of. You?” “Cool.” Silence. But Jeongin wasn’t cold just reserved. You caught him staring sometimes. Not in a creepy way. More like he was trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to be a husband when he still googled how to fix a leaky faucet and forgot to switch his laundry. He wasn’t emotionally constipated just emotionally under construction. And then the sarcasm kicked in. Jeongin, once he got comfortable, became the king of side-eyes and muttered jabs. “Oh wow, you’re cooking? Should I call the fire department now or later?” “You fell asleep watching that drama again. I took a picture. It’s blackmail now.” “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean I have to like your taste in socks.” But you noticed something interesting. He’d grumble when you asked him to do something but he’d still do it. He’d tease you for being forgetful but he never forgot your schedule. He’d pretend to be too cool but blushed like crazy when you complimented his shirt. And when you started teasing him back? Oh, he short-circuited. You: “You look good today, husband.” Jeongin: blinking rapidly “Wh—pft—I—shut up.” You: “Are you blushing?” Jeongin: “NO. You’re just standing near something red.” You: “i’m standing next to you.” Jeongin: “……” It became a routine. Casual affection buried in banter. Emotional intimacy hiding behind post-it notes and shared ramen bowls at midnight. He made a habit of waiting for you to get home before he went to bed. You made a habit of telling him everything you liked about him just to watch him get flustered. Eventually, something changed. One night, you were curled up on opposite ends of the couch, and you casually asked, “Do you still wish this never happened?” He stared at the ceiling for a long time. Then, without looking at you: “At first, yeah. I thought it’d ruin my life.” Pause. “…But then you walked in. And you didn’t try to change me. You just… stayed. And now, I don’t know what I’d do if you left.” You looked at him, heart thumping. He turned to you, cheeks pink. “This is the only time I’m being soft. If you bring this up tomorrow, I’ll deny everything.” You didn’t bring it up. But you did kiss him. And he kissed you back like someone who finally figured out what home felt like. Now? Jeongin still talks back. Still gets flustered when you say “my husband” too easily. Still pretends he’s too cool to cuddle until he’s asleep on your chest with his hand fisted in your hoodie like a security blanket. He’ll tease you in public. Laugh at your clumsiness. Say things like: “Wow, imagine marrying someone like you.” And when you pout, he’ll smirk and lean in real close. “…Lucky me.” He might not have chosen this at the beginning. But he’s choosing you now every single day.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor @queenofdumbfuckery

#stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids soft hours #stray kids soft thoughts #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids headcanons #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #seungmin x reader #seungmin fluff #han x reader #han fluff #felix x reader #felix fluff #i.n x reader #i.n fluff

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fandomfablesunleashed · 1 month ago

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Rise and Shine

Zayne x reader

Summary: You're not a morning person, and Zayne is the one who has to make sure you get up

Words: 650

Notes: This idea was requested:

Could you write something about Zayne x Reader/MC, where Zayne wakes up the reader to go to work every day? I'm not a morning person, but I'm supposed to start my shift at 7 AM, so I hope this can give me motivation to wake up early

I absolutely love it <3 I’m definitely not a morning person either, so I had a blast writing this.

Hope you like it, anon! 😊

English is not my first language

Masterlist

The alarm went off at 5:45 AM.

You didn’t even flinch. Didn’t register the way the bed suddenly had more space—and was more cold—as Zayne slipped out from under the covers with the practiced ease of someone who actually knew how to function in the morning. He never had trouble getting up, never lingered in bed like it was the last safe place on Earth.�� No groaning, no dragging of feet. Just up and moving like it wasn’t an act of pure self-betrayal.

You envied that about him. Deeply.

It was the same ritual every morning.

A gentle knock. Followed by silence. Then a second, slightly louder knock.

“It's almost six,” Zayne’s voice murmured through the door. “You’ve got a shift in an hour, remember?”

You groaned into your pillow, dragging the blanket tighter around you like it could shield you from time itself. The sun wasn’t even fully up. Why should you?

He didn’t wait for a response. The door creaked open, and you could hear the soft shuffle of his steps across the floor.

“You’re not dead, right?” he asked, mock-serious, as the edge of the bed dipped under his weight. “Because that would really ruin my day.”

You cracked one eye open, your voice a scratchy croak. “You say that like dragging me out of bed doesn’t ruin your day.”

He chuckled, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek. His touch was pleasant, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world just to coax you into consciousness.

“No. It’s my favorite part, actually.”

There was something in the way he said it—simple, sure. As if watching you slowly blink your way back into the world was a sacred act, he wouldn’t trade for anything.

“Seriously?” you mumbled, already trying to burrow deeper into the warmth of your cocoon, as if sheer willpower could keep you safe from responsibility.

“Mm-hmm.” He leaned in, voice dropping into that familiar conspiratorial whisper that always made your heart betray you just a little. “You make these adorable little grumpy noises. Like an angry cat. It’s weirdly endearing.”

You released a soft, exasperated sigh in protest.

Then came the betrayal. Without warning, a steady hand reached out and swiftly tugged the blanket down from over your head, exposing you to the unpleasant chill of the morning air.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Time to wake up.”

You groaned dramatically, clutching at the blankets like they were your last line of defense against the cruel, cruel world. “Five more minutes…” you mumbled into the sheets, already knowing it was a losing battle.

Zayne arched a brow, clearly not buying it. “You always say that,” he replied, his tone shifting—still gentle, but firmer now, more insistent. “You’re going to be late.”

You peeked up at him, utterly unrepentant. “I don't care.”

Zayne let out a quiet laugh, the kind that said of course you’d say that. It was the sound of someone who’d long since accepted that this was just who you were in the morning: dramatic, half-feral, and completely impossible to reason with.

His fingers gave your cheek one last affectionate brush before he stood, the mattress bouncing slightly as his weight left it.

“I know, I know,” he said with the long-suffering patience of someone who’d lived through this exact exchange too many times to count. “But I made you coffee. And breakfast. Your favorite, even.”

You didn’t move, burying yourself deeper in the blankets, a defiant little rebel against the inevitable.

“You’ve got five minutes before I come back with cold hands.”

Your body went rigid beneath the covers.

He wouldn’t.

Zayne turned toward the door, calm as ever.

“Oh, I would.” His voice was low, almost teasing, as he paused in the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder, and that small, knowing smirk curved at the edge of his mouth.

And just like that, the clock started ticking.

#love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace #zayne fluff #zayne love and deepspace #zayne li #lads zayne #lads zayne x reader #love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne lnds

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the-internets-girlfriend · 4 days ago

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The Gang Tried to Set Us Up - George Clarke

George Clarke x Reader (1.2k+ words)

Everyone in the group knows Y/N and George like each other – except them. From cozy nights to “totally random camping trips”, their friends try everything to get them together.

warnings: idiots in love, shared bed trope,

masterlist x | this one-shot is based off this request here x

Movie Night (ft. The Beanbag Trap)

I should’ve known something was up when Chris took one look at the living room and said, “nope. Bad layout, vibes are off.”

That’s the exact moment I became suspicious.

Still, I didn’t clock it fully until Becky basically shoved me onto the deflated beanbag in the centre of the room. “You can see the TV better from here,” she chirped, which was a bold-faced lie since the TV was literally at an angle.

Then George wandered in, bowl of popcorn in hand, and Chris – helpful Chris – patted the beanbag next to me and said, “plenty of room there, mate.”

The thing is, there wasn’t plenty of room. The beanbag was ancient and slumped like a deflated souffle. The second George sat down; I rolled toward him like a magnet. Our knees bumped. My arms brushed his. Our thighs touched.

He froze, I froze harder.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, not moving away.

“It’s okay,” I said. Not moving either.

Becky shot me a look from across the room and popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth with a smirk so smug I wanted to throw a cushion at her.

For the next two hours, we sat like that – far too close, quietly pretending not to notice. I could feel the heat of George’s skin through the hoodie. I caught him glancing at me during quiet parts of the film, and once, when I laughed, I swear he smiled just from hearing it.

We didn’t talk about it afterward.

Of course we didn’t.

Game Night Shenanigans

“Lets do a challenge game!” Issac announced like a man who definitely hadn’t planned it for days. “It’s like a couples game, Except we’re not doing couples… justs random teams.”

“Random,” I repeated, deadpan – already knowing what he was getting at.

He nodded furiously and pulled out a hat – his hat, I noticed.

I didn’t even get to reach in. He just grinned and read the first pairing, “Y/N and... George! What are the odds?”

George looked up from his phone at me, and blinked, “huh, alright then.”

We sat together, facing off against Chris and Arthur Hill, and Arthur Frederick and Isaac. The game was simple: to answer questions about “your partner” and see how well you know them.

First questions; “What’s their favourite song?”

“I Wanna Be Yours, by the Artic Monkeys,” George said, the same moment I answered, “Artic Monkeys – I Wanna Be Yours.” Something said between the lines to each other.

We blinked at each other.

Isaac let out an obnoxious, “OHHHH” sound.

We won every round. Favourite food? He knew mine. I knew his. Pet peeve? Check. Childhood dream job? He even remembered my answer from a conversation we’d had once on a rainy walk back from the pub last year.

By the end, our team name was soulmates, thanks to Arthur Hill shouting it every time we scored a point.

We high-fived, my fingers between his for just a second too long.

One Tent, Two Idiots

“We though there were three tents,” Chris said, feigning concern.

Harry was already passed out in one. Isaac and Arthur were in another, pretending to be asleep. And the last? A two-man tent with two sleeping bags zipped together.

“You okay sharing?’ George asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sure,” I said, heartbeat thudding.

It was freezing. Our sleeping bags were zipped as close as possible. The moonlight made the inside of the tent glow faintly silver. i could hear his breathing beside me – steady, almost nervous.

“You awake?” He whispered.

“Mhm.”

“If hypothetically, someone had feelings for someone else in the group – like, really liked them, should they say something? Or… is it too risky?”

I held my breath.

“I think it’d be brave,” I whispered back.

“Okay.”

But in the morning, he didn’t bring it up again. Neither did I.

Cowards, both of us.

The Great Bake-Off Disaster

“Just a fun bake-off,” Becky grinned, already wearing an apron that said kiss the cook.

Isaac stood behind her holding a bowl and what looked like glitter.

“I’ve randomly paired you all up,” she added. “Totally fair. And what a shock—George and Y/N, you’re a team!”

I glared. The name cards were laminated. Laminated.

George looked equally betrayed. “They’ve planned this, haven’t they?”

“Yes,” I muttered, snatching an apron.

We ended up elbow-to-elbow at the kitchen bench. I managed to get flour in my hair, crack an egg wrong, and knock over the icing sugar. George laughed the whole time, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re useless,” he teased, voice warm.

“You’re worse,” I said, tossing a bit of dough at him.

At one point, we were both leaning over the bench to reach something. His hand brushed mine. We didn’t move.

“I like this,” he said quietly.

“Baking?”

“No. This. With you.”

My heart somersaulted. I was about to reply, finally, when Becky shouted “TIME!” and George jumped like he’d been electrocuted.

We didn’t win the bake-off.

We also didn’t talk about that moment.

Again.

The Fake Group Dinner

Chris sent a message that afternoon: Dinner at Luca’s at 7. Everyone coming!

You wore your good jeans and that top George once said looked “really nice” on you—his tone suspiciously shy when he said it. You walked into the restaurant expecting chaos.

Instead, you saw George.

Alone.

At a two-person table, looking like he was about to sprint for the door.

You froze. “Where’s… everyone?”

He cleared his throat. “Funny story. Chris said everyone was coming. But Becky said Chris told her not to come. Isaac said he had plans. And Arthur’s in Devon.”

You blinked.

He shifted in his seat. “We’ve been set up, haven’t we?”

You looked around. The waitress was already heading over with menus and a candle.

“Guess we have,” you said, smiling.

You sat down.

Dinner was… perfect. Easy. Light. You laughed more than you had in weeks. George’s eyes kept flicking to your lips when you talked, which you tried not to notice, except you really did notice.

When dessert came, the waitress placed tiramisu between you with a wink. “For the happy couple.”

George looked like he might combust. “We’re—um—”

You picked up your spoon. “Not correcting her?”

“Definitely not.”

Halfway through the dessert, George set his fork down.

“Y/N,” he said. “I like you. A lot. I’ve liked you for ages. I was just scared. But I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t feel what I feel when I’m around you.”

Your chest ached.

“George,” you said softly, “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

His eyes widened. “Wait—you like me too?”

“I like you, you idiot.”

He laughed, full and warm and startled, like he hadn’t dared hope.

Then he reached across the table and took your hand.

It felt like every missed moment, every unspoken word, had finally been worth it.

The moment you both walked in to George’s apartment – hands still linked – Arthr gasped like he’d just seen a miracle.

Chris stood up on the couch and yelled, “TOLD. YOU. SO.”

Arthur Hill fist-pumped the air. “I WIN THE BET!”

George buried his face in your neck. “We’re never living this down.”

You laughed, “and I don’t care.”

Because finally – finally, the quiet glances and near-confessions were over.

And all it took was four failed setups, one dinner date, and a very loud I told you so.

Hi all,

I was so excited to write this one-shot with it being my first request and I hope it's what you were wanting.

I've been working hard on Secrets in Doncaster, and the next few parts will be out soon... with one hopefully tomorrow!

See you next time,

mwah x

#british youtubers #george clarke #george clarkey #george clarke fanfic #george clarke fics #george clarke x reader #george clarkey x reader #uk youtubers

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katsu28 · 24 days ago

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hiiiii... first off, i wanted to say that i love your work so so much. i'm usually a silent viewer but i wanted to come out and tell you that your work is absolutely stunning. secondly, i was wondering if you were still taking requests from that prompt list in the pinned post. i was thinking 3,26 and 24 for the absolute comeback lando made during jeddah. if not, all good. do not feel pressured at all to write this ❤️

i appreciate u so much thank u!!! <33

3. hiding face in neck, 24. whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin + 26. kissing the top of their head. lando norris x reader, 1.2k. request something from here :)

Tenth on the grid isn’t near where Lando wanted to be for tomorrow’s race. Crashing out of qualifying definitely isn’t what he wanted either, not for him, but especially not for the team.

