#more crack for you guys tonight lol

[platinumshawnn]

to strangers | benjicot blackwood x fem!bracken reader

a/n: yes i am fully aware i should be writing him as davos out of respect for the accuracy of the show and character but i'm still mourning what could have been. also leave it to me to write a little prequel tying this to my own fic a little bit by writing what this guy was really up to on his "hunting trip" lol. have some poorly written smut anyways, if anyone sees that I accidentally called the bracken’s estate “hedge stone” instead of “stone hedge” no you didn’t shut up it’s been fixed

synopsis: benjicot likes to rile up the women he likes i guess

Content warnings: MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism, smut (fem p in v sex, unprotected sex, degradation) [not proofread]

Word count: 5.5k words

you had never been one for conflict — especially not that of drunken councilmen who became red in the face, knocking over cups and irate over matters of politics as they shouted. despite your father’s efforts to maintain diplomacy and restraint during meetings, it almost always ended in a screaming match at the table these days — even your uncle could not bear to sit through them, and often doubled up on the amount he drank just to sit through them, barely able to walk as he stumbled out.

you were almost always met with apologies from your father as he found you outside the doors of the hall, given a squeeze of hand, and ushered to bed. you did not care for politics, but there was no escaping the recent events — it affected everyone, reaching beyond stone hedge’s walls, but your father the most. he appeared to have aged significantly over the past days, eyes exhausted and on edge whenever she greeted him.

but this particular night had been…a lot more than usual. your cousin, aeron, had come back, shaking as he’d returned from a survey of the lands with your brother; having got into another squabble over the boundaries with some blackwood boys who had dared to come too close to their land, in aeron’s words. the whole thing dripped of theatrics — “that filthy…cunt, benjicot”

your head popped up from the handkerchief you were working to embroider, your mother on your right as the pair of you sat in one of the several cabinet rooms that your father had designated for your lessons as a child; having since used it as an escape from the noise. even your mother had been alerted by the commotion as the boys clamored into the hallway, looking out through the door that had been cracked open to provide some airflow in the room. there, your cousin stood, his nose bloody and still dripping as your father summoned the maester while ranting to your uncle, attempting to shush the boy-knight who was on the border of shouting. your interest was only peaked by the name, sitting up and turning your body towards the three men, ceasing what you had been doing and placing the handkerchief in your lap to listen.

your father had made eye contact with you as aeron continued, grabbing him by the shoulder and reaching to close the door before you could hear as he dragged your cousin away. your mother had encouraged you to continue, the look she gave reminding you of proprietary and of your place — with a curt nod, you had returned to your task.

that had been at midday, and since then, there had not yet been a break. you could hear the shouts from your room, and you could picture your father amidst it all, trying to bring order and peace — a task he was successful in every so often, silence falling over the room and quieting to hushed whispers that would only last a short time before the yelling continued.

sometime before midnight, the silence had ended finally, stood at the top of the stairs as the councilmen dispersed; other members of your house trickled out. you had stayed up, waiting to approach your father, in hopes to get some sort of information on the outcome. but the exhaustion was clear on his face, being met by a soft, “on the morrow, not tonight, my dear.”

he had pressed a kiss to your head and brushed past you, receding to his chambers for the night, leaving you at the base of the stairs. as you went to retreat to bed yourself, you heard the cursing mutters of aeron who had finally exited the great hall doors behind you, still seething after several hours — you were relieved at least to find that his nose had since stopped bleeding.

“aeron,” you called out, turning to descend down the four stairs you had climbed just as he stopped in the hallway towards his own chambers. his eyes found you. you approached him, hand reaching out to grab his face between your fingers, turning to assess his face for any additional injuries you may not have noticed earlier in the day. however, much to your relief, he was otherwise unharmed, “you really ought to stop antagonizing those men— you’re going to get yourself killed.” you scolded, sighing and dropping your hand.

aeron winced slightly, more from the reprimand than any lingering pain. “I can’t just let them insult our family, you know that.”

you shook her head, a mix of frustration and concern in your eyes. “I know, aeron, but there’s a difference between defending our honor and looking for trouble. what good will it do if you’re dead?”

He avoided your gaze, jaw clenching. “I just can’t stand the way they look at us, like we’re nothing and like they can do whatever it is they please. Like they own the riverlands. someone has to stand up to them if your father won’t.”

“standing up to them doesn’t mean getting into brawls. use your head, aeron. we need you alive, not battered and bruised,” you said, your tone softening.

aeron had sighed and muttered something unintelligible, only able to make out a ‘yeah’ before he withdrew to his own rooms.

you had tried to sleep — you did. but at some point, the heat, humid and sticky, had made it impossible to; instead, turning and tossing in your bed, growing increasingly frustrated before you stormed from the bed with a huff. the conversation between you and aeron had been stuck in your head, the sight of him bloodied haunting you — how did benjicot look then? was he unscathed and unharmed?

you knew he had always been stronger, a fiercer opponent but you couldn’t help the worry that plagued you.

you had quickly changed as best you could in the dark, without falling over in a way that would alert the guards; pulling your dress on and watching underneath the door as you smoothed out the fabric, doing your best to be silent in opening the door. peaking your head out and checking that both ways were clear, you slipped out and closed the door behind you, walking on your toes as you snuck through the house and out a backdoor that led into the fields.

you did your best to stay low and out of sight as you bolted through the fields towards the boundary stones, trying to remember who would be on surveillance — you couldn’t for the life of you remember, despite your best efforts to eavesdrop on your cousin's conversation earlier.

hell, you weren’t even sure you would see him.

sometimes you did, other times you didn’t — weeks would pass sometimes before you saw him again. sometimes it was hours before you saw him, sat, pulling at grass as you waited, knees to your chest.

today felt like one of those days, as you approached the river, out of sight from any prying eyes and sat by the edge, your eyes straining to see through the dark. the moon did little to penetrate the dense patch of trees. as the hours passed, your head had begun to drop against your knees, dozing off. there would be no way of keeping yourself awake all night, after a long day, opting as a last ditch attempt to awaken your senses by dipping your toes into the stream as you kicked off your shoes.

the water was a nice welcome in the heat, a content sigh leaving your mouth as you kicked your feet; splashing the water upwards. the wait seemed to drag on forever, growing impatient and trying to decide on whether to return home or not.

you’d give him another hour at most. If he didn’t come, then you would go home.

your gaze scanned the river, serene and peaceful as the rushing body of water sloshed around your feet; cool and refreshing. you’d have time.

you stood back from the water and fumbled to strip down to your chemise, discarding the dress to the grass by your shoes before easing down and into the water, letting out a hiss. slowly, wadding into its shallow depths, you moved forward until the water touched your thighs, lapping at your body as you cupped some of the water between your hands and tossed it up in front of you.

“you’re far from home, lady bracken.”

your head whipped toward the sound of a voice from the treeline, water sloshing around your legs as you faced the boy who the voice belonged to. the ends of your skirt had been released in the turn into the water, feet tangling in the soft sand of the river’s floor, just catching yourself from falling into its rapid rush by the luck of the Gods; the ends of the fabric now soaked by the flowing water that swirled around you. there he stood, barely peeking out from the cover of the trees as if that would somehow conceal his identity, hugging close to the trunk of one while he watched you from his shaded spot. there was hardly any way of seeing him in the night, the moon’s light not quite reaching him but his voice -- you would know that voice anywhere.

you stepped forward, halfway across the shallow depths of the river that flowed between the two lands of bracken territory and blackwoods, the cold water just reaching mid-thigh as you looked up at him, “as are you.” you quipped, heart rate rapid as your heart thrummed against your ribs.

despite the limited visibility, you could see his mouth quirk up in a half-smile, his amusement clear as his head tipped to the side while his eyes continued to watch you closely like some sort of prey. the limited sense of vision allowed you the ability to hear as he inhaled through his nose, breathing outwardly before he finally stepped forward to the edge of the water, his hand at the hilt of his dagger on his hip as his eyebrows rose, “and do you always take moonlit strolls through my land?”

you stilled, hands resting at your sides as your fingers dipped into the cool water below you, the cold nipping at your fingertips, “only when called for— the night was too beautiful to resist.” you replied, chin lifted to look up towards where he towered over you, “and what’s your excuse?”

he snorted, boots shifting against the dirt with as he moved to widen his stance, “the same perhaps,” he said, eyes glancing up to the sky above the riverlands that was littered with stars, “or maybe I was hoping to find a curious lady wandering too close to my territory.” he said, his voice a low rumble.

there was nothing threatening about his tone, however, his body language said otherwise — his eyes scanning their surroundings before looking back to your face, his body suggesting that he was on edge. as though he expected bracken men to burst through the trees behind you any minute. you took another languid step forward, closer to enemy territory, the thrill of it never failing to excite you.

“are you suggesting I’m trespassing?” you asked, your words steady as you bordered taunting the man who eyed you.

you could see as he squinted, narrowing his eyes at your words, “just…observing that you’re quite far from where you’re supposed to be at this hour, my lady.”

you hummed, eyebrows raised as the water continued to lap at the fabric of the cream coloured chemise that had been worn underneath the dress of typical bracken colours of yellow and brown having been discarded at the edge of the grass. you could see the moment his eyes lowered to scan down the length of the fabric, disappearing into the water and drifting higher up your thighs, bordering translucent against your skin, slow in dragging his eyes along the length of your body, “but i suppose the river doesn’t care for borders, does it?” he suddenly asked, his eyes returning to meet yours.

your mouth curved upwards, a wry smile on your face as his gaze emboldened you, “no it doesn’t, but neither do I, it seems. I don’t believe the assize said anything about the river.”

benjicot tutted condescendingly at her, smug as his hands shifted over his dagger, “careful, you're starting to sound like your cousin, bracken.” he warned, tone sharp, “do you not ever worry about what might be lurking in the shadows? his words came lighter now, the tension gone from his voice.

you let out a dry laugh, beginning to feel the effects of the frosty water that reached your hips the further you wadded, a cool breeze causing your skin to prickle with goosebumps. you shivered, sucking in a deep breath through clenched teeth, “only when they carry a dagger and a half-smile, I suppose.” you said.

his hands twitched, the grasp at his blade loosening as he seemed to contemplate reaching forward to drag you from the water at the sight of your shivering frame. however, he stopped himself and instead lifted his chin, mouth pressing into a tight smile, “then its a good thing I’m in a benevolent mood tonight.”

your head lowered to look down at the water, using your fingers to skim its surface, “I will take my chances.” you confidently said, lifting your gaze after a moment of pause.

he let out a ‘hmph’ sound, watching as you slowly closed the gap between the two lands to stand directly in front of him, the water shallow once again and only meeting mid-thigh. the now soaked gown did nothing to provide any ounce of modesty, sheer and clinging to your lower half as you stared up at him. your eyes followed his movements as he crouched, bringing him eye-to-eye as an elbow planted against one of his knees, “well, I suggest you be careful, my lady. the night is full of dangers.” he said, his voice low and quiet.

“and so is the day, but I’ve never been one to shy away from either.” you said, voice matching his volume before you stepped forward until you stood against the ledge, your other hand planting in the grass just between his boots as you lifted your right hand toward him, “are you going to help me or shall I call for my men?” you taunted, a grin on your face.

he rolled his eyes, smile broadening as he stood upright and bent to grab your hand, using his strength to pull you up and over the ledge, out of the waters with ease. you were brought to your feet, stood face-to-face with him, his face leaning close to yours as he spoke, “you wouldn’t dare.” he muttered, “how do you plan then, to explain your presence so close to blackwood land at this hour? alone, in a nightgown, with the heir?”

your chest brushed his as you leaned in towards him, “I’ll figure something out— you underestimate me.”

he hummed with a nod, his nose bumping yours in the close proximity. though his mouth did not yet make contact with yours, his breath fanned over lips, his eyes scanning your face, “oh, I’m sure you will. but do you think they will believe you?” he asked, the lazy smirk on his face laced with arrogance, “do you think there won’t be whispers? said whispers, questioning your maidenhead?”

“they’d be foolish to make such accusations against the daughter of amos bracken.” you countered, shoulders squaring with pride.

the man in front of you let out a sardonic chortle, releasing the hilt of his dagger and finding your hip, gripping the fabric of your chemise in his fist, stepping back and forcing you with him, “oh please.” he mocked, his hand dropping from your hip to reach down to your thigh and begin to hoist the soaked fabric upwards towards your waist, leaving you bear to the elements, “if only they could see their lord’s daughter, out parading herself like some whore on blackwood land. What do you think they would say then, hm?”

“‘Tis not their business what I do, nor my father’s.” you muttered.

“oh but i think they might say otherwise. you’re a noblewoman,” he jeered, his knuckles brushing against the bare skin of your belly as his hand dipped below your naval, “a highborn womb.”

you knew benjicot did not share their views -- in the very few occasions he had opened up during your late night escapades, red in the face with anger, rambling on about the audacity of his councilmen as he dressed. he had ranted about what the very outlook had done to his mother, that women were more than for breeding. but he enjoyed knocking you down a peg sometimes, humbling you back down to earth during these moments. he liked to mock the sanctity of your womanhood, even if for a moment, but then he would go back on himself and praise you once all was said and done — praise the very thing he mocked. However, on this particular night, something about his words lit the flames of pure, feminine rage, staring eye to eye with the man you had visited countless times over the past months.

“I am more than that.” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady.

he let out a melancholic hum, “you think so?”

he spoke to you like you were a child, who lived under the guise of a delusion — like a childish dream that you were expected to grow out of. the tone of his voice, paired by the sudden feeling of his hand between your thighs bred a slew of confusing emotions to spread within your chest; shamed and desperate, humiliated and seething as his fingers found the sensitive bud between folds that were slick with arousal that had you hot with embarrassment, fingers gliding up along your folds as you gritted your teeth, “how dare you—!”

the nature of his words stung when you knew how much he despised when other men looked down on women the way you had grown accustomed to; somehow after he had entrusted you enough to open up to you, he still had the nerve to throw it in your face—

he caught your hand that came up towards his throat, eyebrows raising as if to warn you, a grin on his mouth as his hand between your thighs stilled, “no need to be so hostile, sweet girl.” he said, guiding your hand down to your side as he moved to drive your back towards a tree, that hand coming to hold your chin in the space between his thumb and fingers, “I know you are a brave, resilient woman…” he quietly muttered, face coming close to yours and trapping you between his body and the tree, a knee coming between your thighs.

despite the rage that still burned within you, scorching like a wildfire, the warm contrast of his fingers on cold skin was welcomed; jolting up as his fingers pressed against you, fingers circling the bud and earning a soft sigh of a moan as you reached out to grab him, pulling him closer as though you were trying to crawl underneath his skin and become one. His mouth finally made contact, attaching itself to your throat and placing open-mouthed kisses to the skin, nipping the delicate skin with his teeth as his fingers worked against you.

“my clever, beautiful girl.” he praised, mouth reaching your collarbones.

you belly clenched, another moan elicited by his words as your hands fisted the cloak around his shoulders, his hand moving briefly to tug the fabric of your gown back up and out of his way as it dropped from its place around your hips. benjicot had a way of leaving you breathless and desperate, a flustered mess under his touch, the only man that could draw out the carnal sounds of pleasure; broken sighs and crying out as his middle and ring finger pushed themselves into you.

by the roots of his hair, you brought a hand to the back of his head and tugged him towards your mouth, his lips encapsulating yours in a feverish kiss; all teeth and tongue. you cried out, muffled by his mouth, as his thumb continued the prior pace, rubbing blind shapes into your clit as your mouth dropped open, too distracted by experienced fingers that slipped in and out of you with ease to reciprocate the kiss, “oh—, fuck.”

“yes, just like that,” he encouraged, voice soft. “just relax, my love.”

the weeks of pent up hunger and anticipation for this moment curled within you, settling into your lower belly, thighs attempting to clench around his hand. though you were stopped by the firm, strong thigh that had been planted there to prevent such from happening, his hips pressing into yours.

“ben, please…” you cried out, beginning to become overwhelmed between his mouth that returned to your throat and his hand, his pace increasing.

rather instead, he knelt suddenly, head buried beneath the thin chemise that draped over his head as he leaned into you. his shoulders brushed your thighs as his mouth replaced his thumb’s task, latching to the bundle of nerves and leaving you gasping, gripping his hair as your chest heaved. a low groan vibrated through your core from the man below you, reaching every end and nerve of your body as you struggled to keep up on your feet as your peak washed over you. his arm wrapped up underneath your right thigh, holding you against him and pressing against your hip as if that would somehow ground you as you nearly collapsed against him, your entire body alight as your walls squeezed around his fingers, clenching so tight it could restrict movement.

he was barely any gentler as he reemerged from your skirts, your head slumped back against the tree as he stood to tower over you once more, using the fabric of your gown to hold you up and practically manhandle you up against the tree that scraped your skin with each move. loose strands of hair had freed themselves from the half done up style, hanging in your face as you panted, mouth agape as you looked up at him; lips glistening with the reminisce of you — your cheeks heated with embarrassment, reaching out to touch his cheek.

he was beautiful, especially with you on his lips.

you dropped your hand and pulled him towards you by his hips, using the belt to your advantage to jerk him forward, his own lazy smirk mirrored by your tired smile as your hands fumbled to undo the laces of his pants. he aided in the task, skillful fingers pulling them with ease and shoving his pants down just enough that they sat high on his thighs, freeing his hardened cock from their confinement, your hand instinctively coming down to wrap around the length and stroke him. his lips parted above you, hands coming to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as his nose nudged yours.

you could have stayed there forever, in that moment — with the sight before you, a flush in his face as he appeared fucked out already, hair in a disarray from your fingers.

he reached across his chest to undo the clasp of his cloak, dropping it from his shoulders; getting rid of the only shield that hid you from any potential prying eyes — if anyone burst through the bushes then, there would be no hiding the act and it would be without any doubt what was happening.

‘parading herself like a whore on Blackwood land’

benjicot would be correct. if your cousins had dared to wander close to the borderlands again, you would be done for. there would be no protecting any ounce of your dignity and modesty at that point — you would be shamed by your entire family, and even worse, your father…he would be beyond furious and nothing less than gutted.

the thought and feeling of sheer shame it brought had you clinging close to the man in front of you, his body easily capable of concealing yours as one hand went above your shoulder to the tree, too blissed out to put an end to this and go home right then as his mouth pressed to yours in a sweet, affectionate kiss. you moaned against his mouth, his hand replacing yours around his cock to glide it up along your slit; gathering the slick as a means to lubricate the head of his cock, that already leaked pre-cum that mingled with your own arousal, the tip red and angry.

you braced against the tree, trying to regain footing, nearly slipping into him. he steadied you with the arm above your shoulder, wrapped around your ribs and forcing your chest against his as he slid into you, earning a gasp, breaths mingling as your own arm wrapped around his shoulders; clutching to him like your life depended on it — and in some ways, it did.

he held you up against the tree, having to shove the fabric of his tunic and doublet high up on his hips out of the way as he thrusted up into yours. each movement of his hips, shallow due to the position, his pelvis brushed against your clit, providing enough stimulation to leave you struggling for air as you fisted his clothing in your hands.

“fuck…” he rasped, lips brushing your own as they parted, each breath from his mouth sucked into your lungs as you relied on him for the strength to stay upright, slumping into him.

you were a jumbled, incoherent series of sounds as any paranoid thought of fearing your cousin's appearance went out the window, all consumed by him. your leg lifted by his hand guiding it by the back of your knee, thigh hooking around his hip and pulling him further, deeper into you and releasing a sob. you felt so full, it physically ached, walls clenching down around him and eliciting a hiss of air from him.

the sound of a branch cracking somewhere in the distance of the bushes caused you to jolt against him, eyes peering over his shoulder, wide and panicked as the thought crossed your mind again just how open you were to being exposed. you had done this time and time again, but never with his own men just several feet from the bush you were hidden among, and never during a war that had everyone on edge. the looming war had your father in particular paranoid, leading to an increase in fleets that surveyed the boundaries of bracken’s land and the thought instilled again, that fear that you could be caught.

as if he sensed your worry, his mouth caught yours in another kiss, forehead pressing to yours, “my love…” he muttered, bringing your attention back to him.

and he was successful, your gaze doing one last scan and straining into the dark before you were faced with his tired, lust-filled face, his cheeks flushed and striking even in the dark. the sweet name swelled your chest with adoration, your breath quick as you let out a moan, spiraling into bliss against him as his hand came between you to once again rub against your clit.

“ben, i can’t— please—“ the sound was weak and feeble, choked out and gasping for air as your body burned.

it was met by deaf ears as he gently shushed you, his mouth grazing yours, cock relentlessly rutting up into you with desperation — seeking for release as your walls fluttered around him. the groan he released was animalistic, deep from within his chest and carnal as you clutched onto him, struggling to keep yourself up against him and pulling him into you; seeking some kind of anchor to keep you grounded as his hand on your clit worked in unfaltering shapes that had you weak.

a final sob of pleasure left you as you clamped down around him, body tense and slumping against his as you released yourself around him. the final plea of his name and your walls were followed by a few sharp, final thrusts as he released his seed into you; fucking it deeper into you with a deep sigh of your name, a hand coming to your throat as he glanced down, his forehead resting against your chin.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

you stepped up onto the riverbank of your family’s side; thighs still aching while benjicot’s hand supported you from behind before he too crawled up behind you, not seeming to care that he was now soaked from his thighs down. He stood back, allowing you a silent moment to wring out your dress of any water as best you could, hands twisting the fabric and letting out a grunt of exertion before letting it drop back down to your feet. You bent to collect your dress, benjicot finally stepped forward to help in your task of redressing, hands smoothing the fabric over your hips and straightening your shoulders with a gaze down, not daring to make eye contact.

you both knew this could have been the last time you saw each other, the dawning realization casting an awkward, tense silence over the two of you as you eyed the fabric of his doublet; making a mental note of its ridges, the pattern of the woven article of clothing. he tensed as you lifted a hand to touch the fabric with your fingers, too intimate a gesture as fingers ran across his chest and up towards his shoulder before stilling there, your palm coming to place over his heart.

“when are you to marry the…” he began to ask, his face screwing up in disgust at the idea as he spat out the name, “Lefford boy.”

you gaze only briefly lifted towards his face when he spoke, a small snort leaving you at his reaction and smiling softly at his antics. The smile dropped after a moment, though, inhaling and sighting out a breath as you straightened out his own clothing with gentle tugs, brushing over the fabrics, “two nights from today.” you quietly replied.

he made a sound of disapproval, his gaze on your face as you finally looked him in the eye again, his hand rising to capture your wrist in his hold. You had heard the whispers as well throughout the halls of stone hedge, trying to picture it as you looked at him, “I hear rumors you’re to be married, too.” you pointed out, his face twitching.

he released your wrist, stepping back and looking towards his feet as he fixed his sleeves, “My father plans to betroth me against my will.” He admitted, his words a grumble as he shook out his arms and looked up at you again.

you nodded, “who? has he said anything of his intentions?”

“some girl.” he admitted, shaking his head with a shrug of his shoulders, cheeks expanding with a sigh, “the lord paramount’s granddaughter, I suppose.”

you smiled, tilting your head as you looked at him, “serra tully, right? that’s her name, yes?”

“unfortunately.” he grumbled in complaint.

“she’s quite beautiful, I hear.”

he shrugged again, letting out another grunt.

“well, you should probably be on your way,” you said, hands folding behind you as he looked across the river, the sun already beginning to come up. “your men will be looking for you soon.”

benjicot nodded, stepping forward and reluctantly reaching out to your waist, fingers gently pressing into your sides as he leaned forward to press a sweet kiss to your mouth, “I will see you soon.” He said as he withdrew from your mouth, face still hovering close.

you raised a hand and pressed it to his cheek, smiling as you looked up at him, “yes. maybe.”

his eyes rolled as you lifted a hand as if to gesture ‘just as I suspected’, looking over you as a sharp whistle sounded from somewhere beyond the trees from his camp, hands dropping from your sides and straightening the belt at his hips; you watched as his fingers went to the dagger at his right hip, removing it from its sheath, much to your confusion. He withdrew it and used his free hand to pull one of yours forward, pressing the blade into your palm and looking at you, “a wedding gift.” He quietly said.

you looked down at the blade, frowning and blinking rapidly a couple of times before looking up at him, mouth opened in a stutter, “benjicot, I- I can’t accept this. you might need-”

“I have plenty back home,” he assured, wrapping your fingers around the handle of it and licking his lips that were then pressed into a line that resembled an amused smile, “have it…in case that Lefford boy ever pisses you off.”

you let out a laugh, a smile coming to his face as your hand dropped from his, the dagger clutched by your side, “very charming of you.”

He chuckled and pressed another quick kiss to your forehead before he brushed past you, hurrying into the river with a splash and sloshing back in the direction he had come from. you watched as he climbed out of the water, entering back out onto blackwood territory and giving one last glance as he retreated back into the trees.

[cxtori]

Satoru Gojo ✭ Kiss Me Back

wc: basically 5k… it wasn’t meant to be lmao

summary: based off of this thought i posted a while ago

genre: angst, fluff, drunk “confession” but it gets misunderstood, friends to lovers, silly drunk Gojo

warnings: n/a

tori’s note: I finished this fic after having it in my drafts for almost a year. I kinda strayed from how my original prompt went lol. Idk how I feel about the second half of this, I’m not a huge fan of it but y’know, it be what it be. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Gojo doesn’t drink often. In fact, it’s more accurate to say he never drinks. He hates alcohol. The way it tastes, the way it burns, and especially how quickly it affects his system.

He’s always been a lightweight, it only taking a few shots before he was intoxicated. But for some reason, Shoko’s teasing pressure to get him to drink got to him a lot more tonight than usual. 

It was supposed to be only one shot, then just one more. But now, here he is, a couple hours later and 6 shots down, drunk and stumbling, leaning against you for support.

You grunt as you struggle to keep the tall man vertical and walk him down the street to your car. 

“You are amazing, Y/n,” Gojo slurs, wrapping his arm tighter around your neck. You huff and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve said that 3 times already,” you laugh lightly. Gojo trips over his own foot, causing you to stumble and almost fall. Thankfully, you catch yourself and keep the two of you from crashing into the concrete. 

“Jeez, Toru! Are you serious?” You ask, unbelieving that he was so intoxicated that he really couldn’t walk straight. Gojo only moans miserably in response. “We’re almost there,” you sigh.

You knew how much he hated the repercussions of drinking and tried to stop him before it was too late. But he seemed to be feeling a little self-destructive tonight, so your warnings fell on deaf ears, much to your annoyance. Even so, you still felt empathetic enough to take him home yourself, turning down Nanami’s kind offer to do so.

After another block of walking and stumbling, you finally make it to your car, opening the passenger side and awkwardly shuffling around as you try to help Gojo into the seat. It felt like he was purposefully doing everything he could to make this simple task as complicated as possible. Which, honestly, you wouldn’t put past him. 

You eventually get him and his lanky limbs into the vehicle and hold back a laugh when he groans and dramatically drapes himself over your center console, arms spilling into the driver’s seat. You walk around to the other side of the car, moving his arms carefully before sitting down and pushing him to lean against the window. 

“Okay, tough guy. You still have the water Nanami gave you?” You ask. Gojo clumsily reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out the water bottle he somehow managed to fit in there. Damn men’s pocket sizes.

“Good, I want it empty by the time I make it to your place,” you state, turning on the car and pulling into the street.

“The whole thing?” Gojo whines. You laugh breathily, finding amusement in his drunk demeanor.

“Yes, the whole thing. Gotta stay hydrated so drink up!” You encourage. 

The white-haired man mutters a complaint as he cracks open the bottle, and you watch dumbfounded as he drains it in seconds. 

“I didn’t mean drink it all at once…” you say. Gojo shrugs and sinks further into his seat. 

You drive in silence for a few minutes, the pale, orange street lights whizzing by and the soft, white noise of the tires rolling on the pavement making the ride a peaceful, comforting experience. At least it would be if Gojo wasn’t staring holes into the side of your face. 

In his drunkenness, he’d somehow managed to misplace his glasses and blindfold, much to your dismay. You adore those brilliant blue eyes, but damn, if they weren’t intimidating as hell when they were staring you down. You do your best to ignore it, keeping your eyes focused on the road ahead of you. 

You feel your heart skip a beat when a cold, calloused finger presses gently against your temple before tracing your hairline, sweeping your hair behind your ear.

“You’re so pretty,” Gojo whispers, his words barely audible. Your breath catches in your throat, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. 

“O-oh, umm… I- th-thank you,” you stutter horribly. Gojo hums softly as though he’s satisfied with your reaction before laughing lightly. His hand leaves your quickly heating face as he turns back to the window, slumping against the cool glass. 

After what couldn’t have possibly even been a minute, you hear the faintest snore come from the man. You poke his arm, expecting some kind of reaction. But nope, he’s out.

You take a deep breath and start blasting the AC. It suddenly feels really stuffy in here.

You soon reach his house and pull into the driveway before parking the car and climbing out. You open the passenger door, being careful to not let Gojo dump out onto the ground. You shake his shoulders, whispering to him that he was home and needed to wake up. After some gentle-turned-vigorous shaking, the man wakes up bleary eyed and a bit confused. 

“Have a nice nap, sleeping beauty?” You tease, taking his arm and attempting to pull him to his feet. He grunts, reluctantly swinging his feet out of the car and onto the ground. The moment he stands, he leans back against the car, his eyes squeezed shut in discomfort. 

“Shhhhit, why did I do that?” He slurs, the alcohol still screwing with his brain. At least he’s more coherent than 30 minutes ago. 

“Not to be like that, but I did try to stop you,” you joke.

“Shut up,” he groans. His eyes open and meet with yours, but instead of holding the annoyed glare you were expecting, they were soft, appreciative. His typically pale complexion was still dusted pink, though not nearly as flushed as earlier, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile to accompany it. 

He leans against you, his arms snaking around your waist in a loose hug, and his head resting heavily on your shoulder as he sighs. “Thank you, Y/n.”

“Why don’t you thank me when I’ve gotten you inside!” You laugh awkwardly, pushing the large man off of you. 

Gojo pouts, his soft, pink lips protruding in a way that could only be described as borderline sensual. You tear your eyes away from him and link your arm in his to walk him into the house with much less stumbling this time.

You make it inside, Gojo dragging down the hall to his room while you dig in his kitchen cabinets in search of ibuprofen. Once you’ve found what you’re looking for, you grab a glass and fill it with water before making your way to Gojo’s room.

You knock on the door, the sound echoing through the cold, empty hallway. A muffled “come in” reaches your ears and you open the door. 

You step in and your eyes land on a half-naked Gojo sitting on his bed, stopping you in your tracks. He did say to come in, didn’t he?

He looks at you, a questioning expression written on his face. With everything he’s done this evening, it’s beginning to be hard to believe he’s not purposefully trying to fluster you.

You draw in a breath and walk over to him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you nervous.

“Here, for the potential hangover,” you say, handing him the pills and water. He takes it gratefully, downing the meds and water quickly. He sets the glass on the nightstand with a soft thunk, and an odd silence follows after. 

“Well, I’m gonna head home now. G’night, Toru,” you say, turning on your heels and heading to the door. Your hand barely touches the doorknob when Gojo says your name.

“Y/n,” he calls quietly. You stop and turn to him with a questioning hum, but he doesn’t give any response back other than a waving hand, signaling for you to come back to him. You shuffle awkwardly to stand in front of him, confused about what he wants. 

He stands up, his chest almost bumping against yours as he does so. You begin to take a step back, but before you can, his hands are on your waist, holding you in place. You look up at him to ask what he’s doing, but the words get stuck in your throat the moment your eyes meet his.

Those bright, cerulean eyes that were so often hidden from the world, were looking at you with such care and fondness that it made your chest tighten. 

Before you’re even aware of what’s happening, his warm, soft lips are pressing tenderly against yours. 

Your tense muscles relax and eyes flutter shut as your lips push back against his. His hands grip your waist as he pulls you closer to him before one lifts the back of your shirt, fingers dragging slowly over your skin. 

You sigh into him, your own hands traveling up his arms, to his neck, eventually finding home in his silky hair. His other hand moves from your hip to your face, cupping your cheek as he deepens the kiss. 

His tongue darts out and sweeps across your lips and the faintest lingering taste of bitter alcohol bites your tastebuds, snapping you back to reality. It’s only then that you remember who you’re kissing, where you are, and how you got there. 

Your eyes fly open and hands move to his chest, pushing him away from you harshly. Gojo loses his balance, landing back into a sitting position on his bed, his once peaceful expression now shocked and confused. 

Your hand covers your mouth, surprised by your own actions. It’s only a second or two that you stay there, staring at each other before you decide that you should definitely leave.

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” you say, wasting no time in leaving his room and ignoring his calls for you. You jump into your car and start the engine before your door is even closed.

What were you thinking? He’s the drunkest he’s been in ages, how could you let that happen? You curse yourself as you drive home, frustrated that you allowed such a thing when your friend was in such a vulnerable state.

 You make it home and park in the driveway, but you don’t leave. You sit in your car and stare blankly at the steering wheel as the full weight of regret begins to sink in. 

You’ve desperately wanted that man to kiss you for years now. But not like this! Not when he was intoxicated and most likely not thinking straight. You wanted a genuine kiss; one he gave you because he truly wanted to. Not because his drunk-self just wanted attention.

How are you supposed to keep your feelings for him under wraps after this?

You’ll just have to lie. You’ll tell him that it was just a slip up, that you were caught off guard. That he kissed you and- dammit, you kissed him back! And not only that, you were wrapping your arms around him. You can’t play off your feelings for him when you kissed him like that!

You groan painfully as you open your door and force yourself into your house, trudging your way to your room. You change your clothes and crawl into bed before plugging your phone in. The screen lights up with the red battery, which disappears quickly, revealing a missed call and several texts from Gojo.

I’m sorry Y/n. Can we please talk?

It wasn’t what you think

Y/n?

Hello?

He almost never texts you, let alone several times in a row. But you can’t find it in you to respond. You turn off your phone and stare at your ceiling for what feels like an eternity, the moment replaying in your mind on repeat. 

It wasn’t what you think? What is he assuming you think?

You raise a finger to your mouth, remembering how it felt to have his lips on yours as you trace over them. 

It was so warm, so sweet. The way he held you close to him, so strong yet gentle. The way his thumb stroked over your face so tenderly. Maybe… it was real.

No. You can’t allow yourself to believe it was genuine and get your hopes up, you can’t.

You roll over onto your side just as your screen lights up once more. You take a glance at it and find another text from Gojo. 

I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Please let me explain.

A new wave of anxiety washes over you when you realize you’ll have to see him tomorrow. You do work at the same school after all. You don’t have a few days to process this or even find a way to respond. 

You wrap tighter into yourself and painful tears fill your eyes, not taking long before they’re streaming down your face and soaking into your pillow. You just want the earth to open and swallow you. 

Your only comfort is in the slim possibility that he was still drunk enough to have a chance of not having clear memories the next day. Maybe he’d wake up, see the messages he’d sent you and not even remember what it was about. 

You know it’s a foolish hope. He wasn’t drunk enough during that kiss to have no recollection of it. Even so, it’s the only thought that calms you down enough to fall asleep. 

Okay, all you have to do is file a couple reports, meet with Ijichi and Nitta, and check in with Shoko on a new corpse. You don’t even have to be on campus the whole day, just do your few tasks and leave. 

You were not going to talk to Gojo today. You’re not sure your heart can handle it right now. You’ve barely even processed what happened last night. It’s like your mind is trying to convince you it was a dream. But the unanswered texts still sitting in your inbox say otherwise. 

You decided you would do your best to avoid the inevitable conversation. You’re sure that when he sees you, he’ll likely confront you about it. But, if you were with others, you knew he’d keep his mouth shut. You can’t hide from him, but you make damn sure he can’t catch you alone.

You know you’ll have to talk about it eventually, just not today. And maybe not tomorrow. Or the day after that.

You take a deep breath as you walk into the school and head for Yaga’s office. You’re not too worried about bumping into Gojo here as he usually avoids this part of the school simply because he’s afraid of running into Yaga and being asked to do something he doesn’t want to. 

You make it there without incident and knock on Yaga’s door before entering. Thankfully, your meeting doesn’t last long as you just have to turn in your reports and give him a quick rundown of your past week’s assignments.

Next was finding Ijichi and Nitta. Which meant going to the more common areas of the school. Which meant risking running into Gojo.

At this point, you were just hoping he decided to go MIA today as he typically did. Or maybe he’d be too hung over to even bother getting out of bed. Whatever the case may be, you just hoped he wouldn’t be behind the door to which you are about to enter.

You turn the doorknob quietly and poke your head in, finding no one but Ijichi sitting at a desk looking over a stack of papers, and you feel relieved. You step inside and Ijichi looks up, a small smile appearing once he sees it’s you.

“Ahh, Y/n. You’re a bit early,” he greets kindly. 

“Haha, yeah. My meeting with Yaga didn’t take as long as expected,” you laugh softly as you walk over to the desk and take a seat across from the man. “Where’s Nitta?”

“She’s currently out with the first years. They were sent to investigate the disturbance you reported a few days ago. Turns out it was just a few Grade 3 curses roaming around.” Ijichi replies.

He shuffles the papers spread out on the desk into a few separate piles before picking up each one, shaking them into neat stacks and paper clipping them together.

“Oh, that’s good to know,” you say with a smile. “So, you said you and Nitta needed something?”

“Oh, yes. We wanted your opinion on-”

“Gooood morning!” A familiar voice calls happily as the door swings open. You hunch over in your chair and glue your eyes to the papers in front of you, not daring to look at the man. You didn’t think you would run into him this soon.

“Oh, goodmorning, Gojo,” Ijichi says.

“Ijichi,” Gojo greets and nods to his co-worker.

He turns to you, your eyes still studying the reports laying in front of you. It was obvious you weren’t reading them though, considering they were upside down to you. “Y/n,” he says quietly.

You still refuse to look at him, mumbling a barely audible “good morning” in return.

Ijichi, sensing some tension, clears his throat and returns to the matter that brought you here in the first place. He only had a few questions, wanting your opinion on which recent cases should be assigned to which students. It wasn’t long before you had fulfilled your need and could leave.

You say your goodbyes, stand from the desk and make your way to the door, still having not spared Gojo, who was leaning against one of the couches, even a glance.

Despite hiding his eyes behind that dark blindfold of his, you could tell he’d been staring at you the whole time. You could practically feel his gaze burning holes into your skin. But, just as you expected, he didn’t dare bring up anything about the previous night with Ijichi in the room.

You walk out the door, thankfully leaving Gojo behind it. But you weren’t sure how long he’d stay there. You make your way quickly through the halls as you head towards the morgue. You open the door and step inside, the cold air making your body shake with a chill. 

You walk through, but find no sign of Shoko. Deciding that she must be in the office, you turn and start making your way over, it being just a couple doors down the hall. 

You step outside of the morgue and about jump out of your skin when you’re met with blinding white hair. Gojo. Of course. You should’ve known he would catch up to you. 

You stand there for a moment, him standing in the doorway and therefore blocking your exit. You still can’t bring yourself to look at him, not really, only giving him quick glances. It must be so easy for him to make “eye contact” when he doesn’t really have to.

“Can we talk?” He says, his voice taking on an unusually shaky and serious tone, and you suppress a sigh. Any hope you had of him not remembering last night shattered with those three words.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say quietly, desperately wanting to avoid the impending conversation. 

“Y/n,” he says, his large hand reaching carefully for your arm. You move quickly, avoiding his grasp.

“I don’t want to talk,” you say and push past him, making it through the doorway. You speed walk down the hallway to the morgue office, thankful that it’s just a few doors down. Gojo begins to say something but before he can, you’re knocking on the door, shutting him up quickly.

Shoko opens the door only a moment after you’ve knocked, silently stepping aside to let you in once she sees it’s you. Her neutral expression breaks a bit when she sees who’s behind you.

“Gojo, wasn’t expecting to see you today,” she says, referring to the rough condition he was in last night.

“I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?” He chuckles. He looks at you as he says this and you feel your face grow warm. Shoko walks over to her desk and shuffles through the various items in search of something.

“How are you feeling? You haven’t had that many drinks in a long time,” She asks curiously.

“I feel great actually. Y/n is a pretty good caretaker,” he says, once again looking over at you. “She’s the reason I’m not hungover.”

Yep, you certainly were. Maybe you should’ve skipped the water and ibuprofen. But that was before what happened. Past you had no idea that future you would be cursing that decision.

“He wasn’t too much trouble was he? Gojo’s always annoying when he’s drunk.” Like he’s not annoying when he isn’t drunk.

“He was fine,” you say plainly, wanting to move on from the topic.

“Fine is one way to put it,” Gojo says, an obnoxiously flirty smirk on his face. What happened to the serious and borderline nervous Gojo you had just a moment ago? Bring him back please.

“Maybe I should’ve let Nanami take you when he’d offered,” you mutter. Shoko turns back around to you, confused by the comments being made.

“Is that really what you would’ve wanted?” Gojo asks. 

“If it means we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, then yes.”

Shoko looks between the two of you, reading the looks on your faces and expertly deciphering that this was not a conversation she needed (or wanted) to be a part of.

“I’m not getting involved in this,” Shoko mutters as she collects her things and quickly leaves the room, abandoning you in this anxiety-inducing situation. “We can meet later, Y/n.”

“Ah! Wait, Shoko!” You call, but she ignores you and walks out the door. Well, this certainly isn’t what you wanted to happen. Now you had no excuse to leave and apparently didn’t have anyone to have your back. You knew Shoko saw your plea for help in your eyes and she actively ignored it. But, it is Shoko. She always avoids getting involved in things that don’t concern her.

The silence that follows Shoko’s leaving is so incredibly deafening and you hope the ground will open up beneath you. You debate leaving, but you know that Gojo will just follow you. There was no escaping it now. Dammit, and you were so close to getting out without speaking to him.

You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the desk, your eyes glued to the floor.

“Y/n,” Gojo speaks softly. You refuse to look at him. You can’t. You don’t know what will happen if you do. “Y/n.” He steps closer to you and you sink further into yourself, feeling your throat tighten. “Let me explai-”

“What did you mean?” You close your eyes, finding yourself talking before you can even comprehend the words leaving your mouth.

“What?” Gojo says, confused. You sigh, annoyed with yourself now for having said anything.

“Your text. You said it wasn’t what I thought it was. What did you mean?” Gojo looks at you. Well, you assume he’s looking at you. He could be looking at the wall behind you for all you knew.

“I…” Gojo starts but doesn’t finish. He sighs quietly and leans against the chair in front of you. He doesn’t attempt to speak again for a long moment and you begin to wonder if he even plans to. And you’re right, he doesn’t speak. But instead, his hand reaches for the dark blindfold hiding his eyes, and he pulls it down around his neck, his snow white hair falling into his face.

You tear your eyes away as soon as he does, not able to bear even the thought of looking at him directly in those blue irises. Luckily, you’re not tempted to as he keeps his head down, his hair shielding his eyes from your view.

“I remember everything from last night,” the man says finally. You feel your heart sink. You knew he remembered, but for some reason, hearing him say so only made your anxiety worsen. “You didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye last night,” he says with a mild, teasing tone, though it was made with minimal effort, the tension in the room making it hard to joke playfully.

Your arms tighten around you and your throat burns, your eyes remaining focused on everything but him. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be leaving in such a hurry either,” you say, risking your voice breaking into tears. Gojo chuckles.

“I thought you’d stay for a bit longer after the way you were kissing me,” He jokes, and this time it has his usual lightheartedness to it. Despite that, you feel your blood run hot through your body and for a moment you forget that you’re avoiding looking at him. Your eyes whip over to see him already looking at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Wha- you kissed me!” You whisper yell, afraid that someone outside may hear you. You can’t believe him. HE made a move on YOU, and yet he wants to talk about the way you were kissing HIM?

“Buuut, you kissed me back!” He says accusingly but airily. You close your mouth at this. He’s right, you did. And this is just what you were afraid of, him realizing that you kissing him back meant you actually enjoyed it if only a little. You couldn’t hide it.

“And I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry,” you say quietly. You turn your gaze away just in time to miss the way Gojo’s face twitches and his smile drops. Before you can’t stop yourself, you continue to speak, the coil in your throat snapping and the tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you back. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me to begin with. But please, I don’t want to hear what you have to say about it. I know you were drunk and it was a mistake just… Please, don’t tell me that.” 

The silence that follows your statement is so quiet that you can hear Gojo’s uneven breaths alongside your own. You feel the urge to run, to walk out the doors and never turn back. To find a hole somewhere to bury yourself in, never to resurface.

“You think I made a mistake?” Gojo’s words barely reach your ears, his voice so soft you almost have to strain to hear it. He looks at you, completely dejected. “Even if I did feel that way, do you think I’d come here to mock you for it? Do you think I’d be that cruel?” The hurt in his voice is so obvious that you can feel it yourself.

“I… I don’t know.” Truthfully, you did know. You knew he wouldn’t do something like that. He may be annoying, but he’s not cruel. It was out of your own fear of the outcome that you were avoiding this conversation. But then, two words in his statement stand out to you. 

Even if. 

Meaning even if it was a mistake. Meaning he didn’t think it was?

The tears welling in your eyes begin to fall when you dare to look up at him, his own already on you. But you don’t look away this time.

“Would you have kissed me if you were sober?” You ask quietly. Gojo’s shoulders slump and his face grows longer at your words. He takes a cautious step towards you, testing to see if you’ll back away. And you don’t.

“Y/n, I didn’t kiss you because I was drunk,” he replies, his voice smooth as silk. He takes another step forward, this time reaching out a hand to place on your arm, and you don’t pull away.

“That’s what I meant when I said it wasn’t what you thought. I knew you figured it was an alcohol-influenced choice. And while the alcohol admittedly may have had something to do with it, that wasn’t why I did it.” Your vision blurs as you begin to cry, your tears feeling like rivers of fire as they flow down your cheeks.

“I did it because I wanted to, Y/n,” he admits. He lifts a hand to your face, wiping your tears as he strokes your cheek with his knuckles.  “It wasn’t a mistake. It was a choice. And one I don’t regret.”

You close your eyes, not being able to see with them open anyway. His other hand moves from your arm to swipe at your tears, both hands now cupping your face tenderly.

“I don’t know what to say,” you mumble. You raise your hands to wrap your fingers around his wrists, your thumbs stroking over the back of his hands. You open your eyes, your vision clear enough to see him looking at you fondly, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His soft lips that, in the back of your mind, you’ve been thinking about all morning.

Your gaze must have lingered on his mouth for a moment too long as his smile widens. He comes closer to you, his head towering over yours and his hands guide your face to continue looking at him.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. But.” He leans his face to yours, his warm breath against your lips. “I would like to kiss you again. And I hope you won’t run away this time.” His voice lilts in that familiar, teasing tone and your heart twists.

“I won’t,” you say with a breathless laugh. 

His large hands continue to hold your head as he moves forward, wasting no time in putting his lips against yours in a passionate but tender kiss.

And this time, you let yourself kiss him back.

©Cxtori 2024 please do not copy, plagiarize, repost or translate. reblogs appreciated

[pupkashi]

love comes easy when it’s gojo

a/n: what are you guys talking about chapter 236 ? the manga ended a while ago lol they’re all happy and safe ! don’t be silly guys >.< (I’m deep in denial no one hmu)

wordcount: 728

masterlist

loving satoru gojo was easy.

it was easy falling in love with him when you first began talking to him, stolen glances and flushed faces when either of you caught the other.

it came to you like second nature to play along with his jokes. your minds practically syncing up the second your eyes connected, silly grins on your faces as you both cracked dumb jokes.

there was something almost instinctive that had you intertwining your fingers with his, the tv on the show now background noise as satoru practically lay on top of you.

“what should we get for dinner?” you mumbled, half paying attention to the action on the screen, eyes landing on the mop of white hair in your lap.

satoru hummed, adjusting himself so that he was on his back and staring up at you, “want me to cook?” there was a smile playing on his lips as you pursed your lips at him.

“depends” you smile, “what is chef gojo gonna cook up for us tonight?” the smile on his face was evident now as he sat upright.

“maybe some instant ramen?” eyes glimmering as he speaks up again, “im feeling a bit fancy so how ‘bout i add an egg in there too.”

“an egg? you spoil me satoru,” you tease, watching as satoru pushes himself off the couch, stretching a bit. the bottom of his shirt lifts a bit and you catch his lower belly, smiling to yourself.

“oh but when you bend over i can’t whistle at you?” he pouts, catching the way you were practically giggling.

“satoru we were in a meeting with the higher ups,” you retort. the sorcerer only scoffs, mumbling something and heading into the kitchen.

it was easy to love satoru when he was carrying you out in the pouring rain, a cheesy love song blaring through his phone speakers in his pocket.

“dance with me!” his dimples peeking out and his eyes crinkling a bit as he laughed at your now soaked shirt.

you want to be angry, you want to scold him because he just got over the flu and this is gonna be terrible for him. but the small droplets of water collecting at the end of his white hair and sticking messily to his forehead make you keep your mouth shut.

you don’t say anything as you extend your arm out, giggling when he quickly pulls you into him by the waist, immediately pressing his lips onto yours, teeth hitting each other as the two of you burst into giggles.

“cyndi lauper is your go to?” you laugh, barely audible over the downpour surrounding the two of you.

“it was either her or whitney houston ” he smiles, turning his infinity on when he sees you shiver in the slightest, being sure to include you in it.

it was easy loving satoru gojo when he was shampooing your hair, kissing your shoulder and wrapping warm towels around you.

it was easy to fall deeper in love with him when the two of you are in bed, sweet nothings being interchanged between the two of you.

“i love you, angel boy,” you whisper, loving the way his cheeks grew pink, the grin on his lips growing as he nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck.

“i love you more, sweets” his voice is softer, more vulnerable, than usual. there’s nothing on his mind except you, and there’s nothing on yours except him.

it’s when the two of you are making breakfast together, movements flowing easily as he passes you the eggs and he plates the pancakes. when you’re both sitting way too close to each other on the huge couch in the living room, pillows and blankets surrounding the two of you.

when you hand each other things without even uttering a word. when you sit in rare silence with your lover, the comfort of each others presence being enough for the two of you.

when he’s bringing home flowers or you’re making him his favorite foods, when you’re blushing at his shower of compliments and he’s running away the second you call him handsome.

it’s in between laundry loads and making plans that you both realize how easy love comes to each other.

loving satoru gojo was easy, especially when you fell in love with him all over everyday.