Jeddah is a tricky track, so full of tight corners and narrow straights that it could’ve happened to anyone. It just so happened that he was the unlucky one this time around.

He’s already beating himself up even before he gets out of the car. Fucking idiot, were his exact words on the radio, echoing through your headphones in the guest area of the McLaren garage, marking the exact moment your heart sank for him. It had already nearly jumped out of your chest as soon as you saw his car wobble, nearly stopped when he slammed into the barrier coming out of a turn.

A little later, after the session ends and Verstappen has taken pole, you finally find Lando. His feet drag along the floor, helmet dangling from his fingertips as he trudges into the garage looking far from happy.

His eyes find you immediately after he sets his gear down and you smile at him with what you hope is reassurance masking your concern, waiting for him to make his way over to where you are. He buries himself into your arms as best he can with the box wall between you, hiding his face in your neck like it’ll let him hide from the world.

Things like this are inevitable in every driver’s career, but Lando has always taken the setbacks rather hard. Always blaming himself, getting in his head about all the what ifs and could’ve beens. You can’t solve his problems for him, but you can help in other ways.

You squeeze him tightly, as if all your worries and his disappointment could melt away the closer you hold him. He’s here, he’s okay.

“M’okay, baby,” Lando mumbles, words muffled against your skin. Your fingers comb through the damp curls at the nape of his neck, palm splaying across warm skin just so you can feel his pulse under your touch. Lando pulls away just a bit, enough to speak clearly. “I’m fine, I promise. No damage—to me, at least. Car’s fucked.”

“The team can fix it. They will fix it,” You insist, bringing one hand up to cup his face. Your thumb strokes over his rosy cheek, eyes boring into his with such firmness you want him to feel it too. “Everything will be fine tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

You can’t promise him anything—not really—but you nod anyway, sealing when you hope isn't an empty promise with a kiss. “I promise, Lan.”

-------

You swear you haven't blinked since lights out.

Your eyes have been glued to the screen above you the entire race, headphones clutched to your ears so you can hear exactly what's going on with Lando. You’ve even got the F1 app open on your phone to track live timings so you don't miss a thing from the depths of the garage.

With every overtake, every gained position, your heart pounds a little faster. You’re even sweating a little bit, which would be odd given that you’re not actually the one in the car. But when your boyfriend is racing for his life out on track with only a handful of laps to go, you’re a ball of nerves.

You mutter encouragement under your breath the whole time like Lando can hear you, fingers crossed so tightly it’s starting to hurt as the laps tick down to the final one. Anything is possible until he flies by that checkered flag.

Lando crosses the line fourth.

He’d put up a phenomenal drive, fighting his way past seven very impressive opponents, managing his tires, keeping up the pace. In your eyes, he’s a winner all the time, but especially now. With what happened yesterday, a P4 comeback is sure to put some confidence back in him.

You find him chatting with Oscar after his post-race media duties, completely unaware of your appearance as you start to creep towards him from behind.

Oscar does notice, but doesn’t say anything when he spots you over his teammate’s shoulder, just tries his best to hide his grin so as to not blow your mission.

Lando's still going on and on about tire degradation when you pounce on him from behind.

“Fucking hell!” He screeches, nearly keeling over backwards before he manages to get his hands under your thighs for support. At the excited kiss you smack to his cheek, he lets out a loud exhale. “Baby, don’t do that! I thought I was being mugged!”

“In the middle of the paddock? Seriously?” You giggle, both feet back on the ground. You smile at the younger boy across from you. “Hi, Oscar! Mega drive today, congrats on the win.”

Oscar’s cheeks tinge pink and he grins, rocks back on his heels a little. “Glad you thought so.”

“Alright, mate, don’t you have your own girlfriend to bother?” Lando huffs dramatically, hooking an arm around your shoulders. You roll your eyes playfully at his change in demeanor. “Go on, get out of here, kid.”

“See you on the plane, old man,” Oscar shoots back, sidestepping the halfhearted swipe Lando takes at him. He holds his fist out towards you for a bump. “Great to see you again.”

“Likewise. Say hi to Lily for me.” You wait for Oscar to disappear into the team hub before turning your attention on your boyfriend, hands on your hips, brows raised. “Why are you like this?”

“Me? Baby, he was seconds away from giggling like a fucking schoolgirl. I’m telling you, Oscar definitely has a crush on you.”

“He has a girlfriend, Lando. You’ve met Lily, you’ve seen them together. He’s head over heels for her, and you’re being ridiculous.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s stop talking about him now.”

You drape your arms around his neck, tilting your chin up at him with a smile. “You’re lucky I find your weirdness attractive.”

“Luckiest guy in the world, I always say,” He hums, beaming back at you. “So, what’d you think of the race?”

“You did amazing today, Lan,” You say, nearly squeezing the life out of him with your hug. He pushes in closer to hear you over the bustle of the paddock and you do the same, putting your lips right against his ear for your next whispered praise. “I’m so proud of you, d’you know that? I'll always be proud of you, wherever you finish, whatever you do.”

“Yeah, I know,” He says bashfully, grinning ear to ear. His arms wrap tighter around you. “Thanks to you. My lucky charm.”

“Nuh uh, that’s all you, baby,” You reply with a shake of your head. Lando can only smile bigger, kissing the top of your head four times in succession, four lucky kisses for his lucky charm. “Ready to go home?”

“Ugh, beyond. I need a fucking shower,” He groans, tipping his head towards the night sky. His gaze snaps back to you just as fast, this time with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Wanna join?”

“Way to ruin the heartfelt moment, you horndog.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing!”

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azzifuddslover · 2 months ago

Text

UNRAVEL - chapter six

യ paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count: 6.7k

cw: swearing, light sexual content

notes: um… hey! first of all, i’m so sorry for disappearing for like a month. school has been kickin my ass 🥲 anyway, i have been contemplating continuing this series and was so convinced i’d never write again. obviously i decided against that! this chapter really started pickin up the pace and WHAT ABOUT IT. please go easy on me i understand this is awfully written, but keep in mind i haven’t actually wrote anything since early january. lemme know how y’all feel about this chapter, maybe even share ur live reactions? i would love that! enjoy and happy munch madness pookies

soaking up the high of an absolute blowout of a game, paige and azzi walk giddily to the blonde’s apartment, with paige leading the way. their giggles echo throughout the hallway matched with ear to ear grins. paige casually unlocks her apartment door, glances over her shoulder and pulls azzi into the open space by her jersey.

azzi lets out a louder laugh, her dimples popping out as she stumbles into the room. paige places both hands on either side of the brunette, keeping her stable and balanced.

“you played so good today,” paige tells her, locking eye contact.

azzi smiles, her cheeks flushed from both the game and their proximity. “you think so?” she teases, raising an eyebrow.

paige’s grin grows at her comment, her eyes softening as she leans in, pressing her lips gently to azzi’s cheek. she moves her hand to cup the back of her head, holding her closer. the contact is light but warm, only causing azzi to flush more.

“yeah,” paige whispers, her voice lower, “you were incredible.”

azzi’s grip on paige’s shirt unknowingly tightens, her body mere inches away from the blonde’s. she ducks her head, suddenly shy.

paige steps backward, dragging azzi with her until they’re both seated on her bed— close enough that their thighs are full on touching. paige’s hand never leaves azzi’s frame.

azzi opens her mouth, eyes searching paige’s face. after a moment of hesitation, she closes it, unsure how to approach this topic.

paige notices— of course— and scrunches her eyebrows. “what’s wrong?”

“what, nothing,” azzi shakes her head, “i just need to tell you something.”

trying not to jump to conclusions, although she can feel her heart begin to race, she says, “okay.”

azzi loosens her grip on paige’s shirt, “someone asked me out on a date.”

definitely not what paige expected— worse, even. “a guy?”

azzi waits a moment before nodding, her lips creating a line.

paige feels a knot form in her stomach, the words hitting her harder than they should— as her best friend. she forces herself to remain calm, her eyes flicking to azzi’s face, searching for any sign of how she’s feeling about it. “what’d you say?”

azzi’s expression is unreadable as she glances away, almost ashamed in a way. “i said yes,” she whispers, “his name’s tyler, he’s pretty nice.”

paige nods, plastering a soft smile on her face regardless of her disappointment. “that’s great, azzi. really. i’m happy for you,” she says, though her voice doesn’t quite match the enthusiasm she’s attempting to project.

azzi looks at her, clearly noticing a subtle shift in paige’s tone. she bites her lip, her gaze continuing to flick between her friend’s face and the floor. “thank you, p,” she mumbles.

silent for a minute, paige clears her throat, “‘course, az,” her voice is gentle. she shifts slightly on the bed, creating a small distance between her and the brunette.

“i think you’d like him,” azzi speaks up, “he’s really sweet. good looking, too,” she exhales a weak laugh.

paige only hums in response, looking down. “maybe,” she agrees, “if you’re happy, that’s all i care about. i just want you happy.”

azzi’s heart swells in her chest at the sincerity behind paige’s words. god. she scoots closer, their thighs brushing against each others once again. the brunette leans in, connecting her full lips to the area below paige’s ear, staying there a second longer then she should.

a pleased sigh escapes paige’s lips, her body tensing from the unexpected closeness.

“love you, p,” azzi mutters, quiet enough that paige is unsure if she said it at all.

instead of responding, paige turns toward azzi, offers a kind smile and stands. “alright, come on,” she holds her hands out for the younger girl; when their hands meet, she tugs her up into a standing position. “let’s get showered and then we can grab some food. sound good?”

azzi nods, already thinking of the food she’s been craving. she feels paige squeeze her hands before dropping them, turning away to find some comfortable clothes.

going through the motions, paige cannot help but feel a sense of unease settle in her chest. it’s not a full blown feeling, but more of a quiet, nagging discomfort she can’t quite shake. azzi has a date. azzi. her best friend. her azzi— going on a date with someone that’s not her.

she shallows dryly, making primal effort to shut these feelings down. it fails, to say the least. her mind continues to wonder back to azzi’s words, almost in a haunting manner. someone asked me out on a date. fuck.

after paige and azzi had dinner, enjoying each others company and having unnecessarily long conversations, azzi heads off to her room she shares with caroline.

paige brushes a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear and sighs, her mind racing with the way azzi had smiled at her and her soft giggles that make her stomach flutter for no reason at all. she takes a deep breath, suddenly deciding to pull out her phone and text nika.

p: i’m coming over

the walk is short before paige is standing at nika’s door, knocking lightly— she pushes the door, finding it open, entering without waiting for a response. nika looks up from where she’s sitting on the couch, scrolling on her phone.

“hey,” nika nods once, “what’s up?”

the blonde crosses her arms, trying to appear more casual than she really is. “azzi has a date,” her voice betrays her by cracking on the last word, the sudden tightness in her throat making it sound much weaker than intended.

nika raises her eyebrows, obviously shocked at paige’s statement. “a date? with who?”

paige shrugs, “a guy named tyler. i don’t know, she didn’t go into much detail— just said ‘he’s nice, i think you’d like him,’” she scoffs softly, her voice growing quiet, “like i could ever fucking like someone who’s after azzi.”

nika knowingly smirks, playing with the tips of her brown hair. “why not? i thought you said she’s your best friend— nothing more. what happened to that?” she tilts her head, teasing her friend.

paige’s cheeks flush, her gaze dropping to the floor. “cmon, nik,” she mutters, leaning her head against the wall, “i don’t know— it’s complicated, okay? i mean, she is my best friend. but sometimes, it’s just more than that. i hate it.” (she loves it.)

the croatian’s expression softens, feeling paige’s frustration radiating off her. she sets her phone down, leaning forward slightly. “you know, it’s okay to admit it, p. everyone can see how much you feel for her.”

a shaky breath escapes the blonde’s lips, her eyes shutting for a second. “fuck,” she mumbles, embarrassment washing over her features. “is it really that obvious?”

nika smiles, her voice gentle. “yeah, it is, but that’s not a bad thing, paige. it just means you’re human— you’re allowed to feel this way.” she pauses, letting the words settle for a moment. “you don’t have to figure everything out all at once, take your time. but i’m always here whenever you need me, you know that, right?”

paige walks towards nika, taking a seat next to her on the couch. she squeezes her friend’s hand, conveying her appreciation. “thank you, nik.”

“always,” nika nods, “and if it makes you feel any better about this whole date thing, azzi hasn’t mentioned him to any of us. if she likes him so much, don’t you think she’d at least tell caroline?” she raises an eyebrow, eyes widening slightly.

paige tilts her head in thought, “caroline doesn’t even know?”

“not that i’m aware of,” nika replies, “so i’m sure she doesn’t like him too much. plus, i’ve seen the way she looks at you. you can’t fake that, lemme tell ya.”

paige meets her friend’s eyes. “what way?” she asks, her voice curious.

the corners of nika’s lips curve into a grin, “like you hung the goddamn moon. she loves you, p.”

paige exhales quietly, her gaze dropping. “she wouldn’t go on a date with someone else if she loved me,” she suddenly rises from her seated position, heading for the door. “thanks, nika. i’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

the croatian nods once, understanding that paige needs to be alone right now. “see you, paige.”

with a final glance over her shoulder, paige offers a small, appreciative smile before stepping out and into the hallway.

the walk back to her room is silent, but her mind continues to drift back to azzi— her best friend, the one she trusts and loves most, and now, the one with a date.

why can’t azzi see it? why can’t azzi see her? she’s willing to do anything for her, yet here she is, going out with someone else. a guy, to make matters worse. paige would fucking climb mount everest in the dead of winter, down, and up again, just for azzi. all for her.

flopping onto her messy bed, she stuffs her face into a pillow— she screams.

you could hear the obnoxious chants and cheers of the gampel pavilion all the way in the locker room, where the uconn women’s basketball team prepares for their game. the excitement outside was palpable, but inside, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation.

paige leans against her locker, eyes scanning her teammates who were also getting ready until they found a set of very familiar brown eyes. azzi only offers a half smile which paige doesn’t return.

the two haven’t spoken— besides easygoing conversations during practices— in a few days, ever since azzi left paige’s room after mentioning her date. they haven’t even texted, which they’ve done everyday since meeting during USA basketball all those years ago. it’s unusual— azzi hates it.

the brunette breaks eye contact, looking down to tie her shoes. her pulse is steady, yet her thoughts are pure chaos. why wasn’t paige talking to her? did she say something to upset her?

a loud cheer from the stands outside broke her from the over consuming thoughts. azzi glances up only to find paige’s eyes still dead set on her, unwavering. the sophomore didn’t look away. she couldn’t.

without breaking eye contact, paige slowly tugs her shirt off, revealing her toned stomach and her, only in a sports bra. the motion was deliberate, controlled, almost in a teasing manner. azzi’s cheeks flush, her gaze flicking down to her chest, then back up to paige’s face.

paige, making sure to keep her eyes on azzi’s, slips on her jersey, then her warm up shirt over top. she makes it a point to move slow, liking azzi’s gaze on her— liking it even more when that gaze lowers.

paige was enjoying this— enjoying how azzi’s eyes that she loved so much seemed to follow her every movement. even when paige finished dressing, azzi’s eyes momentarily fell again, soaking in the sight of paige.

quickly, however, paige straightens, her focus shifting entirely. she tied her shoelaces and was out of the locker room before anyone else, leaving azzi behind, and speechless.

this is going to be a long game.

driving towards the basket, the sound of the ball bouncing on the floor floods paige’s ears.

she throws it up, getting hit on the arm. the whistle blows instantly as the ball swooshes through the net.

“yeah p!” kk yells, holding her hand out for a high five.

the players on the floor huddle paige, who continues to gather her breath. azzi hesitates to take the place next to paige, but nods in her direction regardless. “nice shot,” she tells her, her voice light.

paige exhales before placing a hand on azzi’s lower back, just above her waistband. it’s a gesture she uses with all their teammates, yet it speeds up the pace of azzi’s heart nonetheless.

paige easily makes the free throw, and the game resumes to their usual quick momentum. azzi makes most of her shots, only missing two off of bad passes while paige collects 23 points off midrange jumpers and driving layups. the two get pulled out during the fourth quarter, both out of breath but satisfied with their game tonight.

“you played well,” paige notes, nodding once at the younger girl.

azzi— still flustered at their little moment in the locker room— glances at paige, cheeks turning a light shade of red at the compliment. “thanks. you did, too,” she responds, choosing her words carefully.

paige’s gaze lingers on azzi for a beat too long, taking in her features that are coated in sweat— yet she manages to still look good.

the two watch the game in silence, not bothering to continue their conversation. they focus on the players that usually don’t play, hyping them up and cheering whenever their shot falls. it isn’t until azzi decides she’s had enough that she speaks up.

“are you mad at me?” she asks, making sure to keep her tone causal and calm. she doesn’t want to upset paige further by raising her voice.

paige scrunches her eyebrows, clearly caught off guard at her sudden question. “what, no? what makes you think that?”

azzi offers her a half shoulder shrug, “i don’t know. we haven’t talked lately; it makes me think i did something to upset you.”

“az,” paige mumbles, feeling guilty over their lack of communication over the course of the last few days. “i promise, i’m not mad. i could never be mad at you.”

with that, she scoots her leg closer, thigh coming in contact with azzi’s. she doesn’t bother meeting her eyes— although she can practically feel her staring, the silence thick between them.

azzi takes it a step further by resting her arm around paige’s chair, her fingers beginning to play with the tips of her blonde hair.

paige’s tenses, but relaxes almost as quickly, unable to ignore the warmth blooming in her chest. she tries to keep her focus on the game, but it’s difficult to ignore the way azzi lightly tugs at her hair, the soft pressure somewhat comforting.

the game winds down with the team leading by double digits. the final buzzer goes off— the team lines up, high fiving the opposing team and offering the usual “good games.”

on their way back to the locker room, after spending a couple minutes with fans and the media, paige finds herself only a couple feet behind azzi. she quickens her pace, jogging up to her best friend and throwing an arm around her shoulders.

azzi stumbles forward a little at the unexpected weight hitting her. she laughs, not hesitating to wrap her own arm loosely around paige’s waist, her fingers gripping the jersey ever so slightly.

“hi,” paige giggles, a smile clouding her serious expression that was once there.

“hey,” azzi says, her eyes immediately finding paige’s.

“wanna go to mine?”

azzi unintentionally bites her lip, nodding rapidly. paige laughs at azzi’s eager reaction and squeezes her shoulder gently.

the two make their way back to the locker room, never breaking contact. they slowly pack their bag, stuffing their shoes in along with other gear they brought.

kk nudges azzi, catching her off guard, “az, you see the coach’s face when you hit that three right in front of him?” she laughs, recalling the memory. “that’s cinematic, if you ask me.”

“i would’ve quit coaching if i were him,” ice points out, joining in on the laughter.

azzi quietly chuckles, although she’s missed the opportunity to look at his face, like they were saying.

paige, looking proud as hell, wraps her arm around her shoulder like she had before, holding her closer this time. “aren’t you guys glad i got her to come here?”

“oh please,” azzi tilts her head towards the sophomore, “i didn’t come here just for you.”

paige quirks an eyebrow, barely holding back a laugh, “okay, az, sure.”

“i didn’t, asshole!” azzi exclaims, half serious, half sarcastic. she shoves paige by the arm.

paige steps back, “mhm,” she hums, continuing to tease her.

but azzi just rolls her eyes, deciding not to entertain paige. she finishes her bag and throws it on her back before walking out and into the hallway, with paige on her trail— like usual.

she cannot help but hear paige’s annoying giggles coming from behind her. she turns her head mid walk, throwing paige a swift glare, only causing more chuckles out of her.

their walk to paige’s dorm isn’t long, but enough to make azzi throw herself on the older girl’s bed, groaning as she lays face first into the soft comforter. after a moment of silence, she turns on her side, letting out a little sigh.

paige watches her, blue eyes roaming the length of azzi’s body all laid out on her bed. she tosses her bag to the corner of the room before walking towards azzi, laying besides her, on her back.

azzi licks her lips. fuck, did she look good.

“i missed this,” paige breaks the comfortable silence while adjusting her position, now facing azzi.

“missed what?”

“us hanging out like this— talking. just me and you,” she explains, quietly. “i missed you.”

azzi, nervous all of a sudden, smirks, “wow, you’re dramatic. it was only a couple of days.”

azzi’s words hang in the air. paige’s expression shifts from soft to irritated at azzi’s response. she pulls herself up into a sitting position on the edge of her bed, her face scrunched in annoyance. “okay, forget it then.” she crosses her arms, her tone sharper than it once was. she adds, “sorry for missing my best friend, i guess.”

azzi follows paige’s movement and sits up as well, scooting a tad closer. although her tiny smirk still remains, she can tell paige is actually a little frustrated. “i was only messing around, p,” she says, “i missed you too. i miss you after not talking for a hour. i always miss you.” she reaches out, squeezing paige’s hand in hers.

azzi rests her other hand against paige’s neck and jaw area, and not giving paige a chance to reply, the younger girl leans in, pressing a featherlike kiss to the side of her head. the another— delicate, slow— on her cheekbone.

azzi leaves a trail of wet kisses down paige’s face, continuing down her neck like she’s done so many times before. she adjusts her hand— that’s still in paige’s— to rest on the blonde’s stomach, feeling her abs under her shirt.

a sigh of pleasure escapes paige, her eyelids fluttering shut. azzi’s fingertips tease the bottom of paige’s shirt, traveling slightly in, grazing her bare stomach.

“azzi,” paige whispers.

azzi hums against her skin, never disconnecting her mouth from paige’s flesh.

without another word, the older girl shifts completely, moving her body to face azzi once again. azzi— not expecting the quick movement— jerks back, but paige is fast to react, grabbing her nape and pulling her in. their lips meet and paige knows. knows this is exactly where she’s supposed to be, forever. with azzi, touching azzi, kissing azzi.

azzi can’t help but kiss her back, desperate and sloppy. they’ve kissed before, but this time around feels different. maybe it’s the intensity, the buildup— or perhaps it’s paige’s murmured words, barely audible for her to hear.

“fuck, az,” paige mumbles between kisses, “you feel so good.”

paige focuses on the sensitive spot on azzi’s jaw, sucking as her hands find themselves underneath her shirt, on her bare hips. azzi groans in pleasure, her head tilting back, granting paige better access.

the minute paige removes her lips from azzi’s jaw, the brunette is quick to remove her own shirt, throwing it off to the side. she’s left in only a sports bra— paige’s eyes widen, her cheeks redden.

paige doesn’t wait any time attacking azzi with another messy kiss, this time incorporating her tongue, swiping it over her bottom lip. her hands explore azzi’s body, fingers tickling her skin.

“you’re so goddamn beautiful,” paige murmurs, “my god.”

azzi falls back on the bed, dragging paige with her. “you’re beautiful,” she whispers against her lips.

the heat between them intensifies. their pace picks up as they begin removing each article of clothing, starting with paige’s shirt, exposing her toned muscles. next comes azzi’s sports bra, leaving her in nothing but her basketball shorts.

paige’s mouth wanders, sucking and kissing her way down azzi’s laid out body— all for her. she doesn’t stop until azzi’s nipple is fully against her lips, dark and peaked.

“jesus, baby,” paige mutters. her hand sneaks down to azzi’s waistband, ready and waiting patiently (impatiently) to yank it down.

the use of the nickname makes azzi shutter undoubtedly. this is everything, she thinks. paige is everything.

encouraged by the little sounds azzi makes, paige gently tugs at her shorts, as if to ask for permission. when she receives a frantic nod in response, she slowly pulls them off her, taking her panties too before tossing both into an unknown corner of her room.

her eyes revert back to azzi’s body, laid out completely bare on her bed. for her. jesus, paige could almost cry from happiness— she’s wanted this for so long, it’s hard to remember a time where she didn’t.

she leans forward yet again, pressing a closed mouth kiss to azzi’s now swollen lips. “i love you,” paige whispers so faintly azzi wonders if she imagined it, “i swear to god, i love you. so much.”

azzi stills. was it just sex talk, or did she actually love her? she genuinely couldn’t tell— but she wasn’t about to question it now.

(paige means it, though. from the depths of her soul— with everything in her, she means it. if this isn’t love, than what is?)

azzi allows paige to continue her trail of wet kisses down the length of her frame, licking and leaving marks that’ll appear tomorrow. when she reaches her glistening clit, paige glances up. “ima make you feel good, okay?”

azzi meets her gaze. “okay.”

and she does.

they don’t talk about it much after it happens. they choose to go back to pretending as if nothing had happened— like they didn’t completely come apart for one another, kiss every inch of each other’s bodies.

the two continue their normal routine, eating breakfast with the team, having the usual conversations. they share minimal words, hardly ever looking one another in the eye.

caroline notices, of course. she pulls azzi aside during practice while the others work on their personal drills. “az, what’s up with you and paige?”

azzi tenses at her name. “huh? nothing— what makes you think that?”

caroline raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “you two have been avoiding each other all day— not even looking when the other passes by. did something… happen?”

azzi holds her breath, knowing she can never lie to caroline. she adverts her gaze to the opposite side of the gym, where paige is practicing with kk and ice. her heartbeat intensifies, recalling the memories from the following night. her delicate tough, her teasing tongue, her soft lips. her everything.

“no need to say anything, i think i already know,” carol smirks, eyeing both paige and azzi.

azzi instantly feels heat rush up her neck, reaching her cheeks. she decides to play it as cool as she can, “nothing happened between me and her,” she replies, hoping and praying her voice remains stable, “in fact, i have a date tonight.”

caroline’s jaw drops the littlest amount, obviously not expecting her to say that. “a date? with who?”

“tyler— he’s in one of my classes. he’s cute. sweet,” she smiles.

“hm,” caroline hums. she doesn’t know what to make of this situation.

“what?” azzi questions her friend.

carol shakes her head, “nothing. i just didn’t know you dated.”

azzi shrugs, “not really— but it’s one date, it won’t hurt. i’m willing to give him a chance.”

“right,” caroline mumbles. “didn’t really expect it to be with him, though,” she adds, her voice quieter than before.

“then with who?” she asks louder, her tone sharp.

caroline curls her lip, looking away as if the answer it obvious. “oh, maybe just with a certain blonde standing a few feet away from us,” she explains, “the one you label as your ‘best friend,’” she quotes with her fingers.

azzi’s jaw practically drops at the insinuation, her heart suddenly racing. she definitely didn’t expect carol to go there— especially with such a pointed, targeted tone. her face flushes with a mix of shock, disbelief, and something she can’t quite place, but it’s enough to make her stiffen.

eventually she sighs, not even going to argue with her friend. “whatever, carol,” she says, giving up. “you might think you have everything figured out, but i can assure you, you don’t.”

caroline holds up her hands in surrender, shrugging her shoulders in the process.

what does she know, azzi thinks. she doesn’t know anything about them— none of them do.

azzi exhales, rubbing her hand on her forehead. she decides to switch the topic away from paige, “anyway, can you please help me pick an outfit for tonight? you know how indecisive i am.”

she laughs, her expression softening a bit. “‘course az, that’s what i’m here for.”

azzi smiles, thankful she dropped the previous subject. her and carol begin discussing potential outfit ideas as they continue practicing. however, her mind can’t help but wonder back to the blonde across the room— the one who’s gaze keeps flicking to her every now and then. how does paige feel about the date? does she care? azzi cuts off those thoughts, trying to focus on wrapping up practice and then when the time comes, tonight.

while applying light makeup to her face, azzi hears a gentle knock on her dorm door. she figures it her roommate, caroline, coming back from grabbing dinner, but when she turns the knob, paige is standing there, dressed in her pajamas.

paige stills at the sight of azzi. she’s in a tighter fitting, black shirt paired with light washed jeans. she has on her go-to heart necklace, along with silver hoops in her ears. the outfit highlights the curves of azzi’s body— paige knows she’s staring, yet she can’t seem to tear her eyes away.

“what’s up, p?” azzi offers a kind, small smile in her direction, moving aside to let paige in her room.

paige strolls in acting like she owns the place. she allows herself to look azzi up and down once more, silently admiring her utter beauty.