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

[c0smoshit]

Hello fellow Cloud Strife freak 🫡

(Yes it’s the same star_sworn from ao3 lol)

If you’re feeling in the mood for it in your last week before school, I was hoping to request a nsfw fem reader/Cloud fic where he is possessive/jealous, and he spanks reader: a LOT. Both before sex (with extensive foreplay, lots of dirty talk, maybe oral for him?) and during sex. Just spanking with hands please, and not super hard spanks either, I'm very vanilla lol. It's not about hurting her, it's more a possessive thing for Cloud (and an ass thing lol!). But reader is SUPER into it. I'm not looking for any hardcore dom/sub or anything, just stuff a committed couple would do (some soft dom vibes, like in Mind Cloud/ed).

Maybe it’s the first time he does it and they both realize how much they both like it, or maybe they’ve come home from a party where the guys were checking out his girl and he is feeling possessive/frustrated. I leave it to you if you want to take this request!

I look forward to the filth. Let's give this ass man something to do with his hands… 😉

Also best of luck with school starting!!

I LOVE THIS omg

Thanks for this delicious request love 😻♡♡

Jealousy ミ★

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Cloud Strife/fem!reader

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ smut!, p in v, spanking, few hints of dacryphilia, bjs, sexy hour Cloud ;), not proofread!

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ I'm baack! I hope u guys missed me hehe

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 2.321

He was closer to you this night, walking right beside you as he guided you to your appartment, his hand brushing over yours as the dark path consumed your vision.

He was quiet too, way more than usual. His eyes didn't seem as if they were trying to search your own ones like they would always do.

Maybe he was stressed out?

This week has been a long one and you could see it on his eyes, he was tired. As time grew older, you had managed to read his enigmatic emotions quite well, so you thought that maybe he just needed to rest for tonight.

But your theory was quickly proven wrong as you entered your home, ready to wave him goodbye for the night.

. . .

Before you could even turn around, his chest had enveloped your back, pushing you further into your appartment until your hands met the wall.

His husky breathing hit your ear, a shockwave of goosebumps trickled your skin.

Why was he that needy all of the sudden??

Your mind circled around lots of different questions but the harsh sound of the door closing made you jump.

You didn't dare to open your mouth, not yet. You could feel his hands on your waist, but they didn't caress you like he always would, like when he touched you for the first time.

You internally cracked a small smile at the memory, he was just as nervous and fidgety as you were.

The moonlight encased both of your bodies as he took off your clothes for the first time, making an absolute mess of himself when he finally got to the act.

But those gentle and somewhat shy touches were far lost inside his guts somewhere, instead, they were replaced with fierce and strong movements.

You turned around slowly, you could feel yourself getting aroused by this sudden role he was playing. And when you stared at those almost hollow eyes, you saw passion, lust and hunger all mixed up together in a ballad of desesperation.

His lips devoured yours not even a second after.

Your eyes were tight shut, savouring the sweet moment he was offering you. Your lips tried to move slowly, trying to enjoy this new facade, but he wouldn't let you.

His tongue was already inside your mouth when you felt his fingertips lower themselves down your body.

You knew he was an ass guy, it was absolutely cristal clear.

He would always grab your ass, brushing it off saying that it was an "accident". Pushing his hips into yours from behind whenever you couldn't reach for something, always walking right behind you whenever you two where with the group.

However, you didn't expect he liked... spanking.

It started off slow, giving you little taps as he grabbed and squeezed your butt. He pushed further into you, almost as if he wanted to break the wall behind you.

The kisses soon turned sloppy, soaking up both of your lips before he trailed them further down, and you had to bite your lip in order to not let any sounds yet.

His hair trickled your flushed cheek, hands quickly grabbing it as his kisses turned into bites, sucking your soft skin.

The crown of your hair hit the cold wall behind you, mouth agape as you let him sneak a hand behind your back, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest as the other one caressed your hip.

Ready to finally use your voice tonight, you eventually opted not to. He had just became so... primal for you, you didn't dare to even make a question.

However, you wished this blissful moment lasted longer.

"Oop!"

A cut out yelp emerged from your mouth as his hands took ahold of your legs, lifting you up easily into the air.

He wrapped your legs around his hips, your crotch resting just above his belly button and, simultaneously, your arms embraced his neck for support.

You moved up and down thanks to his heavy steps and, trying to get payback from earlier, you started pecking his neck. Starting off gently, kissing and giving butterfly kisses into his jugular.

You noticed he became clumsier, almost tripping over as you sucked a hickie. Your kisses got wetter, hotter and your hand started to caress the back of his hair.

You giggled at his clumsy steps but as soon as you were placed on top of your chilly kitchen counter and saw his serious face once again, you quieted down.

His hands gripped your thighs as if they were his sword, his head coming down to rest on your neck once again to give you little pecks, weirdly more tenderly than the ones he had given you before.

But you pulled his mouth off you briefly.

"What's up with yo-"

"Who was he"

His eyes were finally looking at yours after a long while.

"What? What are you talki-"

"Who was that guy"

Your hands now rested on his shoulder blades, feeling the hard touch of metal bellow your right hand.

Frowning your brows, you tried to think about what guy was he talking about.

. . .

You smelled the aura and it smelt musky.

The first scent you picked out first was a strong breeze of sudden whisky, the wet and fermented barley filling up your nose.

Then you smelt a recognizable, stronge cologne floating around your head now. And when you lifted up your head, you saw him.

A mature, bearded man.

He was wearing a long black coat, some glasses keeping your curious eyes from staring at his own ones. You stayed there for a second, he looked oddly familar.

But before you could figure out who was that man, you came back to Earth, remembering that you were winding down after a long day in Seventh Heaven.

You grabbed your drink, resting for a while on your seat until your drink was halfway done.

But before you could walk away from that husky cloud, a large hand grabbed your shoulder, making you face the misterious man.

Your eyes lingered first on his fierce brown eyes, looking at his mature skin, you saw a scar on his left cheek that time had tried to heal, trying to match his skin colour.

You saw his lips move, but you had to re-think your answer before opening your own mouth.

"I saw you back there"

Okay.

You hadn't expected that phrase.

Where could he had seen you anyway? Was he following you?

"I like what you guys are doing for the Planet"

What?

You knew what you were doing was benefitial for the Planet, but Shinra worked so hard into putting your group as a terrorist one and actually killing way more people from the explosions than expected.

But why did he knew?

"Those Shinra guys deserve worse"

It came out as a mumble and you couldn't help but look at him with a puzzled expresion, accepting the friendly pats he gave on your shoulder, thanking you.

That was sweet. . .?

. . .

"Ohh, that man back there?"

He stopped his movements, almost as if letting you know that you were right.

"I saw him to-"

Now you were the one that cut him off, not boring to hide the sly smirk on your face.

"Wait, are you jealous?"

Suddenly his cheeks reddened, but before he could see your grin he lowered his head down into your neck once again.

Ready to make another snicker, you were interruped by his palm now resting on your panties, making you gasp.

His index finger moved up and down and you took matter into your own hands too, quite literally.

He hissed as your bold hand groped him too, trying to lure him into letting you give him some pleasure too.

"Let me make you feel good"

Your heated breathing sent cold shivers down his spine and, as your teeth lightly bit his ear, he lost it.

"So pretty"

You would always praise him, and it would always make him feel sort of bad, he would keep his own thoughts about how gorgerous you were to himself.

But he meant all of them.

His shirt and SOLDIER armour was now discared on the cold floor, your icy hands caressing his abs before finally getting down on your knees.

His absolutely favourite view in the whole Planet.

He helped you take off his belt, letting your overly-excited fingers do the rest of the work. And when you finally got face to face with him, he placed a reassuring hand on your head.

You started off with slow strokes, kitten-kissing his angry red tip. Sensually trailling lower and lower on his shaft just to tease him and rake higher and higher again.

Until he finally had enough, gripping quite hardly your hair.

"Get on with it"

He actually scared himself off at first with his demanding tone, his desesperation seemingly clear on his blushed cheeks as he stared down at you. And you complied, enjoying the choked out gasp you managed to pull out of his throat when you suddenly introduced him halfway into your wet cavern.

Lust filled eyes staring down at the mess you were making on his cock, gripping hardly the counter behind him as he tried not to buck his hips into your mouth.

Not only your sweet face was all in display for him to see, but your sweet, sweet ass was there too.

As dirty as it sounded inside his head

Your hands held his thighs hardly too, enjoying every sound you were being able to pull from him as you took him deeper and deeper. He was big, and it was almost funny how he didn't actually believe you could struggle to take him at first.

But it sure ignited something inside him

He throbbed when he saw you gag on him, help him reach his end with the help of your hand, your glossy eyes staring up at him.

He needed to feel you.

But not like this

So he took your face off him, smashing desesperately his lips against yours once again, feeling a fuzzy tingle inside him as he heavily rested on your lower stomach now.

His hands held your face ridiculously gently compared from how he had gripped your hair just a few seconds ago, walking you backwards until you met the counter once again.

"turn around"

His voice was deeper now, staring daggers into your eyes as he waited for you to obediently follow his lead. And you did.

You bent yourself down, ready to whatever he was going to give you this night right there and then.

And when you felt him pull your skirt up, you pushed your hips back into his hands, making him pull down your panties even slower than he intended to. Almost as if he was getting payback from before.

When they pooled through your ankles, his hand softly massaged your right cheek, feeding off your whines.

"Please"

However, he kept going.

No matter how hard he was, how hardly he wanted to fill you up, to feel you entirely around him once again. He wanted to show you how you were his, how he loved and desired you.

So, without thinking, the harsh sound of a "slap!" filled your ears and ceirtantly, your butt.

You couldn't help yourself but let out a pathetic moan, his hand now rubbing the red spot he had left. He had heard you, and it was the same sound you would let out whenever he was fingering you.

Did you actually like it?

So once he had tested the waters, he set his sights on slipping the nastiest mewls from your mouth tonight.

"Mmph- Cloud"

There it was, his name filling his ears the best way it could've had. So he started teasing your slit with his shaft, more slapping sounds filling up the small appartment as you almost rested your whole chest on the counter now.

You picked out the sound of plastic, something opening up. Which you later would guess was a condom.

But before you could make contact with the cold tile, his left arm surrounded your stomach, pulling you up into him, lips mere centimeters away from your ear.

"I'm going inside now, is that okay?"

How sweet

But sweet wasn't an adjective that matched his dirty and husky tone. His hand was now toying with your front, exposing you to the darkness as he squeezed your breasts now.

So you nodded, feeling suddenly too shy to speak to him.

"Too embarrassed to use your voice now huh?"

And you opened it, but it was useless to his tip now proding your entrance, slowly taking him further and further. Holding the arm that was embracing you, you rolled your head into his shoulder, silently whimpering at the warm feeling.

"Got you, almost there"

His reassuring tone he used with no one really never failed to make your knees feel like jelly.

But his adorable act lasted as quick as you managed to cum with his skilled fingers.

He started to move, and he was clearly desesperate. Setting off a crude, fast pace as you were now fully bent over, his hands gripping your hips. His middle finger was now circling quickly your clit, pulling off the nastiest moans he had wished for.

You imagined his glistening, lean form behind you, making you take all of him, using your tight walls in search for his climax. His hair all ruffled up, a bead of sweat trailing down into his v-line, and the sudden spanks your ass would recieve.

That was your last straw, mewling out his name as you soaked his cock.

And by the way you gripped him even harder, which he thought was impossible now, spasming around him violently.

He was done.

So he followed close behind, painting the plastic walls white, imagining it was you who was taking his load instead.

[sexilene]

LENEEEE stepbro!john b???? 🎀🎀🎀

OMGGGGG! i haveee an ideaaaaa!!! ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ SMUT!!! ignore any misspellings lol

“m’not whoring around or anything… it's just protection!!” you cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. much to our dismay your stepbrother, john b, found your birth control and he’s not thrilled about the idea that his little step-sis is “running round the cut, getting her tiny pussy filled with other guys' dicks”. you reach for the pills that are held tightly in your stepbrother’s hand, only for him to reach the hand way above your head and walk straight to the bathroom.

“do you bring boys in here? into the house?…do i not give you everything you need? hmm?” he disappointedly sighs, not even looking at you as he opens the plastic and aluminum packet.

“no!! i promise i don’t, please just give it back!” you continue to cry, embarrassed, trying to reason with him to give them back to you.

“hm no, you don’t need these, bub.” he taunts, dumping the little pills in the toilet and flushing them faster than you can plead for him to stop.

“go sit on the bed and wait for me, i need a minute.” john b sighs and puts his hands on his hips like he’s disappointed.

“you're so mean ta’me johnny.” you sniffle, wiping the tears from your eyes as you turn to go back to the room like he told you to.

after a painful spanking, he manhandled you to be face down ass up with your cheek squished against your pink pillow, drool evident on the cloth as your stepbrother stretched out your little pussy on his massive length. his strong hands gripping onto the sides of your hips, doing all the work by slamming your ass against his pelvis.

“hurts!” you whine, wanting to crawl away from him but also sooo far gone, so dumb you really can't focus on making full sentences let alone moving.

“you wanted to take birth control like a big girl, you gotta take it like a big girl.” he tuts.

“jombee you didn’t- put a condom!!!” you mumble into the pillow, “don’t cum inside me please jombee please.” you plea, but unfortunately nothing can be heard except for the low grunts of your stepbrother, the sound of skin slapping skin and the wet sloppy squelching of your hole.

“you’re gonna get me pregnant…” whining, you try your best to muster up some energy to crawl away from his thrusts. but the attempt was fruitless because your stepbrother's grip was just too strong.

“that’s what m’doin bub.”

“you can’t!!”

“can and m’gonna, what’s everyone gonna think when they find out your big stepbro put his little baby in you hmm?” he taunts, smacking your pore little sore ass, making a loud crack sound.

“no more stupid boys chasin' you around that’s for sure…should’ve hidden the pills aaaa-lot better baby,” john b pauses his thrusts and you think that for a second he’s decided you’ve had enough of this punishment when he reaches hand over to your face, slipping his thumb into your mouth for you to suck.

“needed that hmmm?” john b coos, making your pussy still pulsate around his dick,

“mmhm!” you moan as he’s slipping his glossy and slobbery digit out of your mouth and leaning back to continue to pound you into the mattress. as he’s back to thrusting into you your cries and whines start back up, even more so when he slips his thumb covered in your saliva into your ass.

"no!! no more!" you scream into the pillow.

“aaaalmost there baby, almost done…” he grunts, smacking your ass again, this time giving you two harsh smacks. "stay with me sweet girl." he watches as your cunt stretches around him and how your ass jiggles with every thrust, and you just know he’s going to knock you up tonight and there is nothing you can do but take it, helplessly. ᡣ𐭩

[itgetsdark-x]

gruff dilf joel and younger snarky reader are sent on a mission out of jackson. they have a rough, long day of constant nitpicking and bitching (done worse by a shared horse). the reader is purposefully pressing his buttons because she wants to make him snap on her. they stop for the night at a safe house with one bed and filthy unprotected sex ensues. joel forces her into submission and her cockiness dissipates. super condescending and demeaning joel. breeding kink, pet names, the works 🙏🏼

A/N: what a return for me… pheewwww, this was hot to write ngl. I loved writing Joel as a bit more of an asshole and I just wanna say, I would do anything for snarky, gruff dilf joel… like literally anything. I hope this is okay for you, anon!

Summary: You were a skilled hunter, everyone in Jackson knew that and it often meant that you were sent out with someone just as skilled but not quite as young, Joel Miller.

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI! Breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (m & f receiving), degrading talk (depends on how u look at it), implied age gap (not specified), just a lot of smut and swearing tbh

Characters: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 7.6k (lol, I’m sorry!)

Sunlight seeped through the threadbare curtains of your house, the early morning light drowning your soft skin as you slept peacefully. Three loud bangs drew you from your slumber and you let out a groan as you stretched your limbs out, rubbing the remnants of sleep away from your eyes. 

“Get your ass up!” You heard the familiar voice shout from outside and you groaned again, shoving your face into your pillow. 

“Fuck off.” You yelled, knowing the older male would be able to hear you through your open window. 

“Would if I could.” He retorted. “I’m letting myself in through the back. Hurry up, sick of waiting for you.”

You rolled your eyes as you finally sat up in your bed, you heard the male enter your house downstairs and it immediately ignited anger in your bones. You stomped out of bed, grabbing your clothes and begrudgingly dressing yourself.

You gave your appearance a once over in the old mirror that hung pathetically on your walls and sighed at the dark circles under your eyes. After using your bathroom to freshen up, you traipsed down your stairs gruffly and shoved your feet into your worn boots. 

“Why are you here at the ass-crack of dawn, Miller?” You hissed, scowling at the male who sat on your old couch, his dirty boots carelessly resting on the coffee table in the middle of your lounge. 

“Aren’t you a ray of fuckin’ sunshine this morning.” He huffed. “Got a job to be getting on with, Maria and the guys gave me the instructions that we have to go run off some raiders. There’s a safe house half way that we can stay in tonight. Should be an easy job so long as you listen to me for once and get on with it.”

You groaned, loudly, as you bent down to lace up your boots; your old cargo trousers clung to the curve of your ass and thick, muscular thighs as you did so. Joel stood behind you, he couldn’t help but admire as the old material stretched as you moved. 

“Why exactly have I been instructed to work with you?” You shot back, turning to look at the male. 

Joel held a hand out as an offer to help you stand, you shot him a sour look, rolled your eyes and stood without a word. Joel clenched his jaw at your defiant behaviour and gently pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“Do I look like I know, little girl? Look, I don’t wanna be working with you, just as much as you don’t wanna be working with me. So how about you quit your bitchin’, get the job done and go back to being a sour little brat by yourself.”

“God, I fucking hate you, Joel Miller.” You said harshly, shoving past him and bumping him with your shoulder. 

You grabbed your backpack off the floor, it was the one you always used when going on jobs or patrols; it had all your necessities that you kept restocked. You opened your front door, and ushered for Joel to leave your house, he narrowed his eyes at you and walked out. You left behind him and made sure your house was shut up properly before walking down the three steps that lead to your house. 

“Where’s the other horse?!” You asked, ludicrously as Joel swung himself onto the large horse. 

“Only got allocated one, ‘lotta raiders and people sniffing around Jackson at the moment so they got a lot more patrols going on. Sorry kiddo, either you’re hiking all day or sucking it up and getting on with me.” He shrugged, patting the horse gently. 

You sighed deeply to yourself, as if this job or day couldn’t get worse; you had to spend it with Joel Miller on one horse. 

You had known Joel for a while now, since your first day in Jackson in fact. Him and Tommy found you stumbling around outside the gates of Jackson, whilst they were out on patrol, they saw you were injured and luckily, the people of Jackson allowed you to take residence within their community. 

You couldn’t quite pinpoint when this long-standing feud started with the older of the Miller brother’s but it had been going on for sometime. You despised the male, he always acted like he knew what was best when it came to hunting or patrols, whatever he said was the golden way of doing things and it drove you insane. Maybe it was your twisted attraction to the older male that made your stomach twist and settle in deep anger; you hated the way your pulse would race when he was near or the way your eyes would hungrily drink in all the sharp lines of the males features. He was too old to be any good for you, you knew that and maybe, just maybe, that’s why you kept up this pretence of hatred. 

Tommy was a stark contrast of his older brother; he had kind eyes and soft features, he actually cared about other people within the community. Joel on the other hand, he just cared about getting the job done and done right first time so he could get back home to Ellie, the kid he had arrived in Jackson with. You didn’t really care to ask how or why but Ellie, for what it seemed, was a cool kid and that you had spoken to a handful of times. 

“Your choice but we gotta leave now, it’s a 50 mile ride east to the safe house and I don’t expect it to be an easy one.” Joel stated bluntly. 

“Fine. Fucking fine.” You hissed, slinging your backpack onto your back and holding your rifle over your shoulder. 

It was a known fact that you were one of the more skilled hunters and fighters in Jackson; you had been fighting for yourself your whole life, you didn’t have anyone to fight for you or to keep you alive so from a very young age, you had to do it yourself with whatever resources you could find. Joel seemed to hate it, he seemed to hate the fact that you were younger than him and seemingly, knew what you were doing. 

That’s why you always got paired up together; Joel was skilled but older, you were younger and fitter but still on his skill level at handling your firearms. 

You slung yourself onto the horse, holding Joel’s muscular arm for leverage as you steadied yourself on the back of the animal. Your body was pressed tightly to Joel’s, your legs meeting at the front as your torso pressed to his back. He gently kicked the horse and encouraged the animal to move. 

You rode in silence through the town and out of the gates of Jackson. You watched your surroundings carefully, keeping an ear out for any nearby movement; you had heard the stories recently of people not making it back from their patrols. The raiders nearby were increasing and they were getting desperate for a fraction of what you all had in Jackson. 

The peaceful sounds of nature filled your ears as you rode in silence; just the horses’ hooves on the soft ground and noises of nearby wildlife; birds chirped happily and it almost made you spit out a laugh. Those innocent creatures had no idea of the depressing state that the world lived in now, they couldn’t ever know what loss meant; your mind wandered and you felt the bitter acid of frustration rise in your throat. 

“Wanna ease up on your grip?” Joel huffed, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“What?” You spat before you realised your hands were gripping tightly at his waist; you eased your grip and kept one hand on him to steady yourself whilst your other hand rested on your thigh. “Sorry.” You mumbled sheepishly. 

“What’s causin’ you to have the death-grip on me, anyway? Not normally scared ridin’.” He laughed smugly. 

You shrugged, he felt the jolt of your shoulder so he knew what you did without seeing it. 

“Natures just… funny.” You laughed sourly. “These birds, chirping away and living their normal lives; they ain’t ever known any different whereas we have, y’know. We’ve all lost something, someone and they don’t know shit. Just makes me angry.”

Your voice trailed off at the end, the images of your parents being taken from you when you were just seven years old played in your head like a worn out cassette. It was painful to constantly think of your mother’s screams as she was torn apart. Or the way your father hid you and told you to remain quiet and that was the last time you saw him. 

“Yeah, well, that’s life, kid. It’s shit.” Joel shrugged back.

He never opened up about his loss, about his daughter, he didn’t see the need to. People who were closest to him knew and he remembered the beautiful memories of his daughter, for him, that was enough. He knew the way people whispered about him, he could even see the way some even pointed as he walked by. “There’s Joel Miller, yeah, Tommy’s brother, he’s the one that lost a daughter and turned up with that kid months after Tommy arrived with Maria.”

You didn’t respond to Joel, instead you huffed and went back to taking in your surroundings. You travelled in a, somewhat, comfortable silence for a couple of hours before Joel halted the horse. 

“Why are we stopping? We’re in the middle of the Forrest?” You snapped, finger hovering over your trigger as you scoped out the landscape through your weapon’s scope. 

“Needa eat, piss and you can take charge on leading the next stretch. Problem with that, little girl?” He snapped right back. 

You sighed and reluctantly climbed down off the horse, you took the reins and carefully attached them to a nearby branch so your horse would stay secured whilst you all took a moments rest. 

Joel grabbed food out of his pack and chucked a sandwich in your direction, you quickly caught it with one hand and shot the male a cocky smile. 

“Gotta be quicker than that, old man.” You smirked. 

He rolled his eyes and stretched out his back with a deep groan, he had himself turned away from you as he stretched. You eyes soaked up every inch of the male, from his salt and peppered locks, down to his broad shoulders and down even farther to the subtle curves of his ass and muscular legs. As he stretched a slither of tanned skin was exposed and you mentally cursed yourself for wondering what Joel’s body would feel like under your skilled hands. You couldn’t help as you wondered even further how the male would sound as he came, would it be gruff like his groans as he stretched out his aching limbs or would it sound more tender and soft.

You physically shook your head to rid the mental images that were drowning your mind and you absently took a bite of your food as your eyes still hungrily wandered over Joel’s physique. He turned back to you, catching your eyes and he smirked, knowing full well that he had just caught you checking him out. 

“You alright there, darlin’? Lookin’ a bit flustered.” He chuckled, cockiness dripping from his voice. 

“Fine. Just thinking about Grayson.” You lied. Grayson was your most recent boyfriend, well, fling. You had both agreed to use each other to scratch the itches that your hands didn’t satisfy anymore; he was fairly well known among Jackson, especially to the women there and you knew Joel hated the younger male. 

“Sure.” Joel said, unconvinced but not willing to push the matter any further right now. 

An icy silence fell between the two of you once again, you stared at your food and bitterly ate at it. Your eyes trailed up slowly and bored into the older male as he sat down on the ground to eat; your eyes followed the lines of his legs as he sat until they fixated on his bulge. Jackson was small, people talked, women especially talked. Joel wasn’t one to sleep around carelessly but even when the world had ended, everyone has needs and Joel knew how to fulfil them. You knew he had quite the reputation, apparently he had the equipment and he apparently knew exactly how to use it. 

You finished your food and threw the wrapper to the side, you stretched your legs out with a delicate groan and leant back onto your arms, taking a moment to relax before you had to be cramped up on the horse again with Joel. Your mind wandered once again as the silence between you both persisted, you wondered how Joel’s rough hands would feel; how they would feel wrapped around your throat as his thick fingers fucked into you. Or how his cock would split you open as he pressed you down roughly to take every inch of him. You swallowed thickly, pushing the thoughts down as you gently squeezed your thighs together, trying anything to curb the throbbing between your legs. 