“hey,” paige says finally, eyes finding azzi’s as she sits on the edge of her bed.

a moment of awkward silence passes until the brunette speaks up, “did you… need something?”

“nah, just bored,” paige shrugs, “i forget you had a— y’know, date.”

azzi’s eyebrows quirk upwards, not entirely surprised at paige’s forgetfulness. “yeah, i’m leaving in a few minutes, actually.”

“oh,” paige mumbles. she shallows. “okay, well, i should get going then.”

she stands, making an effort to move for the door, but azzi stops her with a hand gripping her arm. she turns, facing the younger girl.

“wait,” azzi breaths. her eyes scan paige’s face, “you sure you’re good?”

paige’s lips curve into a soft smile, making her best effort to mask her disappointment. “yeah, az, i’m good.”

azzi nods, “okay, just making sure.”

before thinking it through, paige steps closer and reaches out, playing with a few curls on her head. azzi freezes and suddenly becomes acutely aware of her grip on paige’s arm, still lingering on her warm skin.

“have fun on your date,” paige smirks, watching her closely— a little too closely. “you look stunning, az.” (if he doesn’t take you home, i will, she wants to add, but doesn’t for obvious reasons.)

azzi’s heart flutters in her chest at her words. paige always knew how to make azzi absolutely crumble. “thank you,” she whispers, her gaze unintentionally flicking to her lips.

with one good last look at azzi, paige turns and exits her dorm without another word passed between them. she said all she should, and that was enough.

tyler was, in fact, pretty sweet— and definitely not unpleasant to look at. azzi rests her face in her hand, eyes solely focused on the man in front of her.

he laughs at something she said, his smile warm and genuine, and for a moment, azzi wonders if she’s actually enjoying herself. maybe this would be good for her, being with someone like him. she wasn’t necessarily disgusted at the idea.

his laughter calms and eventually, he flips the subject, asking her questions about herself. “so, you play for the women’s basketball team, right?”

“yep,” azzi nods, her smile lingering.

“how’s the season going? i haven’t been able to catch a game yet.”

he actually seemed interested. “so far so good. i personally think i could work on some things, but overall, pretty good.”

“that’s good to hear,” he nods as he takes a sip of his drink of choice— a classic coca cola.

“what about you? what types of things are you interested in?” azzi questions, tilting her head in her hands.

“well, i’m really into photography…” he goes on, but azzi’s mind drifts once she feels a faint buzz against her leg. a text message.

she sneakily glances down, noticing it’s from, of course, paige. who else? she takes a better look, finally reading the message itself.

p: u forget ur bra in my room

azzi’s breath hitches in her throat. tyler continues talking, oblivious to azzi’s shift in focus. but azzi can hardly concentrate on his words now. she stares at her phone, the text from paige blinking back at her— almost taunting, in a way.

she immediately feels a flush creeping up her neck she tries, and fails, to compose herself. fuck. now, of all times, paige decides to bring it up?

making the quick decision to ignore paige’s text, azzi clears her throat. “sorry… my mom texted,” she says, offering a tight-lipped smile.

“no worries. everything alright?” he grins back, not aware her unease.

“everything’s perfect,” she replies, leaning in to sip her water.

the two revert their conversation into talking about their hobbies, interests, personal goals for the future. azzi shares how she plans to reach the wnba level, while tyler explains his hopes of becoming a sports journalist, where he can continue his passion for photography there.

mid laugh, azzi feels another buzz coming from her phone. she flips it to see another message from the persistent blonde.

p: u just gonna leave me on read? answer ur damn phone azzi

azzi, growing more and more aggravated, excuses herself from the table and heads in the direction of the bathroom. once she’s in a free stall, her fingers work away at the tiny keyboard.

a: r u serious right now? wtf

p: wdym

a: u know damn well what i mean. why r u texting me that while i’m out with someone else?

azzi lets out a deep breath, trying to keep her anger in check. of course paige would do this to her— it’s paige.

paige takes a little longer to reply than before. but when the message comes, it’s short and sweet, yet still has the ability to make azzi’s heart stop.

p: i miss u

goddammit. paige always does this, azzi really shouldn’t be surprised. she cannot help but feel bad for accepting this date. she shuts that thought down instantly— she deserves a chance at a relationship. she deserves this.

instead of replying with her typical “i miss you too,” azzi shuts off her phone, leaving her on read.

she walks out of the stall, applies a fresh coat of lip gloss in the bathroom mirror and heads back to their booth, more in control than she was when she left. she refuses to acknowledge paige’s snarky text tonight. tonight is about her getting to know tyler, getting a feel for him— giving him the chance he deserves.

by the end of the date, she does just that. she learns tyler is genuine, thoughtful, surprisingly funny as well as an overall good person. they exchange phone numbers and already start talking about a second date in the near future.

azzi even works up the courage to kiss him gently on the cheek when saying their goodbyes— she thanks him for the good night together before flashing him a smile, dimples and everything, and walking away feeling good about the outcome of this date. she really hadn’t expected it to go this well, but is grateful it did. although, paige still lingers in the back of her mind which she tries her best to ignore. this day was about her and tyler. not paige.

the following day, the uconn women’s basketball team had another game in the gampel pavilion. the fans were loud, the atmosphere was intoxicating, the players in blue were absolutely dominating the opposing team— like usual, when it came to the big east.

paige and azzi continued to remain on the outs, barely making any conversation, if any at all. their usual chemistry seemed distant, and the tension was evident whenever they shared the same space. the team noticed but, for the most part, chose to keep their distance, focusing on the game instead.

the game ended as fast as it started, with uconn winning by 46 points. azzi collected 20 of her own, while paige had a solid 24. their automatic passes to one another was off tonight— that is, whenever they’d actually pass the ball to the other. it wasn’t necessarily intentional, paige thought. it seemed to happen naturally.

after the team had showered and changed into comfortable clothes, they found themselves at ted’s, drinks already in hands.

azzi leans against caroline, planted in the corner of the room. she swirls her dirty shirley temple— paige got her hooked— with her straw, looking at the liquid move in the glass. she glances up in attempts to locate the blonde, to which she finds another familiar face: tyler. they lock eyes and smile at the other. when he makes an effort to walk over to where azzi sits, caroline notices and stands.

“you have fun,” carol says, walking away before she finds herself in an awkward position.

azzi laughs. she takes another quick swig of the drink, feeling it go down her throat. she bites her lip, anticipating tyler’s approach.

“hey azzi,” tyler greets her, a kind smile on his face. “long time no see.”

she giggles, “it feels like forever,” she drags out the word, in a sarcastic tone. “how are you?”

“pretty good, yeah,” he nods. “how bout yourself? how’d the game go?”

“i’m good, thanks for asking,” she replies, her voice soft. “wait, you knew we had a game today? i thought you didn’t keep up with basketball.”

tyler exhales a weak breath, feeling almost embarrassed. “i typically don’t… but you’re on the team, so i figured i should probably start.”

azzi raises an eyebrow, a grin playing at the corners of her lips. “that’s sweet of you,” she points out, her voice quieter.

their conversation continues, discussing the game in depth and the little mistakes azzi wished she could’ve perfected. she finds herself laughing more than she expects; tyler’s easygoing nature makes it difficult not to, and suddenly she feels a little more at ease than she had earlier in the night.

“maybe i should go to a game soon,” tyler brings up.

azzi’s face reddens the tiniest amount, “yeah, maybe you should—“

mid sentence, azzi feels a body collide with hers, causing her to stumble to the side a little— basically right into tyler. he holds out his hands, stabling azzi after nearly falling.

“oh my gosh, i’m so sorry,” a voice says, genuine and sincere. azzi knows that voice.

her gaze immediately find paige’s blue ones, who’s already looking her dead in the eye. paige’s line of sight flickers between azzi, to tyler, to his hand on her arm.

“oh, hi paige,” azzi speaks, her voice crackling a bit. she removes her grip from tyler’s touch, not wanting paige to see.

“az,” paige whispers, flustered and wide-eyed.

staring at the blonde in front of her, she finally pulls herself out of her trance and shallows. she looks at tyler, then back to paige. “this is tyler,” she introduces him.

“hi, nice to meet you,” tyler nods in her direction.

“hey.”

azzi clears her throat, “tyler, this is paige,” she begins before adding, “she’s my best friend.”

paige locks gazes with azzi as soon as her words tumble out of her mouth. “is that what we are?”

the words hang in the air, and everything seems to slow for a beat. azzi’s pulse quickens, her cheeks bright red at this point. azzi feels a knot in her stomach as she stares blankly at the sophomore.

azzi opens her mouth, yet nothing comes out. she shakes her head, in absolute disbelief at paige’s comment.

paige’s lips curl into a line. she hums at azzi’s response— her silence speaking for itself. she eyes tyler once more before shifting her gaze back to azzi, raising her eyebrows.

without another word being passed between them, paige turns on her heels and walk away, leaving azzi there, motionless. she takes off straight for the bathroom, setting her drink down on an open table in the process.

azzi watches as paige’s retreating figure vanishes around the corner, the sound of her footsteps fading into the background. she stands there, still frozen, the tension thick in the air. tyler, who’s been silent throughout their interaction, finally speaks.

“that was… intense,” he says, his voice a bit hesitant. “is there something going on between you guys?”

azzi shallows hard, her mind racing. “um,” she murmers, unable to look him in the eye. “maybe— i’m not really sure, to be honest.”

tyler gives her a sympathetic look, “maybe you should go after her. talk it out.”

azzi nods, finally snapping out of her daze. “yeah, probably. thanks, tyler, i’ll see ya.”

without waiting for another word, she walks briskly towards the bathroom, following the blonde’s trail. she pushes out the heavy door and steps inside, adjusting her eyes to the bright light. not immediately spotting paige, she raises her voice.

“paige?”

azzi’s voice echoes off the bathroom walls, but there’s no quick response. she steps further in, her heart pounding harder, nerves tightening in her chest. luckily the bathroom is empty, besides the closed stall at the very end. azzi brings her knuckles to the door, knocking gently.

“paige, please open the door.”

and she does— paige is standing there, shoulders shaking, eyes full of fresh tears. fuck.

“what?” paige asks, barely loud enough to be heard. her voice cracks and azzi swears her heart does too.

azzi doesn’t hesitate to lunge forward, pulling paige into her warm embrace. she wraps her arms around her waist, their bodies fully flush against the others.

paige stiffens but almost automatically relaxes against her body. she rests her head on azzi’s shoulder, with both hands tightly wrapped around her frame.

a few moments pass with nothing but breathes being exchanged. but the next words out of paige’s mouth makes azzi heart swell. “i can’t stand the sight of you with someone else, azzi,” she whispers in azzi’s ear. “i try to be as supportive as possible, for your sake— but i can’t anymore.”

“paige…” azzi pulls back, keeping her hands resting on the blonde’s hips.

paige wears a sad smile. she brushes loose curls out of azzi’s face, her fingers playing with the tips of them. she leans forward, placing a delicate, slow kiss on the side of her face. then another, in the same spot.

azzi’s breath catches in her throat as paige’s lips touch her skin. the contact is gentle, almost hesitant, but also warm and comforting in a way.

paige steps back, out of azzi’s grip. her eyes lower to the floor as she takes a shaky breath. she wipes her eyes quickly, trying to regain composure. “i’m heading back. i’ll see you tomorrow.”

she turns towards the door, her steps slow but purposeful. she hesitates for a second just before she exits, glancing back at azzi one more time. “have a nice night, az,” she says quietly, taking off.

she doesn’t.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi #uconn wbb #paige x azzi #basketball #uconn huskies #fanfic #nika muhl #caroline ducharme #pazzi fics

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spencahreadreid · 5 months ago

Text

"Baby, listen" S.R

spencer smut!! female reader, nipple play (a little), traffic light system (safe word not used), light bondage, daddy kink, Dom Spencer, friends to lovers, aftercare at the end, one mention of sub-space, no y/n!!

idk how long this is, but probably one of the longest fics I've written I would love feedback, if I missed any warnings please lmk!! im literally terrible at these things so please bear with me

Spencer had been your friend at the BAU for a few months now, being the youngest agents you immediately became close. This meant movie nights, coffee dates and occasional library visits together. All of those are platonic of course, he'd never see you any other way.. right? Today had been a long day at the BAU, not a case but hours of paperwork lined up with barely any break. Yeah, it was terrible but everyone was just grateful no one had been in danger.

By the end of the day, you were exhausted, so were the rest of the team. Before you went to leave, you decided to clear your desk. Throwing your empty coffee cup into the trashcan beside your seat, you stopped when footsteps sounded behind you.

"Hi." A low voice. You turned to see Spencer Reid, smiling, his satchel across his body. He had one hand down by his side, a brown paper bag in it.

"Hey Spence! You going home?" You turned to him with a sweet smile, tilting your head.

"Yeah, hopefully not alone.. Uh-" he paused for a second. Lifting the bag, he placed it in your hands, now it was closer to your face you could smell the familiar sweet pastry. He would do this sometimes, stop at the bakery around ten minutes away from the building and pick up something for you.

"Thank you, but who were you hoping to have over?" The usual, act as if you had no idea, mostly to tease him. His lips curved into a small smile, mumbling "You".

You both laughed at his seemingly sheepish response, and you followed him out to his car. After the long drive you both settled down on his couch, and like always, he put on Star Trek. Tucking into the sweet treat he brought you, you offered him a bite before wrapping the blanket over both of you.

While the episode was on, you found your eyes drifting to him, his hands, the way he had been manspreading under the blanket since the show had started. But what your mind was on the most is the new wet feeling in your underwear, the fabric suddenly sticky. 'Please not now' the only thought you had besides how good the man beside you looked right now.

The TV continued playing, and it felt like an hour before he spoke again, you took in none of it before he tried again. "Are you alright darling?"

Holy fuck. Darling?!? You turned to him with a smile, he could tell it was fake, hes not the only profiler here. He never called you that, he'd let a pet name slip sometimes but it was always a joke.

"Yeah, I'm good" as soon as you said it he knew you were lying. Either way, he nodded and turned back to the screen, this time he took more occasional glances at you. You weren't even sure how you had gotten turned on so easily. It was just the sight of him. It was that easy.

Before you could stop yourself, your thighs clenched to try ease the friction, pulling the blanket slightly. Shit. He looked over and caught the movement before you could act as if nothing happened. He knew. He definitely knew and now you couldn't take it back, your brows furrowed.

"Baby-" he tried.

"Listen, this is really embarrassing-" and you cut him off until he started again.

"No no, look at me" his hand met your chin, pulling your gaze to meet his and you could've melted. Your breath hitches, the corner of his mouth curving into a slight smirk, something you'd never seen before.

"Are you feeling alright?" You could only nod, head barely moving but he saw it. The look in his eyes changed, voice seemed lower.

"Do you want this?" It was almost a whisper but it seemed so loud to you, watching his lips move, like only he existed. He waited, his thumb caressing your cheek and you nodded for a second time. Stripping the blanket off his lap, he patted his clothed thigh, inviting you to sit.

Obviously you did. Why would you deny sitting on your hot co-workers lap? When would you ever be in the right mind to decline that offer?! Shuffling over, you swung one leg over his, settling down on his right thigh. Your chests brushed before his hands came to rest lightly on your hips, fingers teasing over the fabric of the skirt you chose for work.

Hands on his shoulders, you met Spencers eyes again and they looked so beautiful. His eyes however, quickly moved to your lips, and soon you came in contact. The kiss was needy, long awaited and you could feel the amount of desperation that came with his movement. One hand on the back of your neck, one on your hip he slowly began guiding you back and forth over his thigh. Lightly pushing up your skirt, the pleasure hit almost immediately.

It was exactly what you were needing earlier that night, you moaned into his mouth, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. When you pulled back, his eyes looked into yours almost pleading, nimble fingers moving to your blouse.

"Yes, yes take it off!" Nodding, hips still seeking pleasure, jeans rubbing against your covered clit perfectly. With all the movement he struggled with the buttons, you both laughed as you stilled long enough for him to get the first few undone. After three of them, he caught sight of your black lace bra, a sound left him and he tugged, the shirt popping open, buttons flying and hitting various things around his living room.

You gasped, not understanding how it could've been so attractive. Spencer stood up with no warning, your arms wrapped around his neck tightly, his arms holding you up under your thighs, skirt still rolled up over your stomach. His apartment was small, the walk to his bedroom feeling as if it took two seconds.

He let you go when his knees hit the bed, you scrambled back using your hands. This is when he could really see you in all your glory, legs spread, underwear soaked around the middle, face flushed and hair messy, bra still on. 'Can't wait to see that off' his brain called to him. Worry about that later.

"Colour?" He'd asked, but it sparked confusion in you. His eyes softened as he took in the situation, you didn't know what this was. But then the look of recognition came over you, panting out "Green, so green"

Spencer smiled "Good girl. Just tell me if that changes for you."

A nod of confirmation had him moving closer, crawling onto the bed between your thighs. Pulling down the skirt came first, then hooking his fingers under your underwear. When he came into sight of you his breath hitched, mouth opened as if he was about to speak but he never did.

You waited, waited so patiently for something to happen, maybe a reaction from him. As soon as your head tilted back you felt his hot breath over your thigh, then your core. It was almost a battle to keep your hips down on his bed, he noticed this and brought his arm down to keep you still.

He didn't make contact, he had you held down, his face just inches away, mouth almost touching you.

"Spencer" you tried to move, which was funny because before that you were doing so much to stop yourself from moving. It had taken so long for things to get to this point, and now he wasn't doing anything.

Spencer smirked up at you, moving in slowly, lips wrapping around your clit. Hands finding his soft brown curls, you tugged him closer, thighs spreading wider. His tongue soon came into the picture, licking a stripe up your slit, before moving them down to your hole. A moan escaped your lips, before you felt something prodding at you. His middle finger slipped into you and you immediately tightened around the digit, Spencer moved slowly, not wanting to bring you to the edge yet.

He didn't know how fast you would get close, so he alternated between speeds, you pleaded but he wouldn't stay consistent.

That's when it slipped.

"Please daddy!" hips thrashing, but then slowing when the realization kicked in. No fucking way.

"What was that?" Spencer lifted himself, his finger still inside you. Now you were face to face it was so much more embarrassing. When you didn't speak, he pulled out, causing you to whine.

"Say it again." he moved closer to you, crawling over on his knees. Stopping beside you, he slowly began to undo his belt, your arms flew up but he caught your wrists in his hands.

"Absolutely not, you don't get to touch me until you repeat that." again, no room for argument. You wanted to fight back, but that mindset disappeared when he took both your wrists into one of his hands. His free hand moves to his tie, undoing the knot, pulling it from under his collar. Eyes widening, you go to speak, he assesses the fear but also the way your pupils dilate.

Desire.

"You're safe with me alright? We can stop at any time, just say the word." with that, he begins binding both your hands together. When they're all done, he loops the end around the metal of his headboard. "Too tight?" Tugging lightly, with a shake of your head you confirmed they wouldn't slip off. If only you'd just done what he said.

His belt already discarded, he moves off the bed and to the end of it. Using the restraints as leverage, you pull yourself up to watch him. Button of his slacks, then the zipper and they're suddenly on the floor at the end of the bed. The sight of him made your whole body feel warm. Spencer in his boxers... The outline of him, the length, the thickness of his dick. You could swear you would've been drooling if your mouth was open.

"Still good over there, pretty girl?" to him you looked spaced out, clearly not catching the pure awe behind your current blank expression.

"I'm- yeah I'm good." nodding, voice slightly broken, needy, wanting.

"Are you ready?" you hummed back to him, but that's not what he wanted.

"I'll ask you again." his voice slightly more stern, you swallowed hard.

"Are you ready? Use your big girl words this time." That could've sent you spiraling. As you focused on finding your words, he stripped of his shirt. Spencers hands made it to the waistband of his boxers, he looked up for your answer.

"Yes daddy" to which he responded, "There's my girl."

Lifting himself onto the mattress between your legs once again, you waited with bated breath, eyes staring up at him. He took himself into his hand, stroking lightly as he approached you, teasing his tip against your slit. He didn't push in fully, he kept his tip barely in you before pulling down the straps of your bra.

"Daddy-" you pleaded, no shame this time. Shifting your hips upward, he dipped further in but pulled back out of you, leaving a light slap on your outer thigh. He didn't want to hurt you, not without you discussing it before, but the moan you let out earned you a warning of; "Patience."

He went back to his first act, before you'd rudely interrupted with your needy gestures. One hand cupped your left breast, squeezing it in his palm, then his right hand went to pinch your right nipple between his thumb and index finger. You were starting to get uncomfortable, the growing need feeling almost too much.

"Spencer, please fuck me!" it was practically a cry. As long as it got the point across, you didn't care how it sounded, pathetic or not. When he looked down at you, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep this up any longer. He'd been holding back, putting up the front that he could keep himself together around you.

He couldn't. He couldn't wait anymore.

He grabbed the pillow from next to your head, the one he always imagined you sleeping on next to him, shoving it under your hips. He slipped inside of you, you both gasped, his head tipped back. You would've seen this if your eyes hadn't rolled back into your head, the feeling of him finally inside you taking over your whole body.

"Fuck! Fuck- Oh God!" you lifted your legs, pulling them to your chest. He pushed further in, as if you weren't full enough. "So good baby- Shit! Taking me so fucking good." Spencer swearing, something you never thought would turn you on so much, but it did.

"So good daddy- So go-od!" your voice broke as he began to thrust into you. There were atleast three that kept to the same pace, the next ones were uncoordinated. Your hips slapped with a wet sound and you clenched around him, he held your legs up to take some of the responsibility off of you.

You looked absolutely beautiful in his eyes, mascara smudged, eyes gleaming with tears, hands gripping the tie you'd been bound with. The bed rocked, both of you now sure his neighbours hate you, the once quiet neighbour now has a girl practically screaming in his room.

Both of you could care less, infact the only thing in your head was how deep he reached inside you, and in his head, how tight you were clenching around him. His thumb came to rub small circles over your clit, his other hand keeping your legs up so he fit better.

You fought hard not to cum, but you could tell he was close too, twitching inside of you. By this point he could barely look at you, scared the sight of you under him would bring him over the edge of his orgasm. That's when your meek voice called out.

"Daddy, I'm- I'm close" you breathed out, hands tugging at the tie around your wrists, hips bucking up under him. He nodded, you couldn't tell whether it was confirmation to do it or agreeing with you until he spoke. "It's okay, that's- that's okay, you're gonna cum with me. Wait for me." pushing on your lower stomach.

You nodded, trying to speak, trying to say something to let him know you understood before he slammed down harder into you. Spencer watched as your mouth dropped open, drool spilling from the corner of your lips, his hips faltered before moaning out; "Cum for me, cum on my cock"

You did, hard, with a cry of "Daddy!" before you felt him spill inside of you, his eyes screwing shut, mouth dropping to an 'o'. You were so glad you could witness that.

Whining as he pulled out, he soothed you with small "shh" sounds, pulling on the knot of your D.I.Y restraints and slipping his tie off your wrists, arms dropping to the bed almost immediately. Head lolling to the side, you shut your eyes, taking deep breaths as he made his way out and to the bathroom.

Footsteps returned, Spencers soft voice calling out to you. "Baby, we need to get you cleaned up" you were half asleep by now, either way you took in his words. You nodded sleepily and let him wipe up your inner thighs, both your cum mixed together as it dripped out of you. He left the rag by the laundry basket and brought a lotion bottle from the desk in the corner back to the bed with him. He soon urged you to sit up, covers over your lap as he caressed your slightly red wrists, squirting out some lotion onto each one and rubbing it until the soothing cream disappeared.

Spencer suddenly felt guilty, and when your eyes opened slightly to admire him you noticed the regret. "Daddy?" you were still in some kind of sub-space.

"Are you okay?" your voice spoke again, his eyes were now on you, you sounded so small, so vulnerable. He nodded, hand stroking gently through your hair, kissing your forehead, turning to switch the lamp off before you let out a sound of protest. He nodded in understanding and refrained from crowding the room in darkness, you cuddled up into him, settling under the sheets together.

#mgg #spencer reid #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #criminalminds #gublerween #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid scenario #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you

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wonton4rang · 1 year ago

Text

Kiss and make up ¡!

pairing: bnd legal line x gn!reader

warnings: smut +18, some toxic behaviour (ig idek atp), cursing, unprotected sex (be safe y'all 😔) and I think that's about it, lmk if I missed anything.

genre: smut. ♡

summary: how would be make up sex with boynextdoor members (legal line - everyone but woonhak)

note: I was going to post an ask I got ready for today but tumblr kinda glitched and it delete half of it so I need to re-write and edit it again :'( please enjoy this as an apology <3

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sungho; make up sex with him can be overwhelming, and it most likely will, there could be two reasons for it: he is sooooo sorry for everything that he keeps whispering little "sorry, baby" into your ear or he's still kinda mad and just fucks you out of despair. either one you will feel so good and full that you will forgive him for anything you got mad for in the first place. it was sungho and his strong body and gifted cock against you, tbh who would go against that? his pretty foxy eyes looking down on you with so much appreciation, his lips glossy due to your own saliva and his hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat. he was so hot and it was just a small disagreement anyways, nothing you guys couldn't talk about after you were stuffed full like a pillow.

riwoo; i see him into some dynamic type of sex, nothing crazy but something that would consume lots of energy, like fucking you in some odd yet pleasant position with no rest, your knees numb and your arms trembling, but when it's make up sex he would be the sweetest and most cliche person, laying you on your back and caressing your cheeks while he left a trail of kisses all over your face, neck and your collarbone, mumbling how pretty you were and how much he hated to fight with you. he's just so sweet and good for you :(( you guys definitely talk about things and get to a solution together, it might be even faster than with other members since i feel like riwoo will understand and make his point clear so that it can be solved accordingly and fast.

jaehyun; he's crying. but not like a few tears shed, he's crying his eyes out whenever you guys have an argument about anything and everything and he really doesn't wanna see you afterwards because he feels so wronged. but when you knock on the door of your shared bedroom after giving him some space, he would make a light pout, looking away so you can know that he's still mad. it only took you two minutes of "baby, I'm sorry, it was not my intention to yell at you. It's not your fault that I'm stressed and I'm sorry I let it out on you, can you please forgive me?" and he will, cause jaehyun is like a little puppy to you, he would never say no, better yet, his answer was "i forgive you, y/n, how 'bout I help you getting rid of that stress, hm?" and then he made you come around his cock twice, giving you a third orgasm while eating you out and softly giggling at your wasted look, kissing you before helping you get a relaxing bath and then tuck you in bed.

taesan; I think I've said this before but I don't see him as a highly sex-drived person, not really understanding all the hype about it, yes, it was good and he loved to fuck you and make love to you, but it was not his top priority. yet I do believe he has his triggers. so when you guys got into this heated argument he realized something: he found your angry self very appealing, the way you yelled at him and pushed his chest making him grin a little bit at the fact that he could tower you and stop you in any moment but you felt that you controlled him. the whole discussion was about some girl that held his arm earlier and he did not move her, you were furious cause you knew how much he hated physical contact with most people and letting that random girl do it like that? you raged. "is this funny to you?" you said, getting him back from his thoughts. "she's no one, love, but I can show you why you are mine right now" you were confused, not following his words are they were so out of place. "you're so hot when you get cold" was the last thing he said before taking you into a deep kiss that ended up with you crying out his name while he made love slowly to you, pounding your cunt full while his soft and wet lips kissed your face. taesan was yours, all yours, no else mattered to him, he did not have any interest in other girls. it was you, you were his one and only.

leehan; where do I even start? he would listen to everything you have to say, quietly nodding to the points you're making and chewing his cheek to avoid saying anything stupid that would interrupt your failed version of an apology, because right now all he can think about is the away your boobs wiggle under your loose large tshirt with every move that your hands do, your tights looking so pretty that he couldn't avoid staring and you noticed, snapping your fingers in his face and rolling your eyes when he just smirked at you, throwing his hair back and sitting comfortably in the couch before spreading his legs a little bit. "if you're so sorry you could show me with actions, y/n" he was so cocky that you couldn't even be mad at him, straddling in his lap and moving your panties aside when he took his dick out and aligned it with your soaked entrance. "you're going to fuck me so good, aren't you, baby?" a soft kiss was pressed in your lips and he leaned back to let you ride the shit out of him. the so called argument long gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you guys enjoyed!! <33

#boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor scenarios #boynextdoor smut #boynextdoor x reader #leehan smut #leehan x reader #jaehyun smut #jaehyun x reader #riwoo smut #riwoo x reader #taesan x reader #taesan smut #sungho x reader #sungho smut

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lizthewriter · 10 months ago

Text

fresh out the slammer / theodore nott

PAIRING ex!theo nott x divorcee!reader

SUMMARY post divorce, you decide to move back to england to move on from your late husband. america reminded you far too much of him, but you don't know anyone in england to take you in until you find a flat. other than your ex-boyfriend, theodore nott.