Joel could feel your eyes on him, he could feel the intense stares and he couldn’t help but smirk as he finished up his food; he loved the fact that he could get you all flustered and frustrated by simply just being. It would be a complete lie if Joel hadn’t thought about you in that way but it was a line he hadn’t crossed, mainly because you both couldn’t stop arguing long enough to realise the tension that was thick in the air. 

“We should get going.” You said gruffly, your voice shattering the silence abruptly. “Want to get to the safe house to actually sleep properly. Get your ass up, old man.”

“Old man.” Joel tutted, rolling his eyes. 

He moaned as he arose from the ground, further cementing your comment on his age. You let out a sharp laugh and shot him a smug look as you slung yourself onto the horse. 

“Pass me the reigns.” You said sharply. 

“Please?” Joel asked. 

“Yeah, thanks. Get on or get left behind.” You muttered. 

Joel let out a frustrated sigh and simply passed you the reigns before climbing onto the horse behind you. He shimmed himself into place until he was comfortable, you could feel his thick thighs rub up behind you; you were so close to him now, it felt different than when you were on the back of the horse. You cleared your throat awkwardly and kicked the horse into action. 

The soft sounds of the horses hooves in the mud filled your ears as all your brain could focus on was the feel of Joel grinding up behind you with every move of the horse. He kept a hand on your hip for his stability at times when the terrain proved bumpy. 

You could feel yourself trying to shift in the saddle, feeling grateful every time you felt the seam of your pants rub against your damp core in just the right way. You bit back frustrated groans and the safe house couldn’t come soon enough, you would wait until Joel would fall into his usual slumber to relieve yourself with your own needy fingers. 

-

The ride was long, excruciatingly so and that was only enhanced further by your own frustrations but Joel assured you that the safe house was just up ahead, only a few more miles. The sun was setting and your surroundings were growing darker by the minute, it was made you nervous but you persevered, not letting any weakness show to the older male. 

“What was that?” You muttered, pulling on the horses reigns to halt the animal and you brought your finger up to your lips to hush Joel. 

A twig snapped near you and immediately your hand was on your weapon, pulling the pistol from your thigh holster. 

“Probably just an animal, keep moving.” Joel barked, annoyed at your paranoia. 

“Joel, I’m not a dumb ass, that didn’t sound like an animal.” You snapped back, your voice a harsh whisper. 

You sat there, your eyes still scanning the darkening scene as you held your pistol out and aimed. 

“Shoulda listened to the little girl, old man.” An unfamiliar voice rang out, a silhouette coming into focus as your finger hovered over your trigger. 

“Fuck off, walk away and I won’t shoot your brains out right here.” You spat, pointing the gun in his direction. 

The unknown male whistled, the noise echoed throughout and suddenly, four more men came from the shadows; they were all holding various weapons, some with crow bars, some with bats and the leader, with a large knife. 

“Oh boys, look at her, such a feisty and pretty little thing.” The male laughed, his voice sent sickening chills down your spine. “Whatcha reckon she’s doing with this old guy? Probably fuckin’ him so he don’t kill her.”

You felt your skin crawl and you shot a look over at Joel, your eyes flickered with panic as they looked back over at the men. 

“Let the old man go, take me, I’ll do what you want.” You said quickly, knowing a distraction like that could help. 

Joel looked at you ludicrously and as his hand hovered over his knife that was out of sight of the males. 

“Whatcha say boys? You reckon we could use the pretty little thing… Depends I guess, how used up are you.” He snarled, the other men with him whistling and laughing as the leader spoke. “Wouldn’t want his,” he shot a look at Joel. “Sloppy seconds, don’t want a used up little whore.”

“I-I’m a virgin!” You lied, lowering your gun and slowly getting off the horse. You threw your gun behind you, away from the men and smiled as sweetly as you could. “I’m fresh, I promise. Not used at all.” You held your hands up in surrender.

The leader closed the space between you, with two large strides and he took a few strands of loose hair so he could twirl them in his fingers. He leant down to close the gap between you further and sniffed deeply. You closed your eyes as you cringed internally. 

His fingers gently stroked down your neck and pulled your T-shirt forward so he could peer down your shirt, your stomach flipped with sickness and whilst he was distracted, you landed a hard kick to his groin. He groaned loudly and immediately fell to the floor, you took his knife and without hesitation, plunged it into the side of his neck. 

“Fuckin’ crazy bitch.” He spluttered out as the life slowly drained from him. 

The other men came lurching forward, immediately springing into action and Joel jumped down from the horse, knife in hand to help fight off the others. One of the men scrambled to pick up your gun, they quickly grabbed it and shot at you as you tried to fight him for it, the bullet missed you but managed to graze your thigh. As the loud bang rang loud in everyone’s ears, Joel was able to injure anotjer enough that the rest all dispersed off into the overgrown trees. 

“If I see you again, you’re all fuckin’ dead. Hear me? Dead men fucking walking.” Joel barked as they scampered off, fleeing the scene. 

You breathed deeply, holding your thigh as you fell to the floor; the fabric of your pants was ripped where the bullet grazed your skin. The burning was intense and you hissed as you ripped some fabric from your shirt to wrap around your leg. 

“Let me.” Joel said, kneeling down to help. 

You kicked your leg, pushing the male away from you and you shot him a sour look. 

“I’m fucking fine, leave me alone. I’ve got it. Just get us to the safe house.” You hissed again, standing shakily. 

You bent down to pick up your gun that had been thrown across the ground and you landed a final kick to the two bodies on the ground before clambering awkwardly onto the horse. 

“You’re so stubborn. I’m just trying to help you.” Joel spat, his annoyance evident as he kicked the horse into a fast canter. 

“Fuck off, Joel. Just get us there without getting us killed, yeah?” 

“What do you think I’m doing?!” He bickered back. 

The final stretch of the journey was short, although it felt elongated with the burning in your leg. You arrived at the safe house, looking at the exterior, you should wondered how it could even be classed as a house. It was a sad looking shack, the old and splintered wood of the its exterior looked as if it could give out any second. 

“Is there supplies here? Medicines and what not?” You asked as you climbed off the horse, you tied up her reigns and watched as Joel grabbed the bags off the back harness on the horse. 

“Should be.” He muttered and led the way, he cautiously opened the building and checked out the surroundings; it was dark now and he quickly flicked on the lantern that was situated inside. 

The dull orange glow illuminated the small shack just enough for you to see one old, worse for wear bed in the corner and a small kitchenette area. Joel searched through the cupboards and found bandages and some old disinfectant. 

You sat down on the bed with a groan, flexing your leg as you inspected your wound. He tossed the supplies at you and shut up the building, after giving the outside a final inspection of any nearby activity. 

You had removed your trousers so you could better dress your dirty wound when Joel walked back in, he was pacing the creaky ground and pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. 

“You were fucking stupid back there, with those guys. Could have got yourself killed.” He finally barked. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t see you with a better plan.” You snapped back, standing after being satisfied with your handy work. 

“Watch your tone with me, kid.” He snarled, getting closer to you. 

“Yeah? Or what? Whatcha gonna do, Miller?” You asked, squaring up to the older male. “I saved our ass back there and all because you were too chicken shit to do anything yourself. And I’m not a kid, so you watch your tone.” You accused, your slender finger landing some jabs into his shoulder. 

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me.” He bit back as he took your wrist with ease into his large hand and held it roughly. 

You winced as he twisted your arm so it was behind yourself now and out of his general area. You took your free hand and shoved the male away from you, he took a couple steps back after stumbling from the force of your shove. 

“Fuck off, Joel. You should just be glad I was there to save your sorry, old ass. You wouldn’t have been able to do shit by yourself.” You hissed in agitation and turned your back to the male. 

You bent down to rummage through your pack until you found the spare set of pants you carried with yourself; you couldn’t see the way the older male’s eyes were fixated on the curve of your ass in your panties or the way his cock twitched in his own pants. 

“Such a brat.” Joel spat. “Such a rude, fuckin’ brat. Someone should teach you some manners.”

You laughed as you stood once more and span to look at the male, your eyes were narrowed and you cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“Oh yeah? Someone should teach me some manners?” You laughed and the male nodded, his hands balled into tight fists as his sides. “And who’s gonna do that? You? Like to see you try, old man.” You laughed once more, it was a condescending and loud noise, and it only seemed to anger the male more. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Joel smirked, voice cold and smug. “You’d be purring in my lap in no time, little girl. I see the way you stare at me, or the way you were rubbin’ yourself on the saddle earlier. Pathetic little girl. Should be taught some manners on how to behave properly.”

You lurched at the male, unable to control your anger anymore and you landed a loud slap to his face. 

“You’re such a cunt!” You cursed loudly, shoving past the male. 

He caught your wrist once more in a tight grip and pulled you back until you were stood in front of him again. 

“You’re only angry because I’ve called you out.” He said calmly, his voice still oozing with condescension. 

You opened your mouth to argue, to protest what he was saying but you didn’t have the chance because just as quick as you went to argue, his lips were pressing to yours in a hot and angry kiss. Joel weaved a hand around your throat and gently squeezed it as he kissed you. Your hands pawed at him eagerly, trying to strip any layers of clothing off of him as quick as you could. 

He bit at your bottom lip roughly and you whimpered, almost immediately folding for him. The kiss was filled with all the pining that had surrounded you both for months, even when both of you never realised it; it was angry, hot and full of clashing teeth. It summed the two of you up completely. Still, even now, you were both fighting for dominance to command the exchange. 

“Get on your fuckin’ knees.” Joel whispered against your lips, his hand still wrapped around your throat. 

You wanted to protest and tell him to fuck off, you wanted to snipe back and tell him to do the same but the words weren’t forming and they soon died in your mouth; instead, you were sinking to your knees to obediently look up at the male. Slowly, he released the hand from around your throat and smirked down at you. 

“Well,” he said, raising a brow at you. “You know what to do from here, so fucking do it.” 

You looked at him with narrowed eyes and you opened your mouth to speak, before a sound could even leave he shot you another look, one that warned you to do other wise and you simply shut up. 

You roughly undid his worn trousers, your fingers were trembling slightly and you just prayed that the man above you didn’t notice; you knew you would never live it down. You pulled down the old fabric of his pants and didn’t hesitate to the same with his boxers. His cock sprung upwards, it was hard already and your eyes drank in the curve of his shaft and the way his tip was already leaking a small bead of precum.

You looked up at him with a smirk, it was a smug move and you knew it, clearly he was far more turned on then he cared to admit and that made you feel proud. 

“Whatcha waiting for, princess? Need me to spell it out for you?” He asked, holding your chin roughly to maintain eye contact. “Hm? Need me to spell out for you what it is that you need to be doing now? Poor little baby. I’ve heard some good things about this mouth now why don’t you put it to good use for once, rather than your incessant bitchin’.” Joel growled. 

“Fuck you. Prick.” You argued weakly before obliging. 

Joel still held your chin as he directed your mouth onto his large cock, you opened your mouth wide and slightly stuck out your tongue so his member could slide into the warm crevice with ease. You slowly started to bob your head up and down onto his cock and the male removed the grip from your chin, instead, he wove his thick fingers into your hair; he held on by the roots and tugged roughly to move your head. 

“Fuck.” He groaned deeply, his voice sounding, somehow, even gruffer than normal. “That’s it, good girl. Take my cock, I know you can do better than that.”

You couldn’t deny that the way Joel spoke to you drove your crazier than it should have. Your core throbbed at the thought of having the male inside of you and it drove you to bob your head quicker onto his length, eager to earn more praise from him. 

“Come on, that’s pathetic, little girl. I know you can do better than that.” He pushed your head down harder causing you to gag around him. Spit collected at the corners of your mouth and started to dribble down your chin has Joel controlled the speed of which your head was moving. “That’s it, god, fuck, wish you could see how pathetic you look right now. Spit dribbling down your chin as you take my cock like a good girl.”

You moaned around the male and fluttered your eyes shut as you concentrated on not choking on your own spit as Joel drove his cock roughly into your mouth until the head was hitting the back of your throat. 

Joel roughly pulled your hair until your mouth popped off him, a long string of spittle connected you to his length and he simply looked down at you and barked out a laugh. 

“Look at you,” he laughed again and your stomach bubbled with arousal and anger. “Finally being a good girl and listening to me. Maybe that’s what you need all along, isn’t it? Needed to taste my cock and find out what you’d been missing.”

“Asshole.” You hissed after sucking in a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. 

“Hmm? Guess I haven’t managed to teach you any manners just yet, that’s alright baby, they’ll come when you do.” He smirked, taking your throat once more in his hands and pulling you up. 

Your jaw tensed as you ground your teeth together.

“You seem angry, princess. Tell me, what’s up?” He cooed, stroking your bottom lip with his thumb.

“You’re such a prick, thinking you know everything all the fuckin’ time, well you don’t. Just ‘cause I sucked your cock doesn’t mean you’re in charge.” You muttered. 

“Oh? It doesn’t? So I’m not in charge? So, if I said, oh I dunno… If you behave and do as you’re told, I’ll let you cum as many times as you want but if you don’t well then… No orgasms for you, princess.” He chuckled, slowly trailing his hand down your arm and across your clothed breasts before he stroked the front of your damp panties. “Your move, baby girl.”

You shivered at his touches, his fingers ghosted over your panties and it took everything within yourself to not grab his hand and just rub up against it like a dog in heat. 

“Fuck.” You whispered, closing your eyes in despair. “Fine. Fuck.” You whimpered as Joel passed his fingers over your clothed heat again. “Fine! You’re in charge. Fine. Happy?” You yelled in defeat.

Joel laughed and kicked his boots off to the side so his trousers could follow suit. He peeled his jacket off before removing his old t-shirt, there he was, stood before you and completely naked. 

Your eyes roamed the expanse of his naked skin and appreciated every inch; for his age, he was fit and not in a sickly way. He was slim but broad in his shoulders, his arms were thick from handling guns and weapons during fights and his cock, you didn’t want to admit it but you needed more of it. 

“Take off your clothes and lay on the bed for me, spread your legs and show me that little cunt of yours.” He whispered in your ear before nudging you in that direction. 

You nodded albeit a little dumbly and did as your were told; you removed your ripped T-shirt from over your head and pulled off the old sports bra that contained your breasts, they fell from the fabric and Joel bit back a groan as he took in your body. You stepped out of your panties, and tossed them to the side, a thick damp strip staining the gusset of them. 

Joel’s hand pumped his cock slowly as he looked at you, his thumb rubbed the precum over his length and he hissed softly at the sensation. Your eyes were fixed on his as you slowly sank onto the bed, the tired springs beneath you creaked softly and you sat back, with your legs spread wide for the male. He could see your arousal from where he was stood, could see your sticky wetness that coated your slit already. 

“Touch yourself.” He commanded and you shook your head, your cheeks flushed in minor embarrassment. “Hm? I don’t recall asking. Fuckin’ touch yourself and show me, show me how you make yourself cum when no one is around.”

Your hands stroked over your breasts, your fingers toyed with your nipples and you whimpered as you gently pinched the buds. You allowed one of your hands to travel lower and finally, dip between your wet folds. You gently sunk a finger into your wet heat and moaned, your head fell back as you pumped your finger slowly inside of yourself. After a few seconds, you added another finger and you whined at the feeling of your walls stretching around your own digits. Your head was still lulled back and soft moans fell from your parted lips, Joel stood above you and pumped his cock as he watched on. 

“Look at me, I wanna see that pretty little face of yours as you fuck yourself for me.” He groaned. 

You lifted your head and almost instantly your eyes met, you were both fixated on one another’s gaze and it made something deep in your stomach twist and bubble. You knew you were close and you sped your fingers up to draw your orgasm closer. 

“Gonna cum.” You whispered, your breaths coming out in short and ragged spurts. 

“Ask me.” Joel shot back, speeding his hand up. “Ask for my permission like the good little girl I know you can be.”

“Fuck. Can I — can I cum?” 

“Can you cum… what?” He asked. 

“Please. Please can I cum. Please, Joel. Fuck. Need it so bad, please.” You whimpered pathetically, your hand working hard. 

“Mhm, good girl. That’s it. Fuckin’ look at me as you cum, that’s it. I wanna see your face when you cum. Good fuckin’ girl.” He cursed. 

Joel’s praises were all you needed to nudge you over the edge and tumble deep into your intense orgasm, your toes curled and thighs shook as you kept your direct eye contact with the male. Explicit curses fell from your lips like flowing stream and you shook heavily as you slowly started to come down. 

“Let me taste you.” Joel whispered, dropping to his knees and pulling you closer, he was careful to avoid your bandaged wound as he did so. 

He pulled your fingers from your wet heat and sucked them clean, groaning as he tasted your arousal for the first time. 

“So sweet. Tastes so sweet. All for me now, hm?” He asked and you replied silently with a nod of your head. 

Joel ducked his head down and without a second’s hesitation, he sucked your swollen clit into his mouth; his tongue lapped at the bud roughly and you all but screamed at him. It was intense, your hand flew to his head to grip harshly at his greying hair and it only caused the male to suckle at your bud harder. 

“Fuck. Shit. Fucking Christ, Joel.” You whimpered, your thighs trembling as he forced them open. 

“That’s it baby, cum for me. Cum with my mouth on your pretty clit.” 

You barely had a second to recover from your orgasm, you barely even came down from it and here Joel was, ripping another out of you almost instantly. If it didn’t feel so good, you would have shot him a snarky comment about it. 

Your fingers were shaking as they held onto Joel and your hips ground down to meet the males face harder as he elicited your second orgasm from you. Your hole clenched around air and you whimpered at the feeling of being so empty when all you wanted was to feel Joel’s cock inside of you. 

He flicked his tongue over your bud once more for good measure as you rode out your orgasm. Your stomach was heaving with the deep breaths you tried to suck in, your legs were shaking and you weren’t sure if you would be able to handle Joel fucking you. 

“On your knees, ass up and silence from you, I don’t wanna hear you arguing with me.” Joel muttered before he gently spanked your exposed pussy. 

You made a small noise, the slap sending ripples through your body. You nodded and scrambled on your shaking legs to get yourself into the position. 

Joel roughly manhandled your ass, he groped at the flesh roughly and spread you before he landed his hand down onto the smooth skin in a bruising spank. You let out of a yelp and tried to scarper away from his hands but instead he brought you back roughly and spanked you again but this time you let out a small moan. 

Satisfied with the response, Joel took his length and gently pressed the tip of his cock to your eager, wet hole. 

You whimpered and gently pushed your hips backwards, trying to encourage the man to hurry up but it only caused him to withdraw more and tut from behind you. You whined and shoved your face into your arms which were resting on the old mattress. 

“Tell me how badly you want it, princess. Tell me how bad you’ve wanted my cock all day.” He groaned, rubbing his fat cock head along your slit, letting it nudge at your clit with every pass. 

“Fuck you.” You spat out, not wanting to appease the male further. 

“I will if you just tell me, come on, sweetheart. Look at you, your needy hole is all but begging for me. I know you want it, so why don’t you be a good little girl and tell me how badly. Come on.” He cooed. 

You groaned and hid your face further into the crook of your arm, no one, not ever, had spoken to you like that during sex or sexual acts and you didn’t want to admit how much it was turning you on. You felt embarrassed at being so exposed to the male behind you and you felt your cheeks burning under his watchful gaze. 

“Fuck, Joel. Please.” You whined. 

“Please what? Hm? What d’ya want baby? Hm?”

“Joel, I’m not playing. Please. Please fuck me, I’ve wanted it so bad all day, c-couldn’t help but stare at your bulge earlier and imagine what it would feel like in me. Been soaked all day, was gonna wait until you were sleeping so I could rub my pussy and think about it. P-please.” You all but sobbed out, your voice sounded foreign as the words tumbled carelessly from your own lips. “I’m not even joking, if you tease me any more I’ll cum without either of us touching me and that’s just embarrassing for everyone. Please fuck me already, wanna feel your cum dripping out of my hole. Want you to fuck a baby into me.” The last sentence fell from your lips and you immediately wanted to withdraw. “I-I mean, I just. Fuck. Sorry. I’m just really turned on and I didn’t mean—.”

Joel didn’t give any more warning, he bottomed out into you with a deep groan and your fingers gripped at the sorry sheets beneath you both. 

“Fuckin’ hell, princess. So tight for me. You want me to fill you up with my seed? Hmm? Wanna see if I can get you pregnant, huh? Bet you’d like that, filthy little slut.” Joel snarled, his hips pushing against your ass hard enough to leave marks. 

He was relentless with his pace, his thick cock drilled in and out of your tight hole and you felt drunk, felt drunk on the high of your previous orgasms and felt drunk on the older male’s cock. 

You couldn’t help but squirm under Joel, his strong hands held you in place to ensure you didn’t move too much. 

“C’mon baby girl, quit your squirmin’ for me… gotta keep nice and still whilst I fuck my cum into you. Gotta make sure it gets nice and deep.” He groaned. 

You clenched around the male as he spoke, his words causing your walls to flutter around him and you moaned softly, your head still buried deep into your own arm. Your fingers were still gripping at the sheets for dear life as Joel fucked into you, his own fingers gripped roughly at the soft flesh of your hips. 

“J-Joel…” you whimpered weakly. “Please can I cum again? P-please.”

Joel smiled from behind you and released on of his hands so he could intertwine it into your messy hair; he pressed your face into the mattress below you and rolled his hips rhythmically. You whimpered under the pressure of the man and felt yourself fluttering around him, knowing that another orgasm was impending imminently. 

“Mhm, wanna feel your pretty little pussy cum on my cock. That’s it, atta girl. Such a good little whore for me, aren’t you? Taking me so well. Mmm, so proud of you, good baby.” He cooed, pulling his cock out to rub up against your clit. 

Your legs shook once more, the new sensation against your swollen clit driving you mad. He took his cock and roughly pressed it back into your wet heat and you groaned under him. You slid a hand under your bodies so your fingers could rub eagerly at your own clit, Joel noticed it and pressed your face hard into the rough fabric underneath you. 

Your fingers circled your clit and within seconds you were falling apart at the seams, you came around the male and your walls sucked him in deeper as you did so. 

His name fell from your lips like a spoken curse as you fell apart, your weak body collapsed as your orgasm ripped every shroud of energy you had left in you. Joel didn’t seem to mind, he more felt a sense of pride that he had this effect on you. 

He took both of your hips into his hands once more and sped his hips up, hungrily chasing his own high. 

“Such a good little pet for me, so beautiful when you’re fucked out. So obedient for me. Fuck. So good. Should fuck my seed into you so we can see you get all full and round, let everyone know in Jackson who you belong to. Eh? You like that?” Joel mumbled, his words barely stringing a sentence together between his ragged breaths. 

You nodded under the male eagerly and moaned weakly. Joel chuckled as he looked at your spent face and you clenched around him once again, that was all he needed and he was tumbling into his own orgasm. Joel bottomed himself out and held himself there, anchoring himself to you by your hips as you felt the first hot spurts of his cum coat your insides. You whined at the sensation of being so full of the male. 

“Fuck…” you whispered. 

Joel laughed gruffly as he collapsed on top of you, he barely held his weight up as he tried to suck down some deep breaths. After a few seconds, Joel finally built up the courage to collapse onto the sorry mattress next to you. The springs creaked loudly as he did so and you rolled onto your back with a wince, you knew you would be sore tomorrow for more than one reason. 

“Fuck!” You repeated, your mind slowly coming to terms with what just happened. 

“Not so cocky anymore, are you?” Joel laughed, leaning up on his elbows to peer down at you. 

“And yet, you’re still an asshole? Unbelievable.” You scoffed with a roll of your eyes. 

“I prefer the term, consistent, darlin’.” He shot back, smugly before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. 

Joel got off the bed with a groan and quickly threw his clothes back on. 

“Take the first sleep, I’ll keep watch. Tomorrow we’ll go find those fuckers from today and make sure they don’t get anywhere near you again.” Joel said, softer this time. 

“You take the first sleep, y’always fall asleep on watch anyway. Old man. Can’t imagine how tired you are after fuckin’ that hard.” You teased back. 

“For once, just for once could you just listen to me and do as I say?” Joel huffed. 

“I just did… dunno if you remember? Your cock was inside of me? Pretty good. That’s all you’re gettin’ from me.” 

“Only pretty good? Huh…” Joel mumbled as he watched you dress yourself. “Guess I should give it another go and see if I can improve my score… and your manners since you seem to have forgotten them real quick.”

“Guess you should.” You replied quickly with a smirk. 

“Such a bitch.” Joel shook his head with a fond smile this time and quickly closed the distance between you both again. 

“Such an asshole.” You laughed and latched your lips onto his with a grin spread across your features. 

Maybe working with the older Miller again wouldn’t be the worse thing in the world, not anymore, anyway. 

——————————————————

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[javiscigarette]

Old Dog, New Tricks

Sub!Joel Miller x f!Reader (no outbreak)

Request:

i have a little idea for story what if their role is reversed? I mean in all your story Joel is always dom, sooo maybe can you make reader dom and sub Joel?

Word Count: 7.0k omfgg

Warnings: Smut! NSFW 18+ no use of Y/N, this is 100% filth. no plot to be found. established relationship, sub!Joel (!!!) but still dom!Joel, subspace (reader not Joel lol), masturbation, making him beg for it, etc, etc. Look guys it's PWP idk what you want me to say

A/N: I started this fully intending for it to be a like less than 1k words and this is how it ended. There's not even a plot I have no idea what happened.

Joel doesn’t greet you when you enter the house. You call out his name, but there’s no response. 