QUOTE "now pretty baby, i'm running back home to you, / fresh out the slammer, i know who my first call will be too," - fresh out the slammer by taylor swift

WORD COUNT 2.1K

WRITTEN 7.18.2024

you didn't know who else to call when you came back to england. it was expensive to room at a hotel or something similar, so you called an old . . . friend. or maybe more than friend. definitely more than friend.

as you exited the interior of heathrow airport, you made your way to arrivals. your eyes searched the crowd of families and couples happily greeting each other as they departed on their journeys. you felt like a bundle of nerves - you hadn't seen theo in years, not since your regretted post-break up hookup. one that had been humiliating and embarrassing and so shameful for the both of you that you hadn't spoken since. but he was your only friend in england who had responded to your messages.

your eyes fell upon him, finally, looking as well-dressed and collected as ever. he leaned casually against his car, watching you intently. as your eyes met his, he sent you two-fingered salute in greeting, pushing himself off the vehicle to approach you.

"hi," you said breathlessly, nervously, a chuckle leaving your locked lips. you couldn't seem to find much more to say, a bombardment of old emotion overtaking your psyche.

"hello," he responded, his tone nothing but gentle and nostalgic. the both of you shared a look, filled with old memories of the moments you shared, flickers of memories that are now light with the weight they once carried.

the both of you quickly snapped out of it.

"i should probably put this-"

"let me take your bag and-"

the both of you laughed as you stumbled over each other's words. theo took your bag and suitcase, loading them into the trunk before opened the passenger-side car door for you. always the gentleman, he was.

the start of the car ride was filled with awkward smiles and brushes of hands. as theo pulled out the airport, you found a radio station you liked and sat back in your seat, trying to get comfortable despite how tense you were.

"so . . . you were married?" your shocked glance spoke more than the broken sounds leaving your mouth. you had never told him that. "i know, you didn't tell me, i noticed the tan line on your ring finger. your skin is lighter where a ring would have been. so either, you were married or you're married but separated."

you cleared your throat, sitting straighter. "divorced. the papers went through about a week ago. i'm not suprised you noticed . . . you always had a very keen eye, theo." his old nickname rolled off your tounge like smooth, rich honey. it was like trying on your favorite pair of pants - they were molded to fit you and you alone from the years of use. just like that little old nickname.

"i don't mean to pry," he mumbled, diverting his eyes from the road to send you a worried glance. "i'm sorry, that must have been . . . difficult."

"it was," you whispered softly. it wasn't so much that the divorce was difficult, that was perhaps the easiest part for you. the marriage was the issue - he never treated you right. never liked you wanted, never like you had been. maybe that's why you had never loved him entirely. maybe that's why it had been so easy to separate, to pack your bags, move back home, with - well, with your ex-boyfriend. who you had to admit, you had never stopped thinking about, even if he was only a lingering smell or sight within the depths of your memory. "but i've moved on. i like to think moving home will bring back some of my old self . . . as well as a new start. thank you for letting me stay while i look for a flat, i really really appreciate it."

"please, it was no problem," theo responded humbly. "anything i could do to help . . . you."

"your flat is colossal!" you exclaimed, letting out an envious groan at the breathtaking view of london from his flat. your eyes wandered the dull, copy-and-paste monochrome room which theo somehow made feel homey with his choice in warm, wooden furniture. his stylish choice of leaving books on practically ever surface also aided in the apperance of making his apartment feel like a home. it suited him, you thought. "you've made quite the life for yourself, theo. i'm proud. i'd always knew you'd do well in life."

"yes, well, as much as i adore my flat, life is not all about luxury pools and garden roofs," he responded with a simpleton's smile. he made his way toward the staircase and gestured for you to follow. he showed you to your guest room, where he had already taken the initiative to leave out a variety of towels, bath necessities, snacks, and more.

"aw, you made me a welcome basket without the basket," you said jokingly, clutching your heart with mock sympathy. "thank you," you told him, with much more sincerity in your voice this time around. "really, you didn't have to go out of your way to do this for me."

"really, it was no problem. besides, it's nice to have company . . . for once." he awkwardly knocked on the dresser by the door and took a step back. "well, i will let you unpack. i'm cooking dinner soon and no, it is not a big deal, i cook dinner everyday anyways. i'll let you know when it's ready. all right? sooo... just relax."

theo poured generous amounts of wine into two classes, one for each of you. he say across from you at his charming dining table, taking a small sip of his drink and shutting his eyes as he appreciated it's unique taste. letting out a content sigh, he returned his gaze to you. "are you doing all right, considering . . . well."

you felt awkward discussing this with him. your divorce. as though it were rude or inappropriate to do so. "i, um, i already know it was ending long before the relationship ended so by the time it was all over, i think i got over most of it. i'm just happy to be back home. home being england - not that this doesn't feel like a home, it does, it's just not . . . my home and now i'm blabbering and this is really weird," you said with a chuckle, digging into the beautiful meal theo had cooked for both of you.

"you always do that when you're nervous," theo said lightly, an affection to his tone. "there's nothing to be nervous about." with a few taps of his phone, the room was bathed in the smooth saxophone and jaunty piano of 50s jazz that you both loved so much. "relax. it's all right."

"how have you . . . been? i hear you're making your way up in parliament. they talk about you in the news now. i remember when the only way i'd hear about you was during uni, when your best friend would run to my dorm to tell me you'd gotten black-out drunk," you recounted with a reminiscent chuckle, taking a sip of wine.

"ah yes, blaise," theo grinned widely at the mention of his best friend. "he'd always have my back. and if he didn't, he knew you would."

"do you remember that one time you both had taken shots of fire whiskey and stole every whiteboard marker from all the classrooms in the humanities building and hid them in secret locations, and then when you woke up, forced me to come help you search all across campus to find them and put them back before class started on monday?"

his expression softened, his eyes crinkling as he remembered his university days of tomfoolery and shenanigans. "i'm suprised you remember . . . university was so long ago."

"it was when i was happiest," you replied with a soft smile, meeting his eyes and glancing away from him uncertainly. you let out a nervous chuckle, taking another bite of your food. he was still . . . just how you remembered him. it didn't matter that he was some important government man now, he was still the same theo you knew.

"have you found a job here yet?" he asked. despite our small talk and the music flowing through the room, it somehow felt completely silent.

"erm, no, not yet. i've been looking, but you know how hard it is."

theo stared at you for a long moment before wiping his face and standing up from his chair. "get up," he said to you with that signature grin of his - it was obvious in his eyes, he was planning something.

"what?" you asked with a laugh.

he approached you, grabbing your fork from your hand and placing it delicately beside your half-eaten dinner. he held out his hand to you. "up. we're going to dance, loosen up a bit. like old times, yeah?"

the phrase like old times brought back a number of memories, all from the time when the two of you were still together. the late nights wrapped in each other's arms, tipsy and laughing so hard you'd fall to the floor. later, sitting on the windowsill and discussing deep topics in great length. early morning, the sun rising over the horizon just as your back arched, slumping back into the sheets. the smell of moscato and cigarettes.

you tried to remind yourself, that was a long time ago, as you took his hand.

he swept you off your feet, twirling you around until you were wrapped in his arms, your back against his chest, as he swayed you to and fro. his head rested against your shoulder, his breath tickling the very edge of your collarbone. "small talk is all so . . . needless, isn't it?" he asked, scrunched his nose up.

"yeah," you responded with a chuckle. he spun you back out and grabbing your hand, pulling you close so you were face to face, waltzing across the kitchen floor. "this is much better."

you didn't need to talk. you only needed to feel. theo hummed to the tune of the music and you closed your eyes, swaying with him. "you're still amazing at dancing - i'm afraid i've grown clumsy out of practice," you told him as you almost tripped over his foot.

"yet i still somehow seem the same elegant and sophisticated woman before me," theo responded with a grin and an arch of his brow.

"i wouldn't use those two words to describe me in university." you grimaced as your mind was filled with images of all your most embarrassing university moments.

"well, you smart and beautiful and had this moxie." he had such passion in his tone - it felt like university again with each passing minute. "like the leading lady of any black-and-whife film. like . . . hedy lamar!"

"you flatter me, theodore nott," you said, waving him away with an embarrassed flush of your cheeks. the music swooned through your ears, the artist singing about true love, and the both of you fell into silence. your eyes somehow always found a way to meet up again, but quickly they separated like two schoolchildren in love. "you're not so much different either. just as witty and polished as the day we met."

"you mean i haven't grown handsome in my old age?" he questioned in a dry, mock sense of hurt. "you wound me. i really thought this peppered look was working well for me."

"it is," you sputtered out, both to comfort him and to be honest, but once you said it, it felt much more like an admission of feelings than anything. you blushed and stared down at your feet. "i mean, it - um - you look really great."

"you look great too." when you raised your head, finally meeting his eyes once more, something electric passed through the both of you. the awkward tension from the past day had finally built up against a dam, broke through the wall, and exploded into a river of unexplored territory.

before long, he was leading you to his bedroom, hands desperately clutching your cheeks as he rougishly pressed his lips against yours. clothes were discarded, glances were shared, and by the end of the night, you were tangled in each other's arms. like old times.

"this makes things complicated . . . doesn't it?" theo asked, trailing his finger across your bare back.

you stretched your neck to turn and observe him. your hand outstretched, you placed it upon his cheek and rubbed it soothingly. "it doesn't have to be complicated, theo. i . . . i want you."

"i want you too," he replied, leaning forward and pressing a not-so-chaste kiss to the interior of your collarbone. "in every way i can have you. sleep here tonight?"

"for you, theo. only for you."

#— [ glizzy posts ☆ ]#theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my fic #writing #fanfic #slytherin boys

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mctvsh · 3 months ago

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pt. 2 kidnapped!enemy!medic!reader x polytf141

cw: military & war inaccuracies, reader uses she/her pronouns, and is mostly girl based, reader has long enough hair to smack her in the face

proofread-ish

by now, it had been a little over 2 hours of sitting still and silence. afraid one wrong move could cost you your whole life. the Captain had left, surveilling outside with a fat cig hanging out the side of his mouth. the pretty boy, whose name is Gaz (as you've learned from Scot's nonstop chatter), was sitting next to the laid down the chatterbox, whose name you have also come to know as Soap (Ghost told him to shut up, which he did not do).. anyways, what good does this do you? nothing. you still didn't even know the Captain's name.

you continue to sit still for a few minutes, Soap's never ending talking echoing in the room and all you could do is internally sigh with how annoying he was.. although, his cheerfulness DID ease your worries. though it was instantly stopped everytime you realized Ghost was 2 feet away from you and was clutching his gun like it would grow legs and walk away from him.

you glance around once more, ears ringing. you sigh, loud and definitely unashamed. to which you gained a more intense glare fromm Ghost, and a pause in Soap's sentence. yikes.

"My bad.." you grumble, using up all your self control to not roll your eyes.

as if he could intimidate you..

"Ye seem tae hae yer panties in a twist bonnie." Soap says with a shit-eating grin. Gaz stares at you, surprisingly sympathetic.

you glance at him, eyes narrowed.

"Nope. Just fine, thanks.." you mumble, lips in a pressed, tight line. before you practically jolt. a loud clank coming from the door that Price had exited out of.

oh great, watch it be a hyena with how bad your luck is..

and nope, it's the Captain. close enough to be honest.

"Choppers here, git." the Captain's voice rumbles, although, he had a hint of warmness nonetheless.

either way, you're grabbed like cattle by Ghost and set on his shoulder, face to face with his ass, which would be a nice sight if you didn't hate his guts. okay so, you're on your way to die. you look up the best you can, facing a grin from Soap as his chest rumbles with laughter at the sight of you.

what the hell is so funny, bastard?

you were starting to get hungry, honestly.. Gaz had caught up to the Captain before your ears twitch. oh? his name..

"Price.." Gaz says before the rest of his words fade as he whispers to incoherent sentences.

Captain Price.. it has a nice ring to it,

you guess..

wait, who cares!? you'll be dead soon anyways!

you walk out and you hear a loud whirl from the helicopter which you were facing away from, hair flying in your face and catching onto your mouth. and now you're being manhandled onto the chopper, hitting your head on the frame with a yelp. you can feel all four of their eyes on you after that one.

"Tha's real charming, lassie." Soap, again.

if you had a gun, you'd shoot him first. why is he even able to stand up or walk right now? sure the gash wasn't that deep but.. you bet it still hurt. especially with the stitches.

whatever, not your problem.

"Leave 'er be, Soap." the Captain, coming to the rescue! you still don't like him..

but he IS handsome, and.. wait. pause. why are you thirsting over one of your kidnappers? is this stockholm syndrome?

anyways! you're set on the seat, before having your hands tied up. behind you.

"Hah, pretty sight, huh?" Gaz finally speaks, amusement in his eyes.

you can feel your cheeks redden, but hopefully not noticeable because you send a firm glare to him, annoyed. they don't seem convinced, though you couldn't tell with Ghost manhandling your wrists. tying them together and then setting his big body across from you, his head leaning against the window and closing his eyes. arms crossed. Soap was grinning, and you can hear Price give instructions to some guy named Nikolai, in the front.

who knows what'll happen next. you're not excited and you can feel your stomach growling. eyes pulled in a tight furrow and lips slightly frowning as you glance outside. arms already sore, why the hell did he tie it so tight.. whatever..

all you can hear is a russian saying how long it'll take to get back to base.