While you set your stuff down on the kitchen table, you hear the sound of the shower running upstairs in your shared bathroom. Fully intending just to let him know you’re home early from work, you head up the stairs.

 You stroll down the hall just wondering what you’re gonna have for dinner tonight. You turn the corner and walk into the bedroom and you stop dead in your tracks. 

Joel had left the door cracked and the faint sound of muffled moans floated through the open door. Your heart immediately starts hammering in your chest, your core automatically tingling with excitement.

 You listen carefully to his soft moans and the groans and occasionally hear the slick sound of his hand pumping himself. The sounds send small jolts of electricity down your spine before turning into tingling heat in your lower abdomen. 

You debate whether or not to go in for a few moments but your feet carry you inside regardless once you hear the sound of his particularly loud choked out moan. Moving quietly, you slowly push the bathroom door open just enough to slip through. The room is steamy from the hot water, the smell of his body wash heavy in the air. 

He can’t see you through the shower curtain and of course he didn’t hear you come in, that man is as deaf as doornail. So you take a few seconds, a smirk slowly spreading across your face as you listen to the lewd sounds of his hand moving up and down his length as he tries to swallow his moans. You let him have his fun for just a few more seconds before you interrupt. 

“Joel?” you call out innocently. 

“Shit” Joel shouts. There’s the sound of a bottle falling with a thump against the tub and you have to suppress a giggle as you imagine what’s happening on the other side of the curtain. 

“Baby! You’re home early! I’ll be out in just a few minutes” Joel calls out much louder than necessary and you can hear the strain in his voice. 

You don’t say anything as you cross the room to the shower and pull back the curtain halfway. Joel jumps in surprise and quickly moves the hand he had wrapped around his cock and hides it behind his back like he just got caught stealing from the cookie jar. 

“Well don’t stop on my account” you taunt. 

Joel blinks at you, his big brown eyes working in tandem with his raised eyebrows to give you the sweetest puppy dog eyes. And you almost fall for it. How could you not with his body on full display for you like this? With his hair slicked back from the water, his chest flushed with red from the warm water and the orgasm he probably was less than a minute away from before you stopped him. He didn’t bother to even try to conceal himself, his thick cock, wet and shiny from the water bobbing in the air, his tip angry red. Your mouth is watering at the sight and you’re just barely strong enough to stop yourself from climbing in the tub and immediately take him in your mouth. 

“I didn’t know you’d be home early, sweetheart,” Joel says a bit breathless, his chest still heaving up and down with each deep breath. 

“I tried calling you” you reply plainly. “Now I see what you were so busy with”  

Joel laughs breathlessly as he still tries to process what’s going on. 

“Were you feeling needy, baby?” you ask him, tilting your head to the side. “Couldn’t wait for me to get home?” 

“I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day” Joel says quietly. It’s true, he had today off but you still had to go in and he just spent the whole day waiting for you to come back. 

“Get in here, angel. Lemme show you how much I missed you.” 

You hum, unsatisfied with the proposition. And there must be something in the air or the stars just aligned perfectly or something that explains the flip that just switched inside of you. You just know that finding him like this, catching him red handed gave you the chance to take the upperhand. 

And you fucking run with it. 

“I don’t think so, baby” you say calmly. “I think I’d rather watch you touch yourself. Want to see you make yourself cum.” 

The smug look on Joel’s face is instantly replaced with his jaw dropping in shock. He laughs out loud at the ridiculous idea but it dies in his throat when you just stare back at him, dead serious.

“C’mon now,” Joel starts trying to bargain. “I’ll give it to you good, baby. Slow and deep, just how you like it.”

Your cunt clenches pathetically around nothing and you can feel your slick starting to leak out onto the cotton of your underwear. But you don’t back down, not with this rare chance to reverse the roles right now. 

“Do it, Joel. Or I won’t let you touch me for at least the next 24 hours”

Joel groans at that, an image from a couple weeks ago flashing in his head.You were sick of reminding him to pick his laundry up from the bathroom floor so you didn’t let him touch you at all until he had finished washing and folding all of his laundry. Joel respects your boundaries to the end and if you tell him not to touch you, he won’t. Even when he knows you’re doing it just to torture him. And you don’t make it any easier, walking around the house in his oversized t-shirts with no underwear or sprawling out in the middle of the bed and lazily touching yourself while all he can do is just gawk at you. 

He now stares at you dumbfounded while he decides what to do. He could probably climb out of the shower and wrap this hand around your throat instead, knowing you’d easily melt under his touch and forget about everything you said. But there’s no fun in that. 

“Okay, okay” Joel sighs. 

You stand there motionless and watch as he brings his hand up and wraps his fingers around his still fully hard cock. He twitches in his hand and inhales sharply at the sensation. 

A hot wave of arousal washes over you from the top of your scalp and trickling down to your toes. 

He starts to slowly work his hand up and down his length, his eyes never leaving yours. You try to stare right back and not at the rivulets of water running down his golden, freckled skin, skating down the outlines of the muscles in his arms and his shoulders.

 It would be no surprise if you looked down to find yourself soaking through your shorts. 

“D-does that feel good, baby?” you ask, a tremble breaking through at the beginning but you quickly recover. His mouth hangs open slightly and the corner of his mouth lifts up into a lopsided smirk. He definitely heard the tremble. 

“Would feel better if it was you” Joel pants, a poorly disguised attempt to get you to come join him. 

But you’re not the one on the edge of release. You can play with him a bit. 

“I bet it would. Now go faster, I don’t have all day” you say nonchalantly.

Joel sees the mischievous glint in your eye as soon as the idea pops into your head. He watches you with a bated breath, the nerves under his skin tingling with excitement. 

With your eyes glued to his, you reach for the hen of your tank top and slowly pull it up. Joel sighs heavily at the sight of the smooth skin of your stomach. It’s just the bare skin of your stomach and yet his tip pulses out a few beads of precum. 

You observe every minute movement that comes from him, your core throbbing when he bucks his hips forward into his fist and bites back a moan. He was already close when you interrupted and here’s nearly there now that you’re standing in front of him. 

“Angel,” Joel pants, looking over at you with pleading eyes letting you know he’s close. 

“Stop.”

Joel inhales through his clenched teeth and for a second you can’t tell if he’s going to listen to you or not, but he eventually takes his hand off his cock, hissing quietly at the cool air biting at his skin. 

“Get out and dry off.  I’ll be waiting on the bed” 

——

As soon as you step out of the bathroom, you slip out of the tank top you’re wearing and pull off your shorts and underwear off your legs. You practically run to the bed, hopping on the mattress and sprawling out in the middle of the bed.  

Joel walks out of the bathroom no more than 3 minutes later to find you naked, sprawled out in the middle of your shared bed with two fingers buried in cunt. 

“S’only fair” you giggle between soft moans when he appears in the doorway of the bedroom. 

He doesn’t say anything as he crosses the room until he’s standing at the side of the bed. You stare at each other, both of your hearts racing in anticipation about the other’s next move. 

“You can look, but no touching.” 

Joel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, the tendons in his neck visibly flexing underneath his skin. You’re still expecting him to stop all of this and put you in your place. But he doesn’t. He tries to keep it cool on the outside. It’s very rare that you’re in control - you both love when Joel bosses you around and fucks you so hard until you can barely breathe. but seeing you like this, trying to control the situation is incredibly sexy and his cock already painfully hard. 

“Okay, baby” Joel sighs before moving to slip into the bed. You pause your movements and lean forward allowing him to slip in behind you until he’s sandwiched between the headboard and your back. He stretches his legs on the outside of yours, his strong thighs encasing yours. Keeping his touch innocent, he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tight while still giving you enough room to keep going.

He scatters gentle kisses on your shoulder blade and the back of your neck, smiling against you when goosebumps prick up on your skin.You automatically lean back against him, enjoying the feeling of his big, heavy arms holding while he trails soft kisses all over your exposed skin. You can feel the heat radiating off of him too, his skin still warm from his shower. You feel his cock too, hard, heavy, and hot, pressing against your lower back. 

 All the other times that he’s been in this position with you it’s been his fingers knuckle deep inside of you while you squirm in his lap. And normally he’d be whispering filthy words in your ear that push you closer and closer to release. 

But he wants to let you have this, he rarely sees you this assertive in the bedroom and he can’t deny that it’s turning him the fuck on right now. Refraining from using any direct instructions, Joel hooks his chin over your shoulder so he can get a good look and innocently asks “Are you gonna keep going?” 

“Don’t rush me” you huff at his words, suddenly remembering your hand between your legs. “I’m the one in charge.” You try to sound calm and collected, but the desperation still clings to your every syllable. 

“I know, angel. I just wanna see you take the lead and boss me around like a good girl” Joel whispers against your neck. You swallow a small whine at his words that serve as a subtle reminder that he always has the upperhand, even when he lets you call the shots.

Unable to wait any longer, you slowly start rubbing your swollen clit with the pads of two fingers. Joel hums in delight.  With his face so close to yours, he can clearly hear all your little noises clear as day, the sweet sound of your quiet moans floating in his ear and traveling like a lit fuse down his spine. 

You gradually build up speed, the tight circles over your throbbing clit getting faster and faster. The sensation causes you to involuntarily roll your hips. Joel hisses quietly when you move and his cock twitches against your lower back at the slight friction,precum leaking from his tip and smearing against your soft skin. 

He watches you carefully as you slide your fingers down from your clit to your leaking hole. You gather your slick on your middle and forefinger before slowly pushing your fingers into your pulsing, wet heat.  A raspy moan bubbles up from his chest while your head falls backwards to rest on his shoulder while you slowly finger yourself.

He nudges his nose against your neck and hums as he lightly nips and sucks at the sensitive skin. A shiver courses down his spine and fog rolls over his head as he inhales the scent of your perfume, the one he picked out for you, and tastes your skin under his tongue. 

“Can hear it” Joel mumbles, his beard scratching lightly against your cheek as he talks. “Can hear how wet you are, angel.” 

He’s not exaggerating. The slick sounds of you pumping your fingers in and out of your dripping hole are easy to hear in the otherwise quiet room. 

Quickly growing impatient, you push your fingers as far as they’ll go and curl them upwards. You let out a loud moan as your fingers press into your g-spot. Joel makes a nearly identical sound when you reflexively roll your hips again, trying to deepen the sensation. 

It feels good, good enough to pull a continuous string of quiet and desperate mewls out of you, but it’s not enough. You can’t touch yourself the way Joel touches you, can’t reach all the right places that he can, can’t make yourself shake like he can. There’s denying that. And Joel knows it too. 

“S’not enough is it, angel?” Joel whispers, suppressing another moan in his throat when you rock your hips again. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you? Stuff you full of my cock, huh?” 

You groan in frustration and Joel is lucky that you can’t see the smirk that creeps up on his face. You’re determined to stay strong and in control. Joel is right though. Your whole body is burning with the need to be touched properly, to be full to the brim with his thick cock. 

“Just give it up, baby. I’ll make you feel so good, you know I will” Joel murmurs into your neck as he tightens his arms around your waist even more. He doesn’t even want you to give up, but he knows his taunting will spur you on. 

Just as he expected, his suggestion ignites a fire in you, a fire reminding you that you’re supposed to be in control right now, not him. 

You reluctantly stop your fingers and pull your hand away before moving to sit up. Joel easily lets you out of his grip, his arms falling heavily to his sides. He watches you as you sit up on your knees and turn around to face him. You place one knee on either side of his hips effectively straddling him with your bare cunt inches away from his crotch. 

He’s quick to notice how you’re holding your hand up off to your side, your fingers wet and shiny with your arousal. His mouth waters at the sight of your wet fingers, his entire body burning with desire to taste you and touch you and make you cum.

And He’s not shy about it, not at all. You smirk as you look at him staring at your fingers, his jaw slack and his eyes dark and wide. The ball is back in your court. 

“You wanna taste, baby?” you taunt while bringing your hand closer to his face stopping when your fingers are inches from his lips. 

His eyes flit between yours and your fingers, your scent filling his head with fuzz. Without answering, he leans forward in an attempt to take your fingers in his mouth. But you fully anticipated him trying to do that and you're faster to move your hand out of reach. 

“Nuh-uh, baby. Use your words. Tell me what you want” you tease, using his own words, the exact phrases that he loves to tease you with, against him. 

He sits back and looks up at you through his eyelashes with his big doe eyes and for the first time tonight you can see his resolve starting to crumble. 

“Let me taste you, angel.” Joel tries. He starts to move his hand to your thigh but the glare you give him stops him in his tracks. 

“Stop telling me what to do” you say. Your own confidence sends a rush down your spine. In any other situation, you know he’d flip you over and spank you until your ass is bright red for talking to him like that. Joel huffs and his jaw clicks faintly as he grinds his teeth together. You can see him internally debating his next move, the power struggle clear in his eyes. 

Unbearably turned on right now and with nothing to lose, he gives in. 

“Please let me taste you, baby. I’ve been thinking about it all fuckin’ day, need to taste how needy your little pussy is for me” Joel begs with a hint of a whine. He bats his eyelashes at you for comedic effect as if to say I’m only doing this for you. 

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the grin that tugs on the corners of your mouth. 

Either way, it’s enough for you so you bring your fingers back to his lips. Too impatient to wait any longer, he leans forward to meet your hand in the middle, his lips wrapping tightly around his two fingers while his hand comes up to hold your wrist in place. 

Your core throbs when his eyes flutter shut and drops his head back against the head. He has a death grip on your wrist and his tongue is warm and wet as he eagerly licks your fingers clean. 

To say Joel loves the way you taste would be a severe understatement. He craves it. He’ll spend hours between your legs, drunk on your taste as he lazily licks and slurps you down, giving your orgasm after orgasm until you’re begging for him to stop. And even at that point, he still manages to pull one or two more out of you whispering “just one more, cum on my tongue just one more time for me, angel.” 

Joel opens his eyes when he suddenly feels a drop of warm liquid on the underside of his cock. He pulls your fingers out of his mouth with a soft pop and lets go of your wrist. He looks down to where you’re hovering over him and his self-control flies right out the window. 

“Oh fuck, angel” Joel moans, looking down at where you’re hovering inches above him. You’re so turned on right now that you’re dripping onto him, a thin stand of clear fluid connecting your weeping cunt to his aching cock. Joel has never needed anything more than to bury himself deep inside of you right fucking now. 

You look down too and hot liquid pools in your tummy. From day one, Joel has made your body do all sorts of new things you never knew you could do since you’ve known him. In fact, the first time you slept with him, he had you squirting, for the first time in your life, all over his fingers and his t-shirt that he hadn’t even had the chance to take off yet in less than 5 minutes. 

But this has never happened and Joel is ecstatic. 

He looks back at you then quickly grabs your hips and tries to bring you down into his lap, but you’re quick to tense your muscles and resist his pull. And Joel, so turned on right now and needy for you, doesn’t even bother suppressing his deep, throaty whine, the sound going straight to your core.

At this point, you need him so badly that you’re nearly dizzy with it. You’re not sure how either of you have held out for so long and you’re determined to see how long it lasts. 

With a devilish glint in your eye, you look back at him and give him a wicked smirk. 

“Beg for it.” 

And he does because at the end of the day, he’s going to give you anything you want. Absolutely anything. 

“Baby, please let me fill up that sweet cunt, I’ll be good just– please give it to me, I need it so bad, angel” Joel groans, not caring one bit about how needy he sounds. 

It makes you whimper, the sound of his begging, his voice whiny and strained as he pleads for your pussy. With no delay, you reach down and behind you. Joel grunts loudly at the feeling of your soft hand, fingers wet with his spit, wrapping around the base of his cock and holding him in place. It’s the first real touch you’ve given him all day. 

You lower yourself slowly, the two of you moaning in unison when his tip catches on the rim of your leaking hole.

“Stay still for me” you command, already sounding out of breath. 

A strained sound comes from Joel as he watches you start to slowly sink down, the thick of his head pushing into your burning hot, dripping wet heat. Joel is a hot mess underneath you. His chest is burning red, the color rising up to his neck and face as he holds his breath. You can feel fingertips digging into the skin of your hips, his grip so tight that you can see the veins in his neck and arms start to bulge out against his skin. His eyes are screwed shut and his jaw is clenched, a visible display of the amount of self-restraint it’s taking him to not rock his hips up and slam his cock the rest of the inside of you. But you take your time, relishing in the feeling of his thick cock sliding deeper and deeper, pulsing and twitching against your walls as he makes room for himself inside of you. 

“Good boy” you praise with a breathless whisper. You immediately feel his fingers dig even further into your hips as he lurches inside of you, your praise going straight to his cock. 

You keep his reaction tucked away to use again later. 

You sink down some more and get just a little over halfway before you have to take a break. You feel impossibly full, his cock already so deep inside you that you can feel him in your stomach and your walls tingling as they stretch to accommodate him. It doesn't necessarily hurt and you’re much wetter than necessary, but  you didn’t properly prepare yourself and the feeling of being so full already is overwhelming nonetheless. 

Joel sees you wince slightly and immediately asks “You okay, baby?” with his eyebrows drawn together in concern. You nod vigorously and take a deep breath before you start to move again, your walls fluttering around him as you take the rest of him. The sound of your combined low moans fill the otherwise quiet room when you finally sink down the rest of the way, seated on his hips with his cock fully sheathed inside of you. 

He’s so deep inside you, that you can barely breathe. Still, you give an experimental rock, gasping when you move forwards, his tip kissing your cervix and moaning when you push your hips backward, feeling him curve perfectly against your g-spot. 

“Jesus fuckin’ christ” Joel groans, his face twisted like he’s in physical pain. 

You whine in response, a needy “Joel”  tumbling past your lips when he shifts slightly, sliding his cock just a centimeter further inside of you, getting so deep that can almost feel him in your throat. 

“M’right here, angel” Joel whispers as he starts smoothing his palms over your hips and thighs. “It’s a lot, isn’t it? Didn’t let me stretch you out properly on my fingers first, did you?”

You drop your gaze to the bed with a whine and shake your head. Joel sees you starting to lean into submission. You both knew that you’d give in as soon as he was inside you, but he’s not done yet. 

“Do you want to stop?” Joel asks, fully prepared to stop and take care of you if you said yes. But he knows you won’t. He smirks when you whip your head back up and look at him with wide eyes, panic evident on your face. 

“N-no” you whine. You start to rock your hips faster, proving to him that you can handle it. 

Joel groans when you start moving on top of him. His head falls backwards against the headboard, exposing his throat, the delicate skin damp with sweat. 

“Atta girl” Joel sighs, his hands rounding your hips and reaching behind you to palm at your ass. “You love it when I fill up and stretch your little pussy like this, don’t you, baby? Like feelin’ how big I am inside you?” 

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you moan at his words. 

“Yes, sir. You’re so fucking big” you whine and Joel grins at how you automatically slip in the honorific. 

“Yeah, I know you do,” Joel says as he swats lightly at your ass. He doesn’t move otherwise, just sits there and lets you try to finish what you started. “Take what you need, babygirl. Get yourself off with my cock.” 

“My cock” you huff as you slowly press into your knees and lift your hips up about halfway up his length before slowly sliding back down, sighing when he’s fully inside again. Joel tosses his head back against the headboard again, fully believing that you’re actively trying to torture him. 

“S’right, angel. It’s all yours” Joel confirms with a strained grunt. All of me. All for you” 

His words make you whimper again, high-pitched and needy. Your brain feels like it’s melting as you try to process this dynamic right now, how Joel is letting you do this and playing along and but still lacing his words and actions with his dominance. 

He watches you carefully, reading your facial expressions as you drag your hips up halfway again. This time though, you let yourself drop back down. You let out a garbled sound, something between a gasp and moan when Joel’s tip slams back deep inside of you, bolts of electricity radiating out from your core to every square inch of your body. Joel hisses a “shit” at the sudden pressure followed by the feeling of your walls squeezing him tight. When you recover, you start to gradually build your pace until you’re bouncing steadily on his cock. 

“That’s my good girl” Joel praises, his eyes glued to your breast bouncing inches in front of his face. 

He can’t help but lean forward and wrap his arms around your middle. He starts placing hot, wet kisses to the tops of your breasts, his warm breath fans over your sensitive skin as he groans quietly between each sloppy kiss. He stops occasionally to suck or nibble and scatters little red marks on your skin, claiming you as his and his only. 

Your hands fly up to his head when he wraps his lips around your nipple and rolls his tongue languidly around the hardened nub. Your fingers immediately tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging at the soft, fluffy lock. Joel growls against you as the sensation runs from his scalp down his spine and all the way down to his toes. 

He tightens his hold on you and pulls you even closer, nearly suffocating himself with his face smushed against your chest as he messily bites and sucks and licks all over. 

You try to hold out for longer, you really do. But your moan takes the shape of his name again when he rolls his hips up as you drop yours down, punching his tip right into your g-spot. 

Joel barely takes his mouth before he starts talking 

“Just tell me what to do, angel. Let me be good for you” he says, his voice low and gritty before sucking your nipple back into his mouth. 

“Be a good boy and pound me into this fucking mattress” you moan, placing the last shred of control you had back into his hands. 

Joel growls as he immediately flips the two of you over so that he’s leaning over you, his forearms on either side of your head. He looks at you and gives you a warm smile so big it crinkles the corners of his eyes. 

“You’re so pretty, angel.” Joel says softly, the hunger and arousal in his voice replaced with sweet tenderness. Your whole body flushes at the simple compliment, heat rising from your chest and creeping up your neck then settling on the apples of your cheeks. 

He ducks his head down to kiss you, gently molding his lips to yours as if he wasn’t inside of you five seconds ago. 

There’s the quick realization that you haven’t properly kissed him yet and suddenly the need to lick into his mouth and taste him settles heavy in your bones. Trying to deepen the kiss, you lift your head up and run your tongue over his lower lip but that’s all he lets you do before he pulls back. You whimper in frustration, your head dropping back onto the pillows. 

Joel whispers a sweet “I love you” before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. His words melt your heart in your chest until it’s just a puddle of burning in your chest. 

“I love you too, Joel” you whisper back, your voice cracking over the lump of emotions stuck in your throat. You just melt when he slows down for a minute and pushes his own needs and desires away, using any opportunity to just remind you of how much you mean to him. His affection always makes you feel warm and floaty and safe.

And he can’t stop himself from doing it. He’s so completely enamored with you, his sweet sweet girl that he just has to stop and appreciate you, especially when you’re about to let him fuck you stupid. 

“Roll over baby, put your cute little ass up in the air for me” Joel demands calmly, sitting back on his knees to give you enough room to move. 

Your thoughts are already slowing down like honey swirling around in your head so it takes a few extra seconds for you to process what he says. 

“You already feelin’ floaty, baby?” Joel asks with a slight laugh, watching you roll over at a leisurely pace with a lopsided grin on your face. “Thought you were the one in control.” 

“Still am,” you mumble unconvincingly as you press your cheek into the pillow and bend your knees underneath you until your ass is in the air on full display for him. Joel just chuckles quietly and stands on his knees between your legs.  

“Whatever you say, babydoll.” 

He grips your cheeks and spreads you open, groaning deep from his chest at the sight of your swollen pussy visibly clenching around nothing, your lips and the insides of your thighs shiny and wet. You whine at the cool air nipping at your burning heat, the sound morphing into a loud moan when he leans over and spits on your throbbing core. He watches intently as the warm liquid slides down your slit and mixes with the slick that’s already leaking out of you. He keeps one hand on you but wraps his other around himself and lines up with your hole. 

“M’gonna ruin this this little cunt, baby” is all the warning you get before he’s plowing back into you so hard that your vision blacks out for a second. 

You yelp in surprise before a long, continuous string of loud moans and whimpers starts pouring out of your mouth. He’s relentless with it, jackhammering into you with absolutely no mercy. This position gives him the best angle to pound into your favorite spot that turns you into an incoherent mess. So he adjusts his stance slightly and angles his hips until you cry out and flail underneath him letting him know he found it.

“There you go, angel” he sighs. “Fuck you take it so well, baby, like my cock was made for fuckin’ this pretty pussy.” 

 He keeps the same angle and slides a hand underneath you. He takes a few seconds to prod his fingertips around where he’s pounding into you just feeling how your tight light hole stretches every time he slams into you. “Love this perfect little pussy” Joel sighs as he presses two fingers against your swollen clit. “My perfect little pussy.” 

You sob at the pressure and Joel inhales sharply, his dick lurching inside of you when you clamp down on him. But he doesn’t let up, not one bit. He keeps pummeling into you as he quickly builds up speed with the circles he’s tracing over your clit. You can feel hot tears brimming in your eyes as he gives you everything you need. 

Pleasure wraps itself around the base of your spine and seeps into your veins, coursing through your entire body until every nerve is tingling and leaving you a quivering mess as you try to hold on for just a bit longer, wanting this feeling to last forever.  

“Don’t hold back, baby. I can feel your tight little cunt squeezing me” Joel pants, fully aware of how close you are.  “Give it to me, angel, I’ve got you. Just wanna feel fuckin’ soak my cock, baby.” 

You have no fight left in you so you let go. 

Joel watches in amazement as you start to shake uncontrollably underneath him. The tears start to run down your face as wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on top of you, flooding every single one of your senses. Your vision goes black as TV static roars in your ears and every nerve ending in your body feels raw and exposed. 

“Good girl, baby. Just like that. You feel so fuckin’ good, sweet girl” Joel moans as you fall apart on his cock and his eyes roll back in his head when he feels you gush around him. He fucks you through it, obviously. with your juices leaking down his cock and dripping down to his balls. He mutters “God fuckin’ damn” from somewhere behind you, the sensation sending tingles up and down his spine and igniting something deeply desperate inside of him. 

Meanwhile, you’re still shaking violently, your limbs jerking with random movement as the aftershocks steadily rock through you. The intense pleasure starts to fade as an even greater sense of relaxation starts to replace it. Joel is still pounding into you as he chases after his orgasm with no regard. Your head feels thick and stuffy like someone replaced your brain with cotton and it feels like your skin is on fire. Then your limbs start to feel heavy and tingly and you both know what’s about to happen. 

Aware that your hearing is starting to fade, Joel leans over you until his chest is pressed firmly against your back. 

“You still with me, angel?” Joel grunts near your ear, still refusing to let up on his pace, his hips snapping into yours relentlessly. 

You nod lazily, a big grin spreading across your face when you hear his voice in your ear. But he still sounds miles away and it’s getting harder and harder to focus on anything other than the electric shocks pulsing through your body as he pushes into your g-spot over and over again while the unyielding weight of deep relaxation pulls you under. 

“Good girl” Joel praises before placing a quick kiss on your jaw. If you’re still with him, he only has a few more seconds left before you drift somewhere else entirely. 

“Can I come, angel? Have I been good?” Joel asks. It’s quickly followed by a strained grunt when he feels you spasm around him. He’s making you stupid with his cock and yet he still finds it in him to play into your desires and beg for you again just because he knows how much you like it. And he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t like it too. 

“Tell me I can cum, baby. God I need it you drive me fucking crazy baby, please” Joel pants completely unable to mask his desperation anymore. He’s suddenly overwhelmed by the completely foreign sensation of physically wanting to be good for you, finally understanding the rationale behind your yearning for his constant praise.

You must already be gone, you think because there’s no way that Joel, your big, dominant man who would knock someone’s teeth out if they even looked at you wrong, is begging you to cum. You try to speak, but your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and all that comes out are breathy gasps each punctuated Joel’s hips slamming against your ass. 

Joel sees you struggling to talk and his cock throbs in response but he tries to hold off until you respond. 

“C’mon, angel” he grunts encouragingly. “I know you can do it. Tell me I can fill up your little pussy with my cum til it’s running down your fuckin’ legs” 

His words give you the push you need to move your lips again. You manage to get out a slurred “yessirplease” followed by a loud, unrestrained moan. Joel groans loudly and can’t help but smile at your response, answering his begging with your own begging and giving a perfect display of how much you needed each other. 

But the need to cum quickly pushes out all of his thoughts. With a heavy exhale through his nose, he shoves your hips down, presses both palms down on your lower back, pushing you down into the mattress. 

He keeps his eyes on you, completely focused on your face squished against the pillow and  the way your eyelashes are fluttering against your cheek that’s wet and shiny with tears as he continues to use you for his own pleasure while simultaneously taking you to the place only he can take you to. 

In his classic Joel manner, he brings two fingers to your mouth and gently slips them through your parted lips. He presses down on your tongue and even though you feel miles away from your body, you still reflexively close your mouth and suckle on his fingers. 

That does it for him. The way your hot, wet cunt is squeezing him so hard he can barely move combined with the feeling of your spit already leaking out of the corners of your mouth as you drool on his fingers is all he needs.

You whine through it all, not realizing what’s happening until his hips falter and still inside of you. He buries himself deep inside of you and cums with a loud, broken moan, filling you up with ropes and ropes of hot cum just like he promised. 

When he’s finished, stays inside and collapses on top of you, careful not to crush or scare you while you’re in this delicate headspace. 

With a deep sigh, he nudges his nose under your jaw to gently kiss your pulse point and he feels it hammering faintly against his lips.  He whispers words of sweet praise against the damp skin of your neck, gently roping you back in from where you went. 

You announce your reentry to the atmosphere with a loud sniffle and long and low pathetic whine of his name. 

“You’re okay, angel” Joel mumbles against your jaw before kissing your cheek. “I’ve got you, my sweet girl.” 

You’re still tingly and trembling as you return back to body and a wave of exhaustion hits you like a brick to the face. You hum softly as Joel rolls off of you and lies on his back before quickly pulling you into his side. 

He engulfs you in his arms, holding you as close as physically possible. His heart flutters in his chest when you snuggle your face against his chest, your cheek wet and feverishly warm. He brings a hand up to your head and gently pets your hair, patiently waiting for your breathing to return to normal. 

When you finally stop trembling, Joel sighs and whispers “I think I’m gonna start jerkin’ off in the shower more often.” It makes you laugh. The sound comes out as a sharp exhale through your nose and with that, Joel knows your back. 

“Can we order in tonight?” you ask, your voice quiet and weak. Joel chuckles, amused by the fact that he just fucked your brains out and the now the first thin on your mind is what’s for dinner. 

“Sure, angel. Picked up some ice cream for ya when I was at the store. It's waitin' for you in the freezer.” 

You beam into his chest, absolutely tickled pink at the seemingly small action. And just to add the cherry on top, you pick your head up to look at him before whispering “good boy.”

Thank you for reading and interacting!! I love you all so much hugs and smoochies for everyone 😚🫶🥰

[hugshughes]

Rose Bowl, Baby! J. McCarthy

JJ McCarthy x fem!reader

synopsis - JJ wins it all, and he has his girl right with him the whole time.

wc - 2k!

contains - THIS IS SOOOOOO CUTE AWWW, cursing, stressed!reader (ME TOO AS FUCK), fluff, kissinnnnnnn, hugginnnnn, cute shit, FUCK THE TIDE :D, um that's it! oh established relationship!

an - unedited lol sorry i just wrote this in like two hours! 😭JJ😭BABY😭WON😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I WAS SHOUTING AND SCREAMING AND I DANCED. especially because my mother, brother, and sister were all pulling for Bama to make me mad. LAUGHED IN THEIR FACES LMAOOOOO. i was on facetime with my man for like half the game since i am a umich student... WAIT DO U GUYS KNOW THAT....? i dont think ive told u guys that... SURPRISE!!!!!! anyway no one reads these anyway so. ENJOYYYYYYYYYYY :)))))))!

-

One minute and thirty eight seconds. One minute and thirty eight seconds, that's how long JJ and the Wolverine's offense had to score a touchdown. 2nd & Goal, four yards to go. You held JJ's mom's hand as you took deep breaths, desperately trying to calm down. JJ could do this, you knew it. You stared him down as he stood infront of Coach Harbaugh, Alabama had called the last time out of the game.

Michigan needed this score to take the game to overtime. JJ knew, you knew, everyone did. Once JJ clapped in the middle of the huddle, the offense started dispersing back into their spots on the field. Jay's eyes met yours, they had multiple times all night. He knew exactly where you sat, he'd made you text him your seat numbers before the game. You let go of his mom's hand and gestured your hands over your ears, headphones, you always told him. Just pretend it's just you and your guys. Block out everything else. He nodded at you, cracking a little smile before taking a deep breath and running out to the field, putting his helmet back on. His mom melted over the interaction, leaving you blushing.

You crossed your fingers and said a prayer, you'd prayed more than once tonight, you'd been praying about this games for weeks. You held his mom's hand in one of yours, and gripped your 'J' necklace in your other, bouncing on the balls of your feet. The play clock was running low, JJ clapped his hands, beckoning for the ball. It went straight to his hands, he looked around for maybe a second before passing precisely to Roman. He caught it, he had an open lane, he's in the end zone! Holy shit, he's in the end zone!

You jumped, screaming JJ's name, turning to hug his parents. You jumped up and down, a grin wide on your face as you cheered for your boy. His mom wrapped an arm around you as you watched him tearily.

The next Michigan drive was messy, and had you scared, but when the time ran out, you were jumping up and down, shouting and cheering, hugging everyone around.

"Our boy did it!"

You nodded, laughing as you wiped tears from your eyes. The game wasn't over, you knew that. JJ's eyes found yours again, he shook his head in disbelief with a grin, gesturing headphones to you. You nodded, fanning your face from the tears, but smiling so wide it didn't matter.

You sighed happily when you watched Alabama defer their OT possession, that's what JJ wanted, if the game went to overtime, he wanted to go first, it would put more pressure on The Crimson Tide to go second in the long run.

You held your necklace close to your mouth as you closed your eyes, letting out deep breaths. JJ had this, you knew it.

The offensive and defensive lines faced each other at the Alabama 25. JJ clapped, the ball was sent straight to his hands, he quickly handed the ball off the Blake, who scurried around the defenders, landing at the Alabama 17. 'Thank God for Blake Corum' you whispered to yourself.

You saw JJ hiding a smile behind his mouth guard, and you knew this was it. Jay claps, and the ball is snapped straight to him, the ball goes straight to Blake, who has a completely open lane.

"Go Blake, go!"

You screamed out, feeling Megan's hand grip yours. You held your intertwined hands up, watching Blake run. He was in the end zone, yes!

"Yes! JJ, yes!"

You screamed, jumping up and down you as watched your boy cheer. He did it! Thank God! You hugged everyone again, cheering some more when the kick went through the posts. The game still wasn't over, the defense still had to come out and play this game. You knew JJ wouldn't be able to assist his team anymore on the field, but you also knew he was now gonna be the biggest hype man for his defensive teammates.

You bit on your dark blue acrylic nails as you watched Alabama line up at the Michigan 25. You winced as the game went from 3rd & goal at the Michigan 14 to 4th & goal at the Michigan 3. One more play, make or break.

You saw Jalen Milroe clap for the ball, and run straight into the O-line of Michigan. Nothing! He got nothing! Oh my God, Michigan won! You watched JJ sprint onto the field as you screamed, jumping up and down for the third time. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you shouted, hugging Michigan fans you didn't know. Your smile couldn't have been punched off of your face.

The blue and maize confetti flew, you watched tearily as the Michigan guys flooded the field. You watched JJ grab his rose, talking to a reporter. His bright smile and gorgeous face was spread on every screen in the stadium. Your boy had done it, finally. You watched as your sweet boy accepted the Rose Bowl trophy with Blake, his smile never leaving his face.

You ran down the few rows to the bottom row of the bleachers, standing with other Michigan player families as the boys were dispersing back to the sideline, finding their loved ones. JJ, being the star quarterback he was, took a while longer to get over to you guys, but it didn't matter to you.

You two locked eyes, matching smiles on your faces as he ran over to your group. You let him talk to his parents and sisters first, before he moved over to you.

"Come'ere baby!"

You grinned as you leaned down over the barrier, JJ's hands grabbing at your waist to safely pull you closer, kissing you passionately. Your hands cupped his face, as you both smiled into the kiss. You pulled away, whispering to him with a big smile.

"You did it lovey!"

He nodded, his bright smile lighting up your heart.

"Can you just jump the barrier instead of going back through the halls?"

"S'that allowed?"

He looked around, quickly asking an employee of the stadium standing down against the barrier. The employee looked at JJ with wide eyes, nodding at the quarterback, though he probably didn't exactly have the position to answer him.

"See? You're fine, c'mon angel!"

You looked around, seeing one of the guy's little brother being passed over the barrier, then to Megan who shrugged with a smile, nodding for you to go ahead. You slide your phone in the pocket of your jeans, sitting on the barrier before turning around towards JJ, who held his hands on your waist.

"Can't believe I'm doin' this."

JJ laughed, pulling you down as you slightly jumped off the wall, down into his arms on the field. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"I'm so proud of you, Jay. You are so talented, baby."

He pulled away from you, cupping your face with his hands, touching his forehead to yours.

"Just had to remember my headphones, like always."

You nodded, laughing and kissing him again, JJ leaned back, your feet leaving the ground for a few seconds as he kissed you. You both pulled away giggling. You got a random burst of energy, electricity pulsing through your veins.

"Ah! Oh my God, you won!"

You pulled away from JJ, grabbing his hands and jumping up and down. His smile widened, he was so, absolutely in love with you, but watching you support him so wholeheartedly, made his heart squeeze extra with love.

"Yeah! I got the Rose Bowl, baby!"

JJ's family came through the tunnel, having chose the safer route to get to the field. He hugged his family, talking with them and taking pictures. You took a few of them on your phone, smiling sadly at how cute they were.

"Angel! Come take a picture with me!"

You smiled, nodding as you went over to your smiley boyfriend. He took his winner's hat off and plopped it onto your head, it was sweaty, but you didn't care. You did one picture standing next to each other, his arm around your hips as you both smiled brightly. Then there was one where JJ kissed your cheek out of nowhere, then another taken the moment after where you both laughed as you wiped the eyeblack he spread to you off of your cheek.

They were adorable, objectively. Your group was soon exiting down the tunnel, bidding JJ goodbye with a quick kiss as he walked back towards the locker room.

Once you were all reunited with JJ he told you all he wanted to go back to the hotel and get food delivered to the hotel. That was your boy, even after the big win all he wanted to do was go back to his bed.

You got back to the hotel after a long car ride through Rose Bowl traffic, and quickly went up to your room. You and JJ were sharing, though he was technically supposed to be in his football assigned hotel room, he was crashing in yours. His parents knew, you two were trusted, and old enough to make your own decisions.

You showered as Jay laid in your bed, watching the Texas and Washington game. You came out of the bathroom in your pajamas, quickly crawling into bed next to JJ. He pulled you inbetween his legs, wrapping his arms around your middle. You were both tired, him more than you. You noticed the plastic bag sitting on the nightstand.

"What'd you get us to eat?"

You kissed him when he told you he got chicken tenders. You both watched the Sugar Bowl as you ate your dinner. You both got up to throw away your trash and brush your teeth before turning off all the lights and getting right back in bed. JJ watched the game as you laid on his chest, scrolling through your phone, showing him TikToks and Instagram posts of videos taken of you two from the game every little bit. You two were going viral among the teenage girls and fan pages.

When the game finished JJ turned off the TV, and you put your phone away as you two shifted so that JJ was laying with his head on your chest. You played with his sandy hair as you talked.

"I still can't believe all of it, it's just crazy."

"Well I can believe it, I knew you could do it. You know I was scared when we were getting close to the end of regulation, but then I saw you smile right before your last play of the regulation TD run, you know right before Roman got the touchdown, and I just knew it."

JJ looked up at you in the dark, he had hearts in his eyes. You were everything to him, just completely everything.

"I love you so much."

"I love you, baby. 'M so proud of you."

[leclsrc]

has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55

centre image by tony belobrajdic

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension

word count: 12.5k

Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.

notes... internet translated spanish lol

auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write

You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.

At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.

The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.

“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you. 

“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”

You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.

“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”

The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.

“Racing.” You repeat curtly.

“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”

“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”

“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”

“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”

“Rosberg retired in 2016.”

“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”

—

The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.

“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”

“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.

“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”

He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”

“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”

Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder. 

“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”

He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.

He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”

“They wh—”

“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”

Yeah. This is fucking rich. 

Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.

“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”

There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.

Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.

“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”

“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.

“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.

“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”

“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”

“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.

You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”

“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface. 

Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?

“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.

“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”

— 

Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info…) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR

“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.

This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.

He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.

“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”

“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”

You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”

You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.

Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.

“What?”

“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I’ll be willing to give you that.”

“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”

“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”

You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”

He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.

“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

—

Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.

Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.

Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—

“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”

“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”

“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”

“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:

“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft. 

He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”

You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.

Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?

Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.

You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.

—

Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.

You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.

“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.

“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”

“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”

“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.

“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”

“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”

“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead. 

“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”

“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.

He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”

Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.

Back then—when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.

But now it’s just a song.

“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”

“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.

“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.

A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.

The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.

Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.

Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.

So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast. 

—

You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.

“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.

“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”

“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”

The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.

“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.

He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.

You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”

“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance. 

“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”

“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”

He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”

You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.

But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.

Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.

“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.

Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?

“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle. 

His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.

You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time. 

—

“Fine. Fifty euros.”

“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.” 

“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.” 

“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”

Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”

“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”

“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.

“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”

“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”

“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”

—

“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.

“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.

You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”

“The article?”

“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”

“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”

“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.

“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”

Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”

“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”

“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”

You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.

—

Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.

A double kill vibrates through Carlos.

It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.

Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.

No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.

“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”

“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”

“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”

“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.  

The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.

You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.

In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.

It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.

It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.

“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

“Carlos?” You blink. 

You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.

He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.”

You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”

“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”

“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”

“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why. 

Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”

“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”

“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.

“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”

It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you. 

“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.

Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.

“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.

—

Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT

Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.

With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.

This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.

“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”

“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.

“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”

“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”

“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.

“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”

Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”

“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”

“Okay, slag.”

“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.

Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.

Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.

“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”

It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”

“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.

Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.

—

It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.

You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.

It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.

FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.

It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”

“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”

“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober? 

“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”

He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.

And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.

His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.

His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—

And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.

And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.

—

Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.

You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.

“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”

“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”

“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.

You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.

It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.

“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.

“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.

“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”

“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”

“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”

“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.

“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”

Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look. 

Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?

You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.

Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking. 

It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.

“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.

—

Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.

After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.

Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”

You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”

“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.

“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”

“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”

“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.

It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.

“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”

“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.

“We haven’t even, like, had se—”

“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”

“It’s one-thirty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”

He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.

His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.

“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.

“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”

“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows. 

“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”

So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.

P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.

—

“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.

You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment. 

Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.

Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.

“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”

“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”

“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.

He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly. 

“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing. 

“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger. 

“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.

The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?

What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.

Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”

“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.

“Carlos. What is eight squared?”

“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.

16

“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”

“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”

Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.

Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”

 “Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.

—

You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.

You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.

“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.

“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”

“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air. 

Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”

“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.

Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.

Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his.  “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”

 “Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.

You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”

Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.

A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him. 

You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.

Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.

Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”

“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”

“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”

“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”

“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.

The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.

—

LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J

“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.

“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”

“Like?” You ask weakly.

“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”

“And do you think you followed that advice?”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”

—

It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.

He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.

“…Estás bien?”

You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.

“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”

You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”

“Leave me alone, Carlos.”

“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness. 

“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.

“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.

“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.

“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”

“Cariño—”

“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”

So he does.

He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily. 

He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.

And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.

—

You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.

He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.

Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.

“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.

He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”

You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.

What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.

So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?

The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.

“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.

He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.

He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.

You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”

The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.

You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.

“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”

He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.

You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”

At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.

It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.

A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn. 

“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”

Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.

“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”

Only you. It’s only you.

“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”

“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”

“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”

“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”

“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.

A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.

You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.

I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.

—

“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”

“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.

The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.

Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.

Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”

“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”

“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”

Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”

“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it. 

“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”

“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”

“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.

Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.

[fallingfor-fics]

Can you please do a one shot of like the abbot crew going out to a gay bar. Melissa and Y/N are secretly dating, and a girl from a different group approaches Melissa but doesn’t no how to take no for an answer. Leading to Y/N stepping in and a bar fight breaks out between the two and the groups they came with. Ending the night with Melissa and Barbara bailing Y/N and the rest of the abbot crew out and Melissa falling in even more love with Y/N for defending her. Maybe some smut if your feeling up to it…I had a dream about it…please and thank youuu😋🫶🏽

Sorry this took so long!

I didnt do it exactly how you asked but I hope you like it still!!

Cat Fight - Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: bar fight, dubcon, all around smut, sex on the kitchen counter without wiping it down first

Summary: basically the ask but no jail time is served lol

Every time you went out with Melissa you always had a blast, you would drink, dance, and talk deep into the night about endless things, and then go home with her. It was one of your favorite weekend activities. This outing was different though because you were being joined by Janine, Jacob, Barbara, and Gregory-- quite the bunch to be tagging along to one of the more popular but casual LGBT bars downtown. You don't even know how it happened but here you were, sitting at the bar squeezed between Jacob and Gregory, sneaking glances at Melissa from two seats down. It's not like you were having a bad time, conversation was fun with the group, and you loved hanging out with them, but weekends were sacred. These short two days were reserved for Melissa since you couldn't express affection all week at school, and rarely spent the night together during the week. But alas, you were cracking jokes to pass the time, and admiring your beautiful girlfriend from afar. 

“I just think its funny that Gregory has been hit on more times tonight by other guys than Jacob has.” Barbara says as she stirs her drink. This causes a laugh from the group but an eye roll from Jacob, and Gregory can be seen shaking his head.

“Well that's what happens when you buy a drink for a guy.” You said smiling and taking a sip. 

“Ok for the last time, I didn't know it was a guy, he had very pretty hair.” he laughed and everyone started to giggle along. You could hear Melissas laugh above all the rest and it warmed your heart. You turned to face the bartender to order a shot, hoping it would keep your mind off her. You had been hiding your relationship for months so you weren't sure why tonight was becoming so difficult and mentally draining. Maybe it was the bar, the place you two always went to and got to be yourselves, or maybe it was just because she wasn't looking at you as much as you were her. Melissa wasn't oblivious to the glances you were sending her way, but she knew better than to allow her eyes to linger a little too long on yours with Barbara and Jacob sitting right there. She was using every ounce of her will power to remain cool and casual.

“I'm getting another. Does anyone want one?” You ask looking around and everyone but Janine and Melissa, who were driving, nodded in agreement. 

“Great. Another round please sweetheart!” you say with a smile to the woman behind the bar and she nods, grabbing the shot glasses. You can feel Melissa's eyes on you and you know it's because of your over-kindness and endearing name you gave to the bartender, but you don't look in her direction and instead try to distract yourself by making conversation with Jacob.

The shots are lined up in front of you and you all say cheers before downing them, you make eye contact with Melissa when you are setting your glass back down and you feel your heart hurt. It's definitely the liquor mixed with general missing her, but you feel another wave of dread come over you. You look to the bartender and tap the shot glass to signal for her to pour another. You can feel Melissa giving you a concerned look but you ignore it. Jacob, Janine, and Gregory get up to go dance and you decide to join them, taking your shot and setting it down, glancing at Melissa and heading to follow them. Melissa watches as you walk to the dance floor with a slight sway in your step and lets out a small sigh. She knows how hard it is for both of you to keep this up sometimes, but it still slightly frustrates her how much you let it affect you on nights like these, when you do things like this in front of her knowing she can't step in to stop you. But she knows you're a grown woman and can handle yourself, so she just watches from the bar, listening to Barb rant about something. 

You are tipsy enough to dance confidently but without embarrassing yourself, you still have a mixed drink in hand so you are conscious of not spilling that, and you don't want to look too trashy with your dancing. You also know Melissa has to be watching you now, so you sway your hips and pull out all the moves that you can do casually but you know will be keeping her eyes glued to you. You make light conversation over the music with the others when suddenly you hear a gasp from Jacob.

“Oh my god guys look, Ms. Schemmenti has a womanly caller.” he snides and everyone looks over with a grin, you turn to look as well and sure enough a skanky looking woman has walked over to Melissa and is standing very close talking to her. 

“I didn't even know she had game like that.” Gregory claims after the woman starts laughing at something Melissa says. You roll your eyes but the group, being nosey as always, casually dances closer to the bar. 

“I mean she's hot but I didn't know she could pull women in a place like this.” Jacob says and they all nod. The group knew you were queer, but Melissa’s previous marriage and overall life confidence kept them from questioning her own sexuality. This fact aided in hiding your relationship and Melissa didn't seem to mind. You can't take your eyes off the scene. The woman is dressed in a body con bright blue dress with cutouts. She should be at a rave in an outfit like that, you think as you take a sip of your drink with a bitter glare. 

“So how about you let me buy you a drink?” the woman says with a smile as she twirls her hair. 

“Thanks, but I'm still working on mine.” Melissa smiles politely as she gestures to her beer in hand. 

“Haha you’re funny! Okay what about shots? On me of course!” the woman tries again and you feel your cheeks grow hot at the way the woman is shamelessly checking Melissa out, taking her in from head to toe. She then reaches up to play with Melissa's hair and you feel yourself stumble a bit as you zone out on her fingers touching Melissa's red hair. Hair that should only have fingers tangled in it if they were your own. You refrained from crushing the cup in your hand as you felt your skin get warm. It was no secret you were an incredibly jealous person, you two had even had this conversation when watching Moulin Rouge one night. You had told Melissa that the representation of love and jealousy in that movie was the perfect example of how you feel in deep relationships. You knew she could feel your gaze burning holes through the blonde that stood next to her

“Look I appreciate the offer, but really I'm okay.” Melissa declined once more and you watched as you finished the rest of your drink and walked back to the bar to get another. Melissa saw you and watched as you talked to the bartender. Barbara stood between you and Melissa and you avoided looking over at her until you had another shot in you at least. You then heard the woman speak up again in her agitating valley accent and rolled your eyes, deciding if you walked away it may have more of an effect on Melissa than if you stood around seething. You walked back to the others and kept dancing but made sure you could still see Melissa. Barbara left the bar to go to the bathroom and you felt a slight instinct to keep a stronger eye on Melissa in case that woman tried anything. You and Melissa made eye contact as you danced and your heart began to race as you couldn't help a small smile form when seeing her sparkling eyes look into yours. She grinned and then looked back over to the woman. 

“How about a dance then?” the woman smirks.

“I don't think my girlfriend will like that very much.” she says and this catches your attention, it was loud enough for you to hear, but the music and singing crowd allowed it to go unheard by the others. You don't stop swaying your hips gently to the music, but you focus in on their conversation again.

“Haha and who is your girlfriend?” the woman says with a cocky tone. 

Melissa gestures to you with a smile, and you look the woman up and down with a glare, looking at Melissa and then back to the other woman.

“Well I don't see much, I can handle her.” she hums and you stop dancing and straighten up as she turns to face you.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” Melissa scoffs at the woman.