6 hours. 6 hours of torture with more of your kidnappers, great.

for now all you can do is feel your eyes get heavier and heavier.. until your body cowers, your head dropping down and that's that.

tysm for the support on the first part, you all are so sweet 🥹

——————————————————————

@2bdamnedmadnesscombat

@lilyalone

#simon ghost riley x reader #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #captain john price x you #poly tf141 #poly 141 #john soap mactavish x reader #ghost cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #mctvsh

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marie098887 · 1 month ago

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Early airport morings. ✈️

Going to the airport with your boyfriend.

Part 2: Barou, Yukimiya, Aiku, Gagamaru, Otoya, and Karasu

📝 Requests: OPEN

After months of talking about it, canceling plans, and pretending you’d “definitely do it next break,” you and your boyfriend finally found the time. No matches. No press. No chaos. Just a trip, something small, something together. It’s early in the morning. The sky’s still dark. You’re both running on no sleep, dragging your bags and trying to act like this isn’t the most exciting thing you’ve done in weeks. Sleepy faces, overpriced airport food, and that quiet buzz of we’re actually doing this. The trip hasn’t even started yet, but it already feels like a good memory.

👑 Barou Shoei

Barou doesn’t travel light.

He shows up before the sun, hoodie up, dragging a suitcase big enough to fit you inside and a duffel that’s definitely all protein bars. He barely says anything when you come out, just nods, grabs your bag like it’s nothing, and mumbles, “Let’s go.”

The car ride is quiet. Not awkward, just Barou being Barou. One hand on the wheel, eyes on the road, lips pressed into a straight line. You ask if he’s excited. He grunts.

At the airport, he moves fast. Knows exactly where to go. Refuses to ask for help.

Refuses to let you carry anything either.

You catch him checking the flight info three times like it might suddenly change. You say, “We’re early,” and he says, “Good.”

He buys you a bottle of water and acts like it’s not a big deal. You smile anyway.

You find your gate, and he finally sits down, arms crossed, legs wide, looking like he’s guarding something. You lean against him. He doesn’t move for a second, then relaxes.

“I hate airports,” he mutters.

You laugh. “You say that like we’re not doing this together.”

He doesn’t answer, but his hand brushes yours and stays there.

They call your group. He stands first. Grabs your stuff without looking at you, setting a hand on your shoulder.

You walk beside him, still yawning, still quiet. And for once, he doesn’t mind the silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🍊 Yukimiya Kenya

Yukimiya arrives right on time. Not a second late. Not a hair out of place.

He’s wearing a monochrome outfit, rolling matching luggage, those same glasses, holding your favorite drink, because he knew you’d forget to grab one in the terminal.

You look at him, still half, asleep, sweatshirt baggy, socks mismatched.

“You look like a catalog ad,” you mumble.

He smiles, soft. “And you look like someone I’m very happy to be traveling with.”

The car ride is peaceful. Calm music. His hand resting on your knee at red lights. You fall asleep with your head tilted toward the window, and when you open your eyes again, you’re already pulling into the terminal.

At the airport, he handles everything, check in, boarding passes, bag drop. You don’t have to lift a finger. He walks at your pace. Keeps you close without hovering.

He’s quiet in the crowd. Focused. But every now and then, he looks over at you like he’s making sure you’re still here.

At the gate, you sip coffee together and scroll on your phones. He leans into you. Subtle. Gentle.

“I’m glad we did this,” he says, barely above a whisper.

You smile into your cup. “Me too.”

They start boarding. He stands up, smooth and effortless, then offers you his hand.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ve got places to be.”

And just like that, you’re off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💚 Aiku Oliver

He pulls up, not blasting music but definitely loud enough for you to hear from outside the car.

He leans over the center console when you open the car door and grins.

“Look who decided to show up. You sleep in those sweats for three nights or just two?”

You don’t even bother responding. You just throw your bag in the back and climb in.

He hums like he’s proud of himself for getting under your skin this early.

But he brought snacks. And gum. And your favorite hoodie just in case you forgot yours.

At the airport, he’s loud, not too loud but loud.

Commenting on people’s outfits. Talking through TSA. Throwing a wink at the barista while ordering two drinks and sliding the better one to you without looking.

“Babe,” he says, handing you your coffee. “If we miss this flight, it’s 'cause you stopped to yawn every five minutes.”

You end up sitting at the gate, your legs stretched across his lap while he scrolls and makes dumb comments under his breath about the other passengers.

Then, out of nowhere, he taps your knee.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

You look up. He’s serious for once.

“No one else I’d wanna do this with.”

And just like that, they call your group.

He stands, reaches for your bag, and then, gently grabs your head and pulls you forward, kissing your forehead before standing up.

"Alright, let's get going."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🐼 Gagamaru Gin

He doesn’t say much when he picks you up.

Just reaches out, takes your bag like it’s nothing, and mumbles, “Morning.”

His hoodie’s oversized. Hair messy. Sleep still clinging to his eyes. You’re not sure if he even slept, but he showed up exactly on time, keys in hand, like this trip was the only thing on his calendar.

The ride is peaceful. Barely any music. No small talk. Just the hum of the road and the occasional glance from him to make sure you’re not too cold.

At the airport, he stays close. Navigates like he’s done this a hundred times, even though he’s clearly just guessing and hoping for the best.

You keep asking, “Are we going the right way?”

He just nods. Calm. Unbothered.

At the gate, he buys you both a bottle of water and a granola bar. No drama. No jokes. Just hands it over like it’s second nature.

You lean on his shoulder while you wait. He doesn’t move, just lets you rest there, completely still.

“Thanks for coming with me,” you say quietly.

He shrugs. “I wanted to.”

When they call your group, he stands, stretches once, then looks at you.

“You good?”

You nod. He grabs your bag again, like always, and follows you toward the gate without a word.

Still quiet. Still steady.

But if you looked close, you'd see him smiling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🤍 Otoya Eita

He sends a text at 4:45 a.m. sharp: “You better not be wearing something ugly to the airport."

You roll your eyes and walk outside in the hoodie you slept in.

He whistles when he sees you. “Wow. Hot.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up. You’re the one making this ride dangerous for me.”

He opens the trunk for your bag and starts rambling about how he barely packed and “just threw stuff in,” but his suitcase is definitely the size of a small couch. His hoodie’s hanging off one shoulder, and he keeps fixing his hair in the rearview like you’re not watching.

In the terminal, he somehow knows exactly where everything is.

Passport ready. Boarding pass pulled up. You barely have time to think, he’s already dragging you toward the gate.

You stop for food. He insists on splitting everything. “Airport calories don’t count if we share them.”

He makes fun of your order. You make fun of his hair. He tells you it’s hot when you’re mean to him.

When you sit at the gate, he stretches out across two chairs and pulls you closer with zero shame.

“Can’t believe we’re doing this,” he says, voice softer now.

“You’re not gonna complain the whole trip, are you?”

He shrugs. “Not if I get to wake up next to you somewhere new.”

...You hate how smooth he is when he’s tired.

They call your group. He stands and offers you his hand, but only after grabbing your bag like he owns it.

“Let’s go, airport cutie.”

You roll your eyes again, but you’re smiling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💜 Karasu Tabito

He shows up late. Of course.

You open the door and he’s already sipping coffee, hoodie thrown over his head, suitcase in one hand and zero apology in his expression.

“You’re lucky I even made it,” he says, completely serious.

“You’re lucky I’m still coming.”

He grins. “That’s fair.”

The car ride is mostly him making sarcastic commentary about everything he sees outside, interrupted by long stretches of silence where he zones out mid-sentence.

You ask, “Did you sleep?”

He says, “Define sleep.”

At the airport, he complains about the line, the lighting, the coffee prices, and the suitcase wheels that “don’t roll right,” but he still takes your bag without saying anything.

He points out weird outfits, makes dumb jokes while you wait in line, and throws a granola bar into your lap like he’s doing you a favor.

“You’ll thank me when we’re 30,000 feet in the air and hangry.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah, but you know you want me."

At the gate, he leans back in his chair with his arms crossed, eyes half shut. You think he’s asleep until he says, low and casual:

“This is cool.”

You glance over. “What is?”

“This,” he mutters, not looking at you. “Us. Doing stuff like this.”

You don’t say anything. Just smile and lean into him a little.

He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t pull away either.

When they call your group, he groans like he’s in pain, then stands and stretches dramatically.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says.

But he grabs your bag again. Keeps you close in the line. Doesn’t stop talking the whole way down the jet bridge.

And yeah. He’s glad you’re here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Phew part 2 is done! Part 3 is coming soon! Thank you all for the love and support. Y'all make this so worth it.

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macfrog · 2 years ago

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bloodstream cowboy like me chapter seven

part seven of cowboy like me 🤠 feel free to grab parts i-vi (and more!) over on my masterlist for all ur joel miller needs. can you tell i had my period when i wrote this...? it's just a big ol' hormonal, needy MESS please don't take it seriously you'll ruin my street cred as a cynic

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: you’re on your period and want attention, kisses, and pain medicine from joel. that’s all

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) a whole lotta fluff. like, sickly sweet fluff. mention of periods/cramps/blood, one tiny mention of pregnancy, put mdni since there are mentions of sex & sexual themes but no actual sex, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), bit of cursing, and a pop-tart is destroyed :( rip lil guy

word count: 3.8k

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In an instant, you want to grind into him, drag your hips along the fabric of his boxers, push him. Rile him up. Make him pine. Make him beg. What the fuck would you even do, anyway? Sex? It’s not like that’s your easiest option right now – definitely not a tidy one. But it doesn’t stop you from picturing it, now that you brought it up. Is Joel picturing it, too? He’s tracing every inch of your face with his stare, soft, but knowing. He knows exactly what’s going through your fucking mind. The way his boxers start to swell against the inside of your thigh gives it away that it’s running through his, too.

It’s been a week since you slept with Joel for the first time. Realistically, waking up in a foul mood to cramps should’ve been some sort of tiny celebration. Yay, I’m not pregnant. But the ache in your tummy, the weight of your limbs as you heave yourself around the house, the sobbing at any minor inconvenience, doesn’t feel so much like a celebration as it does a punishment.

You’d dragged yourself from bed, clutching your belly, and hobbled downstairs. Your dad left for work a couple hours ago; the slam of the front door woke you. Does he always have to be so fucking loud? You’d struggled to get back to sleep, knees tucked under your chin.

You take a blanket from the couch and wrap it around your shoulders, bunching it up at your belly to soothe the pain, and begin raking the cupboards for food. For crappy, sugary, junk food.

When you turn toward the toaster and bump your hip into the corner of the kitchen island, sending the Pop-Tart in your hand tumbling to the ground, you burst into tears and dial his number.

He answers on the second ring.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he coos in response to your wailing.

“Joel, I– my fuckin’ Pop-Tart just flew out of my hand!”

He’s quiet for a beat. “Your– Say that again, baby?”

What you respond with isn’t even intelligible. You know it. It only makes you sob more. Well, that, and looking down at the crumbled pastry on your kitchen floor.

Joel spends the next five minutes calming you down, shushing down the line and trying to get you to speak in plain English. Eventually, you take a deep breath and speak clearly between gasps.

“I – am on – my period. I – got – my – period.”

“Ah,” he muses. “That makes a lot more sense, kid.”

You burst into tears again.

“Hey, hey,” he’s laughing now, “no, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay. Look, I got a free house today – Sarah’s out all day. I ain’t workin’, either. How about you jump in the car and come over? We can lay in bed all day and I can make you feel better. How’s that sound?”

You sniff and mumble a quiet, “Good”.

Joel tells you to head on over once you’re ready. You throw a sweatshirt over your shoulders, slip into comfortable shoes, and get straight into the car. When you pull up outside, he’s already standing at the front door.

Just the sight of him makes you weep. Leaning against the porch post, one hand hooked around his belt. You get out, hunched over with the pain below your belly button, and waddle over to him.

“C’mere, sweet girl,” he whispers as he wraps an arm around you, basically pulling you up the steps to him. “Gonna get you nice and comfortable, okay?”

You lean into his chest and he kisses your head, closing the door softly behind you.

“Upstairs,” he instructs.

You silently obey and make for his bedroom, shuffling your feet along the carpet. When Joel enters the room a few minutes after you, you’re buried in the middle of his bed amongst a sea of pillows and blankets.

“Feelin’ alright?”

“Ish.”

He has a mug of tea in one hand, a box of pain meds in the other, and a hot pack draped over his arm. He sets the tea down on your nightstand, hands you the hot pack (which you immediately lay across your stomach), and offers you the pain meds.

“Water?” you ask, looking up at him with a petted lip.

“I brought tea.” He nods at the mug.

“I can’t take pills with hot tea,” you whisper.

He gives you an affectionate smile and shakes his head. “You’re lucky I care about you s’much.” He leaves the room, calling back, “Put those puppy-dog eyes away!”

You smile smugly to yourself and shimmy deeper into Joel’s pillows. He returns moments later with a glass of water.

“Your highness,” he grumbles as he sets it down for you. Then he pulls a small blue packet from under his elbow.

“Don’t have much round here, bein’ on my own mosta the time,” he admits, sliding it onto the nightstand, “found these in Sarah’s bathroom. They do?”

You smile, eyes scanning over the Always logo. “They’re great.”

The edges of Joel’s mouth lift, proud, like he reckons he’s outdone himself.

You gulp a couple of painkillers down and settle back into bed, heat pad already working its magic.

Joel lifts his side of the comforter up to climb in beside you, but you stretch an arm out.

“Uh-uh.”

“Huh?”

“Not in your jeans. Are we animals?”

He peers down at himself. “The hell am I s’posed to wear?”

“You don’t have sweatpants?”

“I’m supposed to change into my sweatpants just to cuddle?”

“Who the hell lounges around the house on their day off in jeans, anyway, weirdo?”

He clicks his teeth. “You’re talkin’ awful big for someone meant to be in pain, y’know,” he huffs as he unbuttons his jeans and hauls them down his legs. “T-shirt okay?”