“Awe, why? Are you worried you might end up enjoying a night with me far more than whatever this loose little girl could ever offer you?” she quips and you feel your fists clench as you make your way over. Melissa straightens up and crosses her arms prepared to defend you when you chime in first. 

“Are you dense? She's clearly not interested.” you mutter to the woman who laughs and Melissa smiles. 

“No, Y/n it's fine she was just leaving.” Melissa says trying to keep the conversation from escalating. 

“Actually, if your girlfriend here really liked you why wouldn't she be out there dancing with you instead of sitting here talking to me?” the woman said with a grin and you shook your head. You knew you couldn't say much and draw the attention of the others but this woman was really getting under your skin for some reason. You saw Barbara coming back from the bathroom and bit your tongue, rolling your eyes and letting out a sigh. 

“Look, just do yourself a favor and walk away.” Melissa said to the woman and she shook her head. 

“No not after an ugly bitch like her called me stupid!” 

The group on the dance floor heard that and all came over to observe, drawing more attention to your friends and now the woman's own friends came to see what was happening. 

“Lex what's going on?” one of her friends asked and she scoffed.

“This whore just called me stupid.” Lex said, clearly very drunk as she slurred her words, and probably under the influence of a little more than alcohol.

“Woah woah woah lets not over react, this isn't the place for this ladies how about you walk away and we all just enjoy our nights.” Gregory spoke up. 

“Nah mind your own business asshole! This is between me and this fucking bitch.” Lex slurred out while doing loud hand gestures. 

You sighed and could feel your face growing flushed and you ran a hand through your hair as you tried to just ignore the woman. It was one thing to call you names, you could be the bigger person and walk away with that, but people being a dick to your friends is not something you care about maintaining decorum for. Still you took a deep breath and turned to get a drink, but you felt a hand shove your shoulder. 

“Yeah walk away like a pussy, leave your girlfriend to a real woman.” Lex mocked and you let out a sigh before realizing you were now drunk enough to use that as an excuse for the following action. Disregarding the comment that left the group slightly confused you turned, grabbing Melissa's beer from her hand, and tossing it on the girls hideous blue dress. 

“Oh shit.” You heard Jacob and Janine remark from behind you. 

“Y/n, hon come on, I think it's time we go guys.” Melissa said, reaching to grab your arm to lead you out but the woman reaches up to slap you but you reach out and grab her hair instead. In a blink of an eye the whole bar is now staring at the both of you as exclamations can be heard from both groups and Melissa is yelling every swear she can conjure up as her and Gregory are trying to get you off the other woman. You had her by the hair still and went to throw another punch until you felt a large pair of arms grab you around the stomach and pull you back, another large man grabs the other woman and you realize it's the bar's security guys. You hear your friends all yell at security to put you down, and he yells back and tells them they all have to leave or they are gonna call the cops. Barbara is the first one to pay off the tab and lead everyone out. 

“Have some decorum and just get outside!” She orders the group and they gather their things and listen. You don't put up a fight, but security still has a firm grip on your arms and is practically dragging you outside. 

“Okay Jesus I dont think this is necessary she's listening!” Melissa yells at the large man who just ignores her. He roughly lets go of you once you're outside and Melissa stabilizes you with gentle hands on your arm and hip. Eventually you are all waiting on the sidewalk as Janine goes to pull up her car. 

“Ok so that was wild.” Jacob mutters after an awkward silence. You lean against the wall of the building and sigh, Melissa looking over at you then back to the others. 

“Yeah what happened exactly? And why did that crazy lady call you her girlfriend?” Gregory asked and you didn't have the energy to say anything, or even look up at any of them. 

“Um. That lady wasn't taking a hint, so Y/n came to tell her to back off, and I guess she got the wrong idea, and things just escalated.” Melissa muttered as a cover. Since you had been so good at hiding things up until this point they all nodded without a doubt. Janine pulled up and Gregory and Jacob got in. You didn't move from your place on the wall and Melissa looked over at you then back to the others. 

“Barb you go ahead with them, I'll drive Y/n home tonight since it’s on my way.” Melissa said with a concerned voice and Barbara smiled. 

“Okay, I will see you ladies at school on Monday.” Barbara said before getting in. the rest of the group waved and Janine drove away. Leaving you and Melissa on the sidewalk. You still hadn't looked up or said a word. Your legs were getting tired from standing against the wall, and your cheeks felt slightly numb from the chilly air. You could feel your lip was bleeding but was pretty sure that was the only damage besides a slightly bruised ego. Melissa came to stand next to you, poking at your arm. 

“Are you ready to go, hon?” she said softly and you didn’t say anything. You finally looked up at her and she saw the blood dripping from your pouted lips and a faint red mark on your face that was slowly disappearing. 

“Baby your lip-” she went to wipe the blood but you cut her off.

“I'm sorry.” you muttered simply.

Taken aback she shook her head with furrowed brows, “For what?” 

“For making a scene, getting us kicked out-- almost having the group find out… all because of my fragile ego.” you scoffed hearing yourself and looked down to play with your fingers.

“Sweetheart, don't be sorry for any of that! I have never had someone, that wasn't family, literally fight a person for me.” She said playfully, using her hand to gently lift your chin. “I mean you did that because you care about me and your friends, not because you're fragile.”

You shook your head in response and opened your mouth to mutter another comment, but she stopped you with a kiss. She cupped your face with her hands gently, and softly kissed your lips with an underlying passion, being cautious of your busted lip, and stroking your cheek with her thumb. She pulled away with sparkling eyes and a grin which you met with a larger smile before reaching for her jacket to pull her into you again. You kissed her deeply ignoring the slight pain it caused, and ran your hand up her body to cup her cheek. Your breathing grew heavy as Melissa pushed you into the wall with her hips and you opened your mouth slightly allowing her to take over. Her tongue ran over your lip, she could taste the blood from your cut and the liquor on your breath, but she still deepened the kiss by letting her tongue enter your mouth and dance around your own. You eventually pulled away to catch your breath and you rested your forehead against hers as you shut your eyes and played with her hair. You had almost forgotten how much you had to drink until you stumbled slightly and she instinctively grabbed your waist. 

“I love you Y/n, and tonight only proved to me just how much I do” she spoke softly in her velvety voice and you smiled innocently with a red stained lip. She brushed over it with her thumb, and then stood up straight. 

“I love you too.” You said simply before feeling your eyes get tired. 

“Cmon, we are getting you home.” She said with a laugh and you nodded, allowing her to take your hand and walk you to her car. 

You knocked out the whole drive back, Melissa's hand placed on your thigh the whole way. She tapped it gently when you arrived and you opened your eyes to see you were at her house and you looked at her with a smile. 

“What? You didn't think I was just going to leave you alone at your place did you?” she mocked you with love and you laughed, getting out of the car and following her inside. 

“I think the nap in the car was exactly what I needed because I feel much better now.” You said smiling at her as you hopped up on the kitchen counter.

“Oh really? Well drink this whole glass of water and then we will see.” She said handing you a cup she filled from the fridge. She kept her eyes on yours as you drank it and she took off your shoes for you, placing them on the floor before kicking off her own. You finished the glass and placed it down as she turned to face you again. You grabbed her by her waist and pulled her to you, running your hands through her hair and admiring her beauty. 

“Don't look at me like that baby.” She said in a deep tone, her eyes full of a serious yet lustful gleam as she moved her hands to rest on the counter on either side of you.

“Like what?” you smiled, not moving your hands from her, tangling in her hair, running over her shoulders and arms, and then back to tuck her hair behind her ears.

“Like you want to fuck me.” she said firmly with a grin. You were surprised she didn't hesitate to call you out and this sent a chill down your spine. 

“Well, what's so wrong with that?” you teased, leaning in closer so you were inches from her face, your eyes darting between her dark green ones.

“The issue is how sexy it is but I'm not one for coercion.” She replies, moving to push herself away, but you grabbed her by the belt loops of her jeans and pulled her closer so her torso was between your legs and against the counter. You draped your arms over her shoulders and hovered your lips over hers, teasing her with a gentle peck to the lips. You pulled back slightly with a grin and she stared at you lovingly.

“Its not coercion if I want it and i'm barely even tipsy.” you say with a smile.

“Please Melissa, I just risked my life for you and I need to feel you.” You said with dramatics and a hint of sarcasm.

“Ha, now who is doing the coercing!” She laughed and you shook your head.

“Not coercion, I’m begging you,” you whined before pushing her away slightly so you could slink off the counter and onto your knees on the cold kitchen tile. “I'm literally on my knees for you… mommy.” You said with a grin, looking up at her with shining eyes. She smiled and let out a scoff. Your hands slid up the side of her legs, slowly over her thighs until you got to the button of her pants, causing her to suck in a breath before looking into your eyes again. You could see the internal battle she had and before you could unbutton her pants, she grabbed your hands and pulled you up to her. She pulled you in by your waist and kissed you deeply, letting out the breath she’d been holding in as she ran her hands down your waist to grab your ass. You moaned into the kiss and pressed your torso against hers. When you pulled away to catch your breath she smirked at you and sucked in her lip. 

“Okay but no taking care of me tonight, it's all about you baby.” She said, finding a compromise for her decision and you grinned, slightly upset you wouldn't be able to make her feel good. 

“Anything you say.” You nodded desperately and she let out a beautiful laugh before backing away and grabbing your hips to push you up against the counter. She kissed you again and your hands found her cheeks as you deepened the kiss with force. She ran her hands down your back and grabbed under your thighs to lift you onto the counter, not breaking the kiss. You groaned from the smooth execution and she smiled into the kiss. She pulled away and looked you in the eyes as she pushed your skirt up to your waist and pulled your panties off. You played with her hair as she did so and then felt your thighs squeeze together at the cold air and the way she was looking you up and down. 

“God you're stunning Melissa.” You said with a shaky breath as her hand pushed between your thighs and brushed your core with slow motions. 

“I could say the same thing about you hon, now be a good girl and lay back.” She said in a deep and sensual tone. You quickly nodded, leaning in for another deep kiss, pushing your chest against hers, cupping her cheek with your hand. You allowed your tongue to enter her mouth and kissed her with passion. She smiled into the kiss at your eagerness and she pulled away, raising her eyebrow at you and you placed another peck to her lips before doing as you were told. You pushed your hair out from under you to be laid out on the counter and allowed yourself to relax slightly. You felt her hands bend your knees and place your feet on the edge of the counter to give her better access.  The cold air caused your skin to prickle with small goosebumps and you felt your heart speed up as you awaited her touch. She traced her hands gently up and down your thighs before placing kisses along the inside of them. Her cold fingers came up to rub your clit and your body twitched, sensitive from being deprived for so long. You slightly leaned into her touch but the limited space on the counter kept you from doing so. 

“Just relax baby, I want you to be able to remember how good I treated you when you wake up tomorrow.” she said with a cocky grin that you could practically feel. She leaned in and licked a stripe up your folds without hesitation. Collecting your slick on her tongue before lightly sucking on your bud. You let out a moan and she gripped your thighs tighter to keep them in place as she continued to suck on your clit, licking circles around it. She moved a hand from your thigh to her mouth, placing two fingers in her mouth before rubbing your clit and then inserting them into you. You let out a hoarse gasp and she gently curled her fingers inside you, moving her head back down to continue torturing your clit. You arched your back off the counter and moaned at the new angle and she hummed into you causing you to moan again. 

“Fuck, Melissa!” You exclaimed, letting your hand come to her hair, brushing it from her face. She felt you clench around her fingers and held back a grin at how ready you were for her already. She thrusted her fingers harder, stroking inside of you and hitting your sensitive spot. Never taking her lips off your core, her tongue running over your clit before she continued to suck on it. You let out another loud moan and your free hand came to your mouth so you could bite on your knuckles, your eyes closing shut tight. 

“No baby move your hand I wanna hear you scream as you cum for me.” she said, not stopping her thrusts.

“Ah, ok- yes mommy.” you gasped out, tugging on her hair slightly, earning a deep groan from Melissa that you could feel. Your juices covered her face and hand now and you felt yourself clenching around her. You arched off the counter again and she brought her other hand off your thigh to rub your clit so she could talk you through your release. 

“That’s it my love, you're doing so good, cum for me hon.” She said, smiling down at you with dark eyes. You felt your release wash over you at the praise and your body shook as your orgasm flooded through you and you clenched around her fingers. Your mind went dark as you moaned loudly, fire spreading through your veins. As you caught your breath you opened your eyes. Melissa pulled her fingers from you and you used the little strength you had to try and sit up. She snaked her hand around your back to pull you up to her and you met her with a smile and flushed cheeks. She lifted her fingers to your mouth and you took them in without hesitation, tasting yourself on her. 

“You did so good for me baby.” She muttered in her deep, raspy voice, pulling her fingers from your mouth and back down to your center to sooth your sensitive clit.

“I love you.” You said with a smile. 

“I love you too.” She said simply and you leaned in to kiss her gently, looking in her eyes as you placed a peck to her lips. She took your lower lip between her teeth and you winced. She pulled away with a sarcastic grin and furrowed brows.

“Oh i'm sorry sweetheart, did I hurt your lip?” she brushed her thumb over the cut that was now bleeding slightly again. 

“A little. But its okay,” you said not taking your eyes from hers as you moved her hand to rub circles on your core slowly. “I liked it.” you added and she raised a brow. Moving to kiss her again she moved her head back slightly and thrusted her fingers back inside you without warning, she watched with a grin as your face contorted in pleasure. Your brows furrowed and your lip pouted. 

“Give me one more.” she ordered and you nodded, leaning to kiss her again but she pulled back, teasing you once more as her fingers moved inside you. The angle allowed her to curl into you deeply and you let out a gasp, her thumb brushed your clit in circles and you felt your second orgasm approaching rapidly. 

“Yes, mommy please don't stop.” you muttered breathlessly and she smirked, moving her fingers faster. You clenched around her and felt heat pool in your core as your orgasm approached. 

“Look at me baby.” She said and you met her gaze, furrowed brows and your mouth open in an ‘o’ shape as you moaned. Your legs shook slightly and you felt your thighs move to clench together and she didn't stop you. You sat up straight which allowed her fingers to reach deeper inside you and you gasped. Her eyes were full of lust and mischief as she looked into your pleading ones. Your eyes shifted to her puffy pink lips and you looked back in her eyes, silently begging. 

“Please kiss me Melissa.” you begged, your release approaching. She gave in and kissed you deeply, watching as your eyes closed and you moaned into the kiss. Her fingers sped up and she deepened the kiss, her tongue roaming around your mouth with passion and control. Your eyes squeezed tight as you felt the wave of relief crash over you and you moaned into the kiss, your hands moving to wrap around her face, cupping her jaw so there wasn't a chance she could pull away. She allowed her fingers to slow and you grinded against them as you rode out you high. Her other hand came to grip your waist, her thumb pushing into your hip. You finally pulled away and your foreheads met as you both caught your breath. 

“I'm so proud of you hon.” she said with a smile and you gently nodded.

“I'm definitely going to remember this.” you quipped and she let out a laugh before pulling you off the counter, your legs wrapping around her and her hands holding you by your thighs as she carried you. 

“Let's get you cleaned up and into bed.” she said sweetly into your ear and you allowed your glorious lover to carry you up the stairs and to her bedroom.

xx

[chryblossomjjk]

the weekend | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: dilf!jk x babysitter reader

⇢ RATING/GENRE: m/18+ | fwb, sm*t, angst

⇢ WC: 13.8k

⇢ WARNINGS: alright boyz strap in bc it's a doozy lmao, protected s*x, multiple org*sms (m & f), or*l s*x (m receiving), face f*ck, f*ngering, rough s*x, face slapping, sp*nking, exh*bitionism, sir k*nk, t*tty f*ck, t*tty sucking (duh), body piercings (n*pples), age gap (reader is 23 and jk is like 30), infid*lity (reader is the other woman), ch*king, overst*mulation, sp*tting, man handling, finger s*cking, d*m jk, brief mentions of past add*ction, implied passing of a bby (mainly subtext w no details given), maybe unrequited love, maybe not (EVIL CACKLE), some dark thoughts discussed (nothing too graphic or detailed), fighting n yelling n crying yikes, all of these characters are v flawed (except for yul duh), cute bby moments!!, oc is v immature n naive n contradicts herself a lot, she maybe has a thing for older guys bc of that, some bl*od (just a scrape on the knee but ik bl*od can be triggering), this relationship is extremely toxic and not meant to be desired!!!, one homage to trixie mattel lmao

⇢ SUMMARY: every weekend, you give jungkook a little taste of something he’s missing monday through friday.

⇢ NOTES: so after months and months of planning this fic (i literally posted the teaser in JANUARY UM??), it's finally here. i think this is my fav thing i've written thus far and i worked v hard on this! would love to know ur thoughts, feedback is always appreciated!! ty @/taegularities for betaing!! (for whatever reason, this fic refuses to show up in tags n it sucks n nothing i do fixes it so i shall leave it be lol)

You can't tell what’s louder—the crunch of dewy, end-of-summer grass pricking the soft skin of your thighs like angry thorns, or the cracking of bones as your body thumps to the ground from your bedroom window. 

“Ah-” the whine is quickly stifled by a sharp hiss as you remember your dad’s sleeping figure is just behind the wall next to you. “Ouch,” you whimper, praying that the crash hasn’t reached his watchful ears. Carefully, you climb to your feet, brushing the dirt off your bare legs. You spot a fresh crimson scrape on your knee.

Fucking great. 

Finally, after days of longing and waiting, the weekend has arrived. Today, in particular, is a fantastic day. You were trying to look sexy, and blood isn't exactly the sexiest accessory. Bringing your wrist up to your nose, you inhale the candy-scented liquid you had doused yourself in before leaving. 

Perfume still in check, thank fuck.

Goosebumps form on your skin as you take long, dutiful strides, cool night mist gliding through the thin material of your long silk shirt. You’ve committed this path to memory—out the window, usually in a more graceful manner, through the neighbor’s yard, and then straight down the sidewalk to the black Mercedes Benz waiting for you at the end of the road. 

If you hadn’t done this a million and one times already, you might’ve missed the vehicle, so dark that it blends into the night seamlessly. You can’t help but wonder if that’s his goal entirely. 

Still, the excitement of it all makes you walk a little faster. 

“Hey, Jungkook,” you smile as you slide into his black leather passenger seat, leaning over the center console to give his cheek a gentle peck. Maybe you’ve overstepped a boundary and muddied the lines in the sand of your… relationship, but you can’t help yourself. Seeing Jungkook was always a treat, one you looked forward to every Friday night for the past five months.

“Hi,” he says impassively, eyes darting over your figure. A loose strand of hair dangles in front of his eyes, teasing you. “You’re wearing makeup?”

“Oh, um…” You’re at a loss for words; surprised he noticed such a slight change in your appearance. Although his perceptiveness was something you noted shortly after you began working for him, you can’t help but feel flustered. “Yeah, I… wanted to look nice tonight. Totally busted my ass climbing out the window,” you laugh.

“Did you get hurt?” His straight brows furrow slightly, silver piercing reflecting the moonlight. 

“Just a scratch.” You lift your leg to show him the red mark on your knee. “Didn’t break anything, though, so that’s a plus.”

Wordlessly, Jungkook reaches over, popping open the glove compartment before you and pulling out the first aid kit he keeps there for emergencies. The scent of clean linen wafts over you from his daily cologne. His scent. Only his. You try your best to subdue the possessive smirk forming. “You should be more careful.”

“I’m okay.”

“Be more careful,” he commands, peering up at you with an icy gaze. “Got it?”

Whether it’s the seven-year age gap between the two of you or the tone of his voice, you know better than to argue. “Yes,” you wince as he rubs Neosporin onto the open wound. “Besides, I wouldn’t have gotten hurt if my dad wasn’t so… overprotective.”

“Well,” he continues, sticking a pink Baby Shark bandaid to your skin before putting the box back, “as a father, I understand.”

“Yul is two, though,” you laugh, “I’m in my twenties.”

“Being in your early twenties hardly makes you an adult,” he mutters. "Besides, it doesn't matter. The need to protect your children always stays the same.”

“Poor Bunny,” you pout jokingly as you click your seatbelt on. “She’s going to be just like me when she’s older. Sneaking out of a window to see a boy because her daddy is a big grizzly bear.”

The comment has his nose twitching in irritation. “I’m done with this conversation, __.”

You freeze. Have you struck a nerve?

“Jungkook, I’m sorry,” you peep. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop.” His voice is flat, but your heart thumps. “It’s fine.”

All the excitement you feel suddenly morphs into an uncomfortable ache as you slump into your seat. It’s different than it was last weekend, positioned much closer to the dashboard than you would ever put it. There’s a claustrophobic sting in your chest as you realize someone else has been in this very spot. 

You know they have, and you know who. 

The deafening sound of the bulky silver band on his finger, tapping against the steering wheel as he begins driving to the hotel you frequent, is a sick reminder.

You swear there’s even a musky floral scent lingering in the air. Deeper and more mature than yours. It could be paranoia, or guilt, making you imagine things. Still, you hope your perfume finds its way into every fiber of his leather seats. 

“How was your day?” Jungkook asks, interrupting any rational thought or doubt, luring you back into the vicious cycle. 

“A bit stressful,” you sigh. “I applied for school today.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, pretty sure I messed up on the financial aid paperwork, though. It was super confusing; I didn’t understand any of it.”

“You should’ve brought it over. I could’ve helped you.” 

Jungkook does have a master’s degree in finance. He could’ve been your Rosetta Stone, helping you decipher convoluted questions about taxes and deductions. However, you weren’t sure how he would’ve reacted to you pulling out your laptop post-sex, asking for assistance on something completely unrelated to your normal routine. “That’s not the type of thing we usually do when we’re together,” you shrug, “you know?”

Your response has him shifting in his spot, pierced bottom lip curling inwards like the words made him queasy. He was the one who encouraged you to go back to school in the first place. “I wouldn’t have minded,” Jungkook mumbles before quickly redirecting the dialogue, something he does whenever he’s frustrated or uncomfortable. “So, what’s the special occasion?” 

“Huh?” 

“What’s got you all dolled up?”

Oh, right. That special occasion. The one you’ve been anticipating since you were made aware of its existence. 

“Happy three years sober!” You announce with a cheesy smile, throwing your arms up eagerly. 

“Ah,” he huffs in recognition. His eyes are fixed on the road, but there’s the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face. Success. It takes everything in you not to physically rejoice. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“What do you mean?” You ask with a pout. “How could I forget?”

“I don’t know.” Just like that, the flicker of happiness wisps away like a flame in the wind as his expression turns emotionless and stoic again. “It’s not really a big deal.”

You frown. Must he always be so… cold? 

‘It’s okay to smile; you deserve it,’ is what you want to tell him. It's not your place, though. You opt for: “It’s a huge deal, Jungkook,” instead. Reaching over, you gently tuck the stray strand of hair behind his decorated ear. 

A somber aura hangs around him like a dark, dreary rain cloud, and in moments like this, when it’s so visible, you just… need to touch him.

It’s stupid to think that you’re the special one; that you’ll be the girl to turn the rain into a rainbow and save him from himself, but you can’t refrain from trying. 

“Did you celebrate?”

He shakes his head. “Went to work.” 

You can tell from his outfit—a sleek black blazer resting neatly on top of an even darker button-up and tie. His long hair is slicked back, but gravity, and his ten-hour long shift took their toll, making the strands hang slack, short undercut peaking through. He looks so incredibly sexy. Maybe, you can comfort him in the only way you know how…

“Well, there’s still time.” You point to the clock on his touchscreen stereo: 11:12 p.m. You throw your hair over your shoulder before slowly undoing the top two buttons of your shirt, revealing the skimpy black lingerie set you splurged on just for tonight. Just for him. “We can celebrate…”

“Yeah?” His cheek bubbles, tongue poking at the inside of his mouth, eyebrow jumping at your suggestion. “How so?”

You bite your lip, contemplating your next move. Hastily, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over the center console. It’s reckless, but so is being with a man like Jungkook. When you finally get to have him the way you want, you’re incapable of rationality. 

One night of him isn’t enough. What kind of tease is that? You need at least six more to be satisfied…

“__,” he warns, arching his head away from your sneaky lips.  “Put your seatbelt on. Wait until we get to the hotel.”

“Where’s the fun in that, though?” You pout, cupping his cheek in your hand and batting your eyelashes innocently. Jungkook doesn’t take the bait, giving the desolate road ahead his unwavering attention. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, you can tell you’re getting to him. Below you, his slacks tighten around his thick, tensed thighs. He’s playing right into your hands. Needily, you tongue the little silver hoops dangling from his ear. 

“If I have to pull over, you’re in trouble.”

“Maybe I-”

A hushed ‘fuck’ cuts you off as the car comes to a screeching halt. Jungkook slams on the brakes, coming too close to the slower vehicle in front of you for comfort. Luckily, his dad reflexes kick in. His strong hand grips your waist tightly, preventing you from barreling forward. You brace yourself by clutching his shoulders, and when the adrenaline rush fades, you finally look at him. His nostrils are flared, and his jaw is clenched painfully tight. He’s pissed. 

You know you should apologize, or be a little shaken up, but the blinking of the turn signal as he pulls to the side of the dark highway has your mouth watering. This is just what you wanted. 

Jungkook sighs in frustration, tilting his head back against the headrest. The movement is counterintuitive, exposing the inked canvas of his neck that you’re desperate to paint red and purple. 