“T-shirt’s fine.”

In just his tee, boxers and socks, he climbs in alongside you, snakes his arms around you, and slots his thigh between yours the way he always does. It calms you instantly: his warmth, the sound of his heart beating into your ear, his chest rising and falling with his breathing.

“You okay, sweet girl?” Joel mumbles into your hair.

“Mhm,” you reply, feeling yourself dropping off. “Sleepy.”

He runs a hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and up your bare back, rubbing circles gently where the pain is. You’re asleep within minutes.

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You stir to the distant sound of voices. Still enveloped in Joel’s arms, you flutter your eyes open slowly, and look up to his face, lit blue by the TV. He’s watching ESPN.

His eyes dance along the screen, following the players running. His beard, thick, dark, gray and white spotted along his chin, disturbed as he runs his fingers through it. His skin, marked by the sun, by time, by fine lines and dimples at the corners of his mouth.

The Joel you’ve known your whole life – grumbling, head dipped, brows close together; his rough hands and his worn jeans, his awkward squeezes in place of hugs…he doesn’t exist anymore. He’s replaced by this new Joel: kind, warm, approachable. Like you can finally see him, finally get to know him.

The Joel who doesn’t think twice about taking you in his arms, isn’t concerned with how you’ll react. Just knows you’ll fall into him any which way his hands touch you. The Joel who can have you bent double under him, panting his name, and the same Joel who can lull you to sleep with nothing but his scent and his thumb drawing lazy circles on your skin.

The Joel who makes you want to call him your Joel, like he’s made only for you. He does these things only for you. He’s different for you.

Suddenly you feel shy. Realizing that this is the first time he’s seen you like this – vulnerable, in pain. Hurting. And then realizing that he didn’t miss a beat; just swept you up in his arms and bundled you into his bed. Made you comfortable. Made you safe.

You swallow your heart back into your chest. For a second, you almost felt…something. A shift. Something new. A problem arising.

Joel glances down, notices you watching him, and mutes the anchors’ voices.

“Welcome back,” he whispers, giving you a little squeeze. “Better?”

“Mhm. Thanks.”

“I was gonna order a pizza, if you wanted.”

He reads your mind again. Just the thought of a fatty, greasy slab of dough with fatty, greasy cheese all over it is enough to make you salivate.

“Pizza sounds good.”

Joel, wanting to stay near you, and also not wanting to have to get up, picks up his phone and orders it from bed. You sigh as he pulls you back in and sinks lower into the pillows, turning the volume up.

You snuggle your head into the crook of his neck, where it fits perfectly. Made for you. Joel’s arm cradles around your back, sneaking under the bottom of your sweatshirt to hold your hip, keeping your body pressed against his. Your fingers trace shapes on his shirt, lids closing over with each blink.

Out of every sport in America, baseball is the one you’re interested in the least. Growing up with a diehard Rangers fan for a father will do that to you. Every week: Rangers game. Every conversation he had with Joel: Rangers. Every time the TV was switched on: Rangers talk.

You learned to tune it out when he’d rant over dinner, either to you, or into his phone, or to Joel. You’d sit back in your chair and count the crows resting on Marcia’s rooftop. Couple times Joel would kick your leg under the table and ask how school was goin’, when you’re flying back, but as soon as your answer was done your dad would steer the conversation back to baseball.

It bored you at best. Mostly it just made you huff and turn on your heel, back the way you came. Dodging Rangers talk like it was a bad smell.

This time, you doze in and out of sleep, relaxing with the rise and fall of Joel’s chest, his fingers playing with yours. The anchors push you off, then wake you back up with their raised voices as they disagree on some play, some team, some result.

You could lie here forever and never complain. Well, maybe not forever. You care about Joel a lot, but even you have your limits.

You nudge him with your head.

“Yep?”

“Who’s the dude in the blue polo?”

“That’s a coach.”

“He’s kinda cute.”

“Not my type.”

“Are we gonna watch ESPN all day?”

Joel hands you the remote. “Take your pick, darlin’.”

You begin surfing through the channels, eyes scanning for something to take your mind off the pain slowly returning between your legs. You’re barely two pages through when the doorbell rings.

Joel softly slides out from underneath you and throws his jeans on, heading downstairs where you hear him thank the delivery guy, hand him the money, and shut the door again.

“You still good with your water, or you want soda?” he calls upstairs.

“Soda, please!”

He brings up a bottle for you to share. You pull yourself up to rest against the headboard, and Joel sits the pizza between you two.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” he whispers, looking up at the TV.

“Nope!” you reply, mouth full of delicious pepperoni pizza.

“Grey’s Anatomy?”

“You ain’t seen it?”

He hands you a look. Do I look like the type of guy who’s seen Grey’s Anatomy?

You giggle. “Alright, so: Meredith was datin’ this dude Derek – surgeon at the hospital, he’s so hot–” Joel raises his eyebrows, “…but he wouldn’t tell her a thing about his past. Then, she’s waitin’ for him in the lobby,” you take another bite of pizza, “and thish woman walksh over to ‘em,” gulp, “and says she’s Derek’s wife!”

He’s hanging on to every word you say, not ‘cause he actually gives a crap about Meredith and Derek, but because you do. He’s lying propped up on his elbow, watching you with doting eyes as you catch him up on the storyline of the show, smirk slowly growing on his lips.

“You gonna eat the pizza?”

You snap him out of his daydream. “Huh?”

“You ain’t touched it.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, taking a slice. “Was just listenin’ to you.”

You tuck your chin into your shoulder and he gives your cheek a gentle squeeze, then you both turn your attention to the TV.

You spend the next couple of hours pausing the show to catch Joel up – “So Meredith ain’t into this George?” “No, he’s just a friend.” “But he loves her?” “Yep.” “And they slept together?” “Uhuh.” “That’s…complicated.” – and chatting over the more boring parts.

You’re only a couple episodes in when you finish the pizza. Joel lets you have the last slice, “Seein’ as you’re my little invalid for the day,” he says. He’d have given you the last slice whether you were ill or not, though, and you know it.

When Joel gets up to take the empty box downstairs, you slip out from under the covers to the bathroom. You sit down, underwear between your legs, and freeze.

Fuck.

Your sanitary pad is soaked through, scarlet with blood, the lining of your underwear the color of rust. You run your thumb along the fabric; it’s still damp. Lifting your top, you notice similar stains on the insides of your thighs, at the very top.

Fuuuck.

“You okay, baby?” Joel’s voice calls from the other side of the door.

“I’m…Yeah, I’m good. Uh, Joel?”

“Uhuh?”

“Could you hand me that pack of sanitary pads?”

He mumbles Sure, his shadow retreats, then the door inches open and his wrist sneaks through the gap, holding the pads out. You take it sheepishly and begin to peel the pad from your underwear, stopping when it reveals more blood stained into the fabric, this time a brighter red. Fresher. You groan, shutting your eyes and tapping the packet against your forehead.

“You sure you’re alright?” Joel asks again, this time from further away.

You’re almost doubled over on the toilet, pain back in full-throttle, voice muffled by the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “I’m fine,” you croak.

The door slowly falls open and Joel’s figure stands in the slit of light. “Kid,” he beckons, and you look up. His expression is normal, if a little concerned; but he doesn’t seem embarrassed to ask, “You need a change of underwear?”

Your face flushes and you wince, your head dropping into your hands, elbows resting on your knees. “It’s on the bed, isn’t it?”

“Might be, yeah. Sarah’ll have somethin’, sure she wouldn’t mind if you…you know…”

“Ugh,” you sigh, still keeping your face from him.

Your period was never something you cared about, even growing up with just your dad. When you got your first one at twelve, he went out and stocked the bathroom with what you needed. Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of, hell, half the population deal with it. That’s what he’d said.

And you agreed. It’s just your body doing what it does, right?

Still, you can’t ignore the heat on your cheeks from the embarrassment of the guy you’re sleeping with seeing you hunched over on his toilet, underwear stained with blood, the same stain on his bedsheets. It’s just not your finest hour.

But Joel doesn’t seem to agree.

Not when he sets foot in the bathroom and crouches by your side, placing a kiss to your temple.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

He looks offended; his head jerks back to survey you. “The hell you sorry for? You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for, baby. Look,” his hand settles on your thigh, rubbing gently, “go find somethin’ to change into in Sarah’s room, get yourself cleaned up, I’ll change the bed. You’re fine.”

“’s not really romantic, is it?”

“I didn’t ask you to come here to be romantic,” he holds your head, “I asked you here to take care of you. Now go.”

He helps you to your feet and you wander off down the hall toward Sarah’s room. You guys grew up together, you’re close enough that she’d probably slap your arm for even asking to borrow her clothes, especially when you need it most right now.

Still, you whisper an apology as you rake through her closet, and make a mental note to be extra nice to her next time you see her.

Once you’ve changed, feeling a lot better, you slip back into Joel’s room where he’s fixing up the clean bedsheets.

“Done?”

You nod, and he takes your underwear from your hands and tosses it onto the pile of sheets by his laundry basket. See? No big deal. He takes your bicep and wraps his arms around you, nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in.

You lift your chin and look up at him, a gleam in your eye. Thank you. He furrows his brows and gives his head a quick shake. No need to thank me.

Joel motions for you to get back into bed, where he lays back and holds his arms out for you to relax on his chest again, but you’re staring at his lips. You lean in and kiss him softly, the only thing you can think to offer him after taking care of you and being so sweet all day.

He returns it, one hand coming up to the back of your head, the other finding home on your hip. You roll back and pull his weight over your body, linking your arms behind his neck. Your thighs close around his waist and his hand runs down your bare leg.

The kiss deepens, both of you coming up for air, just to immediately fall back into one another, tongues slipping in and out of each other’s mouths.

As Joel’s hands explore the skin under your top, massaging and rubbing across your stomach, you begin to worry.

In your experience, kissing always leads to more. You’ve never been with a guy who doesn’t expect sex whenever you lay a hand on him. This feels so good, though, and you don’t want it to stop.

Still, you pull back and quickly whisper, “We can’t…you know.”

“I know. We won’t.” Joel is matter-of-fact. This ain’t a thing to him.

“I mean, we can. People do that – it’s supposed to feel better, or something? I think it helps with the cramps. I’ve never done it before, though.” You’re talking too quick, saying too much. Joel’s just watching you, letting you go on, smiling at you.

“Baby. We won’t.”

Your tongue knots. “We won’t?”

He breathes a laugh. “No, we’re just kissing. We’re not gonna do anything you don’t want. Just tryna make you feel better.”

“I’m not sayin’ I don’t wanna, I always wanna– Well, you know. I like it when we do it. I’m just saying it can get messy, you know?”

He’s grinning at you again. That fucking grin. That You’re being adorable right now grin that makes your heart skip.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but Joel reassures you when he lowers his head again and his lips find yours.

Your head tilts as you allow him access to your neck; his favorite place to leave marks. To show everyone, whether they know it or not, that you’re his. You fold, head rolling back onto the pillow as he bites a bruise into your sensitive skin.

Joel pulls away, releasing your neck from between his teeth, and you stare at each other a moment.

Something flickers across his eyes; his jaw jerks as if he’s about to open his mouth and speak. As quickly as you notice it, it disappears. He stops himself.

You run a finger along his bottom lip, and he kisses it lightly.

Between your legs, your center pressed to his, he twitches. Sparks to life. Same thing that sparks in you, though you don’t know where to put it. You don’t know how to undo it.

In an instant, you want to grind into him, drag your hips along the fabric of his boxers, push him. Rile him up. Make him pine. Make him beg.

What the fuck would you even do, anyway? Sex? It’s not like that’s your easiest option right now – definitely not a tidy one. But it doesn’t stop you from picturing it, now that you brought it up. Is Joel picturing it, too?

He’s tracing every inch of your face with his stare, soft, but knowing. He knows exactly what’s going through your fucking mind. The way his boxers start to swell against the inside of your thigh gives it away that it’s running through his, too.

And then his ringtone breaks apart the moment.

“Sorry, kid,” he groans, leaning over to retrieve it. “Hello?”

You recognize your dad’s voice instantly. He has no volume control where phone calls are concerned.

“Joel, you seen my daughter? I got home and she wasn’t here, and I can’t get a hold of ‘er.”

You scramble to find your phone amongst the bedsheets. When your hands find it, you hold it up to show Joel eight missed calls over the course of the five hours you’ve spent here. He scrunches up his nose in response.

“I ain’t seen her. I’ll try callin’ her, she’s probably just out and about.”

“Thanks, bud. She won’t have gone far, just she usually has her cell on her.”

Joel promises to call you before hanging up, and you sit back, slowly closing your eyes with a sigh.

“Now.” Joel leans into you, resting his head against yours. “I’m gonna call you, and you’re either not gonna answer – ‘cause you ain’t been answerin’ your dad – and he’s gonna worry more; or, you will answer me, I’ll call ‘im back, and he’ll wonder why you been ignorin’ him. Or…” He trails off.

“…Or, I go home and act like I ain’t seen his calls, tell him I’m sorry, and he’s none the wiser.”

“Hm.” He nods once, lips folded inward.

“I don’t wanna go,” you whimper, sliding down the headboard and resting your head against Joel’s shoulder.

“I know, darlin’. But we had our fun.” He takes your hand in his, lacing his fingers through yours. “I hope I made you feel better.”

“You did,” you whisper back. In more ways than one; sure, he fed you painkillers and rubbed where you were hurting, but that isn’t all there is to it, right?

The last time you saw each other, he had you propped on the kitchen counter, legs spread, begging for him to let you cum. Today feels as much about making you feel better because of that, as it does making you feel better because of your period. Today feels like Joel telling you he cares about you past the orgasms y’all give each other.

Message received. Even though it makes you dizzy when you think too much about it.

Joel takes your hand and places a kiss to it.

“Hey,” he mumbles against your knuckles, “me ‘n your dad are going to Costco on Saturday to get stuff for this…garden party Sarah’s wantin’. You wanna come?”

“Will you hold my hand and kiss me when I want again?”

He breathes a laugh. “I will when your dad ain’t lookin’.”

“I’m in.”

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