A hand fists your tangled hair, pulling you off with a harsh yank before you have the chance to sink your teeth in. The silver ring on his finger digs into your scalp like a knife. “Do not fucking mark me.”

The feeling of the frigid metal is agonizing. Not physically—his grip loosens immediately after the initial tug—but emotionally. You know why he doesn’t want you to mark him. Any evidence of you, other than your weekly babysitting duties, would unravel the entire life he’s built for himself. 

Jungkook is an intelligent man, though. You don’t have to tell him that it’s all a façade, and everything’s already been undone. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out frail and shaky. “I just want you.”

And like some cruel joke, his phone rings. 

The contact image would typically make you swoon. It’s a picture of him and his daughter from her first birthday party; her sticky, strawberry ice cream covered hands holding his cheeks as he stares at her with scrunched eyes and a big smile. You think that picture is the only time you’ve ever seen him genuinely happy.

The bold, white font at the top of the screen makes you sick to your stomach. 

‘Wife.’

Jungkook releases your hair and places a finger over his mouth, signaling you to shut up,  before answering. 

“Yes, Seulgi?”

“Your daughter would like to speak to you.” 

Her voice makes you want to curl into yourself. Whenever you talk to Seulgi regarding Yul, you’re able to compartmentalize and detach that part of yourself from this one. The one that’s sleeping with her husband. Hearing her in this compromised setting makes you feel absolutely repulsive. 

After some rustling and tiny sniffles, Yul answers. “Da-” She only manages a syllable before breaking into a cry-induced coughing fit. You cringe, poor Bunny. “Daddy!”

“What’s wrong with my baby?”

You don’t mean to giggle, especially when the little girl you’ve grown to love so much is clearly distressed, but the intimidating, grumpy, tattooed businessman beside you, talking in full-on pout, tickles your brain just right.

“I don’t wanna sleep alone!” Yul screeches in the most anguished, high-pitched tone.

“Bunny…” With the way his hands scrub down his face, you can tell the tears on the other end are physically affecting him. “Take a deep breath, please.”

There’s a shaky inhale, and a sad whine of an exhale as she tries to steady her respirations.

“Thank you, good job,” he affirms. “Yul, daddy is…” Dark pupils flicker over to you, his face scowled to match. He eyes you like you’re an annoying stain on his leather seat. A dirty little secret that’s keeping him from his daughter. The gesture sends a dagger through your chest. Usually, Jungkook tells his wife he’s working overtime, but he can’t bring himself to lie to his only daughter. “Busy.”

“B-B-But.” The wails have simmered down to a blubber. “Scared.”

“You have mommy, though, don’t you?” He counters exasperatedly, cogs turning at maximum speed to conjure up a solution. “And Ruru?”

Yul is a persistent girl. You’ve seen the two-and-a-half-year-old deadpan Jungkook with a ‘you can have them, then,’ when he tried to convince her that vegetables were delicious and totally not an abomination to tastebuds. “Jeon Ruru is scared, too.”

After a few months of dedication and trust building, Yul finally initiated you into her inner circle of squishmallows, all of which shared the surname, Jeon, followed by whatever random title her baby brain bestowed them. Jeon Ruru, a glass of strawberry milk, was her favorite. You coo in remembrance. 

“What about Ado?” Jungkook suggests, exhausting all his options.

“Ado?” She peeps curiously, and you can almost see her doe eyes scanning the room for her runner-up, an avocado squishmallow you gifted her. “Ado’s sleepin’.”

“Can you go get him?”

There’s a long pause of contemplation before the pitter-patter of tiny feet on wood fills the speakers. “Jeon Ado!” She calls out, voice becoming distant as she runs to her bedroom, “daddy wantsa’ talk to you!” You make out a quiet ‘I’ll tuck you in’ when Seulgi helps her to bed. “Okay,” Yul huffs, breathless from her scurry down the long corridor, “he’s here.”

“Jeon Ado.” You rarely see this side of him, and it takes all of your strength to suppress the smile that’s creeping up. “Can you keep Yul safe while I’m away?” He even leans forward a bit, turning his ear towards the speaker as if he’s actually waiting for the stuffed avocado to answer, subconsciously playing along with his daughter despite being miles apart. The scene puts your overwhelmingly sweet perfume to shame. “Uh, Yul, he said yes. So can you sleep in your big girl bed tonight?”

Reluctantly, Yul grumbles in agreement.

“Alright baby, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

Again, she answers with a little grunt and a yawn.

“I love you.”

“Love youuu!” She extends the vowel for emphasis.

“I love you more.”

There’s a beat of silence before the sleepy girl simply responds ‘yep,’ not even attempting to argue. He glances at you, this time with a wholesome smile, eyes warm with burning stars. It’s moments like this that keep you hooked, you think. Like always, the feeling is short-lived. When Seulgi mumbles a sweet goodnight to her daughter, their daughter, you’re reminded that you shouldn’t even be observing this domestic interaction. 

“You know,” the man begins, turning his attention to his wife, “if you had given her a warm bottle, she would’ve gone down without a hitch.” 

“Jungkook, she’s too old for a bottle.” And just like that, the fire between them ignites. You’ve never actually witnessed the pair fighting, only felt the uncomfortable heat between them in passing. “And she’s too old to be co-sleeping. She never had an issue sleeping alone beforehand.”

“Alright,” he asserts, “if Yul’s okay, then we’re done here.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little unfair?” Despite his warning, she continues. “Getting her used to sleeping with you and then not being here?”

There were many things about having a daughter that Jungkook wasn’t prepared for.

It’s not that he didn’t do his research, and Yul certainly wasn’t an accident. He had wanted her more than anything. Especially after the… 

Incident.

A baby-sized hole was left in Jungkook’s chest. Every day, it grew bigger and bigger until, eventually, that bitter emptiness would’ve swallowed him alive. 

Jungkook needed Yul. 

Still, there were certain things that parenting books and videos hadn’t warned him about, like the worry in his stomach whenever his daughter refuses her lunch, or the ache in his heart when he drops her off at daycare and she watches him leave through the window with a sad wave and tears rolling down her cheeks as if he’s just abandoned her forever. As if he or his wife aren’t going to pick her up in a mere four hours like they do every Tuesday and Thursday. His readings haven’t prepared him for the even stronger ache that consumes his entire body whenever he leaves for work too early and comes home too late, with barely any time to spend with his favorite person in the world.  

Before Yul was even born, Jungkook and Seulgi had decided that co-sleeping was out of the question. Their room was for them, and he stood firm on that principle for a while. However, as time passed, their room became Seulgi’s, and the empty bedroom downstairs became his. 

Jungkook couldn’t stand that room. 

One night, after a particularly grueling shift, Jungkook trudges up the stairs for a late shower. Without finance talk or Yul’s babbles, he’s left to his own thoughts. Usually, under the scalding water, he wondered how his life turned out this way, or more so, why? This time, Jungkook wonders if there is even a reason to keep going at all.

He catches his reflection while brushing his teeth. His eyes are dark, cold, distant. Those same eyes belong to his daughter, but all he sees when looking into hers is love, innocence, and everything good in life. 

Maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for him. 

Taking a detour to Yul’s room, Jungkook does his best to quietly tip-toe around squishmallows and discarded markers. Underneath the pink blanket is a little ball of fluffy black hair. She’s got her thumb in her mouth—a bad habit he and Seulgi had been trying to nip in the bud—with her chubby cheeks squished against her pillow. There were few things he hated more than waking her up, especially when she was sleeping so peacefully, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t stop himself. 

Tiny, confused cries fill the room as Jungkook scoops her up. 

“Shh,” he hushes, smoothing his palm over her onesie-clad back. “It’s just me.”

“Da- ddy?” Immediately, she relaxes at the familiar sound of his voice, words slurred as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes with a little fist before peering up at him with big marble eyes. 

“How was daycare, Bunny?” 

“Scared,” she whimpers, slumping into his chest for comfort. “Scaredy cat.”

“Scaredy cat?” Jungkook repeats, trying to make sense of the phrase. “Who’s a scaredy cat?”

“Jeon Yul.” 

Typically, Jungkook finds it adorable when Yul refers to herself in the third person. The way she says it this time makes him frown. “Jeon Yul is not a scaredy cat. Jeon Yul is a baby, that’s all.” Realizing that she’d probably heard the unfavorable title at daycare, his chest tightens. With a heavy sigh, he rests his chin on top of her round head, swaying back and forth. Her hair smells like green apples from her baby soap. “Why were you scared, sweetheart?”

“No color…” 

On his lunch break, Seulgi informed him that she was picking Yul up early. In an attempt to encourage her to engage with other children, the teacher took away Yul’s crayons, sending her into a full-blown tantrum. Jungkook knew his daughter well, a spitting image of him in every capacity. The crayons weren’t the problem; it was that crippling shyness that made her afraid of socializing with nearly anyone other than you and her parents.

Her back ripples with tiny hiccups as she recounts the events. Jungkook decides it’s best to change the subject, not wanting to upset his two-year-old anymore—especially this late at night. 

“Guess what?”

Yul grunts an inquisitive noise.

“Daddy got you Baby Shark coloring books.”

Her wispy bedhead bounces as she glances side to side, inspecting her room for any sign of new Pinkfong merchandise. Jungkook was genuinely amazed at her ability to keep track of it all, considering how much he and his wife loved to spoil her rotten. However, the word ‘rotten’ doesn’t even come close to describing his baby. “Where?”

“In my car,” he laughs, slicking her choppy bangs out of her eyes. “We’ll color tomorrow., okay?”

“I like Baby Shark,” Yul says, completely ignoring his question. The teeniest, tiniest, most precious yawn slips out, two little front teeth on full display before her lips smack together sleepily. Truly living up to her nickname.

“I know you do.” He’s still rocking her gently, buying some time before she falls back into sleep’s arms and out of his. “I missed you so much today.” 

“Why?”

As of late, ‘why’ seems to be Yul’s favorite word. 

Why is the sky blue?

Why do vegetables taste yucky?

Why is daddy’s nose so big?

He’d be lying if he said that last, brutally honest question hadn’t caught him off guard when she first uttered it on his hip at the grocery store. 

“Because I love you.” It’s the most effortless sentence he’s ever spoken. The most natural feeling he’s ever felt.

“Why?” 

“Because,” his eye roll is disconnected from his growing smile, “you’re so cute!” If they weren’t enclosed by the four pink walls of Yul’s bedroom, Jungkook would be embarrassed at the squeakiness of his usual monotone voice. Leaning down, Jungkook blows a raspberry against her doughy cheek, a tried and true method of making her laugh. “Do you want to sleep in my room?”

It’s against his better judgment and the ground rules he had agreed to, but he just… really needs to spend time with her tonight. The small nod against his chest seals the deal. Before he gets to the door, Yul stops him with an exaggerated gasp.

“Daddy, Ruru!”

“Ruru?” 

She grunts, frustrated at her father’s confusion, frantically pointing at her partner in crime, the strawberry milk squishmallow lying neatly underneath her comforter. Just how she left it.

“Yul,” Jungkook starts, taking a few steps backward and bending at the waist, allowing her to take the oversized stuffie into her arms. “Isn’t this Mimi?” As far as Jungkook knows, the pink milk carton with a face had always been Mimi; a name Yul had dubbed it since he brought it home a couple months back.

“Ruru,” she states affirmatively. 

And ever since then, Yul’s been a co-sleeper. 

Jungkook prided himself on knowing his daughter like the back of his tattooed hand. Whether it’s a sixth sense, some innate father’s instinct that the parenting videos mentioned, or his own attention to detail, he could read her like a book. However, sharing a bed with the tiny human taught him something he had been blissfully unaware of:

Yul sleeps wild. 

More often than not, Jungkook was awoken by a tiny foot kicking his back, or by his own reflexes as he was somehow pushed to the very corner of the bed by his twenty-pound baby. There were even a few times when a harsh tug on his hair acted as an alarm clock. When he turned around to confront the culprit, however, she was fast asleep, arm slung over one of the many squishmallows that had worked their way into his room. 

Having her with him was worth all bald spots and bruises, though. It’s bad, he knows it, and night by night, Yul becomes more attached. Getting her acclimated to daycare had been hell, to say the least. He knows co-sleeping has possibly made her more reluctant to socialize than she already was. 

Still, Jungkook can’t help but wonder who’s more dependent on the other. When he thinks about it, undoubtedly, the answer is him. Because as long as he wakes up to a little foot in his back, a fist in his hair, and the smell of green apple baby soap, he has a reason to keep going. 

“Don’t you think she deserves better?”

Her sharp words swipe through the air like a blade. Even you feel the cut, cautiously eyeing Jungkook. You can’t read his expression, but something about it makes you rub a comforting hand over his shoulder. He doesn’t react to your touch at all.

There’s a sullen pause before he finally answers. “I think Yul deserves everything.”

“Right… Goodnight, Jungkook.” She hangs up before he has the chance to respond. Seulgi always struck you as a level-headed person, albeit a bit aloof, but never unfair or cruel. You assume she’s just being spiteful, because anyone who knows Jungkook would never question his dedication to his daughter. That ugly, bitter, jealous side of you thinks maybe she just doesn’t know him the way you do. 

“Are you okay?” You whisper as if approaching a wounded animal, ready to attack. 

“On Fridays,” he starts, eyes shamefully dropping to his fidgeting hands. “Yul spends the day with my parents.”

His incessant need to defend his parenting makes your heart ache. “Hey, I-”

“She’s usually asleep by the time I leave work.” 

“Kook,” you interrupt his rambling. “You don’t have to explain; I understand... I think you’re an amazing father.”

Lifting his head, Jungkook looks you directly in the eyes. His are glassy and gentle now, but the fingers that hook into your lace bra, right between the cups, are rough and abrasive. “C’mere,” he gruffs, pulling you over the center console until you’re uncomfortably sandwiched between his solid chest and the steering wheel. There’s no effort to make room for you; he doesn’t slide his seat back. He doesn’t compromise any of his space for you. You accept it, steadying yourself on his shoulders with a grunt. 

Sometimes, you question what your presence in his life truly is. Are you an escape or a punching bag? Are you merely something he can sink his nails and teeth into when angry? Something he can break without consequence? The sound of thread ripping and buttons popping fills the car as he slides the silk off your shoulders, letting the delicate material fall to the floor without a care in the world.

“You wore this for me?�� A fingertip lightly traces the petite swell of your breasts, barely bulging over the frilly black cups of your push-up. The sensation sets your skin ablaze.

“Mhm,” you confirm, “I wanted today to be special.”

“You care about me?” Moonlight cuts through the dewy window, beaming against the side of his face, highlighting the taut pull in his features. His question seems genuine, but the answer is obvious, isn’t it? Simply being here with him makes the entire foundation of your soul, all of your morals and beliefs, crumble to pieces. Against your better judgment, you’re still here. 

Yearning. Trying. Fighting.

You swipe a thumb over his thick brows, trying to ease the angry crinkle that’s become a permanent fixture on his beautiful face. You comb through his hair. It’s a little knotted, a little crunchy from old gel. 

The answer should be obvious, but you don’t think Jungkook could internalize love if it was right in front of him.

“I care about you,” you say truthfully, “a lot.”

The stars in his eyes gleam for a moment, glowing bright and vibrant, before they’re engulfed by the suffocating blackness of his pupils. 

“You poor thing,” Jungkook tuts, trailing his fingers up your neck before grasping your jaw with a single hand. The baby fat of your cheeks mushes together from the force. “You're gonna let me do whatever I want to you, aren't you?”

The tone of his voice has your heart fluttering and your stomach churning with thick hot desire. Gripping his wrist with both hands, you moan out a ‘yes,’ unconsciously grinding down onto his slack-covered bulge. He’s barely touched you yet and your cunt is leaking, making a mess of your itty bitty thong and his work suit. 

“Right, of course.” With the same hand holding you, Jungkook taps his index finger against your glossy pout, “open.” Just barely parting your lips, you let the thick digit slide between them. Immediately, he presses down against your tongue, trying to coax a gag out of you. “What if I want to fuck this pretty little mouth until you cry? How does that sound? Would you like that?”

Inhaling deeply, you nod. That sounds absolutely perfect.

“I don’t know if you can handle it, though,” he lulls, retracting his finger before plunging it back in, all the up to his inked knuckle. You squint in defiance. He’s teasing, but you can’t fight the tinge of anger in your chest. If there’s one thing you can do, it’s suck a mean dick. Looking him directly in the eyes, you swirl your tongue against his palm with ease, not choking once. You feel his cock twitch against the supple flesh of your inner thigh. 

Unamused by your antics, Jungkook yanks his hand back angrily, making a string of saliva drip down your chin. Maybe a full face of makeup wasn’t the best idea. “Get in the backseat,” he orders huskily, wiping the damp skin on his blazer. Biting back a smirk, you climb off his lap and wriggle over the center console. You situate yourself on the cool leather, laying down and assuming face-fuck position. 

The yellow glow of headlights swims across the ceiling as a passing car drifts down the misty highway. This is the first time in five months that you and Jungkook are out in the open, blissfully oblivious to the possibility of getting caught. It’s childish, but you hope someone sees. For a moment in time—in a wandering eye’s glimpse of reality—you’re his and he's yours.

“Couldn’t wait until we got to the hotel, huh?” Jungkook huffs when he opens the door. Giddily, you lean your head back over the edge of the seat, coming face to face with the tent in his pants. His hands frantically work to unbuckle his belt, desperate to bury himself inside of you. His favorite escape. “Well, since you want to act like a fucking whore-” his pants fall to his knees with a clang when he unbuttons them, “-I’ll treat you like one.”

“Please,” you whimper, noting the wet spot on his gray Calvin Kleins. Reaching up, you lightly drag your nails across it, teasingly pinching the head of his cock before he tugs his boxers down. A big greedy smile spreads across your face as his semi springs out. 

The sight makes your lips part. It’s so pretty. Something about how the moonlight catches the glowy pink tip, peeking out from under his foreskin. The light accentuates every ridge and vein on his girthy shaft. So yummy it has you drooling-

Jungkook’s right. You’re a complete and utter whore.

“Is this what you wanted?” He peers down at you over his prominent nose, one hand clutching the roof of his Mercedes. The other wraps around his thick shaft, giving it a few languid pumps, getting himself fully erect for you. Teasingly, he taps the head against your plump lips. Unable to resist, you press a sweet peck and a kitten lick to his silky frenulum. “Uh-uh,” he chuckles, raising his delicious cock just beyond your reach. “You know better than that. Ask for permission.”

“Wanna suck it,” you pout, squirming impatiently. “Please?”

Suddenly, his heavy cock slaps your cheek with a wet thud.

“Please, what?”

“Please, sir?”

“Good girl.” The praise is contradicted by another light smack to your face, this time with an open palm. Taking the hint, you open your mouth wide, tongue sticking out in anticipation. Jungkook watches you intently with furrowed brows and a slack jaw as he feeds you the first few inches. As soon as the salty flavor of his arousal hits your tastebuds, you moan obnoxiously, back arching off the leather beneath you. 

He starts slowly, using your breathing to guide his movements—pausing on the exhales and giving you a bit more on the inhales. He does this until the entirety of his length is shoved down your warm, wet mouth. 

The hem of his black dress shirt flows over you, obstructing his view. He places it between his teeth with an annoyed groan, wanting to watch the swell in your neck as you swallow him like a snake. “You take it so well,” he grunts over the material, “the best I’ve ever had.”

Tears clinging to your lashes finally lose grip, trickling down your skin until they get lost in the thick, dark swoops of your dangling hair. For once, you mean something more to him than she does. It’s insignificant and shameful, but at least it's something.

“Are you okay, __?” Jungkook asks, sensing the shift as your soul splays before him like your half-naked body. Stepping back, he gives you some reprieve.

With red eyes and drool bubbling at the corners of your lips, you moan out an implied ‘yes.’ His confession has you on cloud nine.

“Do you remember the sign?”

Again, you hum. 

“Can you show me?”

Lazily, you tap his outer thigh three times, a hard ‘stop’ symbol you had agreed upon months ago while hanging off the edge of a hotel bed, preparing for Jungkook to fuck your mouth for the very first time. 

“Good girl,” he says before rutting his entire length into you again. He’s so deep that the soft skin of his scrotum nudges against the tip of your nose, and the dense patch of trimmed hair on his pubic bone tickles your chin. Reaching down, Jungkook grips your neck, reveling in the feeling of it stretching against his palm as he moves in and out steadily. 

Eventually, he hunches over, hands wandering down and holding your temples for better leverage. Despite the harsh digs of his hips, his delicate fingers brush away a few strands of hair stuck to your damp cheeks. The sweet gesture makes you whimper around him in pure ecstasy, moving your head to meet his thrusts for extra stimulation, circling your flat tongue around the base. 

The whistles of the midnight breeze and the murmur of passing cars fade, and all you hear is Jungkook. The melodic, venomous praises pouring out of him poison your mind with optimism. He takes one last plunge, so powerful it sends you sliding back against the seat. To steady yourself, you grip his legs, attempting to ease your triggered gag reflex. He holds you there, cock stuffed to the brim as he slams a hand against the black steel of his car, shirt falling from his teeth as he moans ardently. You gasp when he finally pulls out, leaking tip still connected to you by a bridge of spit and precum.

“Why-” Cough. “Why did you stop?” 

Your question is met with only the sound of rustling fabric and the chime of his hanging belt buckle as he removes his suit jacket and throws it into the passenger seat. Grabbing you by the band of your lingerie, Jungkook hauls your frame closer.

He snaps your taut bra strap against your shoulder with a single finger. “Take this off.”

“O-Okay,” you stutter, still trying to catch your breath as you sit up at the waist and unclip your bra. A shiver runs down your spine as the cool night air licks your exposed chest. This time when you lie down, you’re positioned under his spread legs. He stands over you with such authority and dominance. The underside view of his hard cock looks absolutely menacing. 

“These,” Jungkook’s large palms grab at your tits, jiggling them, “I wanna fuck ‘em.”

“There isn’t anything for you to fuck,” you giggle. 

After years of insecurity, and crying over vengeful comments from dumb boys you had broken things off with, you finally came to terms with your appearance. Your tits are small, and that’s okay. Plus, the cute little nipple piercings you had gotten a while back were definitely a confidence booster. There wasn’t an ounce of self-hatred in your comment.

Jungkook doesn’t take it that way, though.

“Shut up.” With a huff, he steps back and hunches, reaching down to deliver a harsh swat to your cheek. It was a little rougher than usual, and you wince upon impact. Instantly, he soothes the skin with a gentle pet. “Your tits are… perfect.”

Perfect? Your cheeks and aching pussy heat up at the compliment.

Squeezing your chest, Jungkook brushes his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. He pays extra attention to the silver barbells, decorated with little sparkly peaches at the ends. “These are new,” he notes, tugging on the jewelry. You let out a breathy moan, legs clenching together, inner thighs embarrassingly wet. “Sheesh,” he laughs, “someone’s sensitive.”

“Yeah… keep going.”

“I like them. They’re cute on you.”

Throughout your acquaintances, Jungkook was rarely this vocal. Maybe some praise sprinkled in here and there, but seldom anything substantial. Tonight, however, he’s been dishing out sweet talk like candy. You can’t pinpoint precisely what, but something’s changed.

Whatever it is, it fills you with awful, wishful hope.

Jungkook shuffles closer, teasing the teat of your pierced bud with his sticky tip. The dreamy sensation has your eyes rolling back into your skull. A glob of spit drops between the valley of your breasts before he spreads the wetness over your skin with his shaft. He has to use a death grip to force your tits into a soft plushness, perfect for him to slot himself into. Again, you feel that fucking ring embedding itself into your skin like a nasty tick. 

Cautiously, he guides his pulsing cock between your constrained breasts. A beautiful symphony of groans lulls out as he throws his head back in pleasure, long locks dancing along his clammy neck. 

“You like that?” You hum, taunting him. “Tell me how it feels.”

It takes him a minute to collect his thoughts, eyes trained on your tits pillowing around him, focusing on the dewy sheen of your nipples and chest as his oozing cock spills onto your skin. “It feels-” his hips stutter, “-so fucking good.”

The way his teeth snarl around the hushed curse makes you smile, eyes closing as you relish in his pleasure. Maybe you’re too horny, or perhaps the blood rushing to your head from being upside down for so long is making you crazy, but you wish you could live in this moment forever. Wallowing in the darkness, frozen in time with him. Yeah, you think, that would be wonderful.

“You can touch yourself,” he comments, spotting your clenched legs, desperate for some pressure. 

“S’okay,” you mumble, reaching around to caress his balls. His thighs tremble a bit against your arms. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“Can you-” he grunts, stomach clenching as he begins to feel that familiar pooling in the base of his thick shaft. “Hold them for me. I’ll take care of you after, just- let me cum.”

Obliging, you replace his hands with your own, squishing your tits together for him. The visual of you lying under him, complacent and willing, sends him spiraling. A guttural roar echoes throughout the empty road as he speeds up. “Tighter,” he orders; you listen. The saliva and precum are beginning to rub off, making the friction of his chaotic thrusts sting your skin. He notices, letting another string of spit fall from his mouth onto your flesh. “Be good and take it. I’m almost there.”

By now, Jungkook should know you’d endure any pain to be with him. 

The darkest parts of your brain tell you he’s well aware of that fact. 

After a few more humps and lulled words of encouragement, he’s bursting at the seams. Just before he blows, Jungkook steps back, tight fist jerking himself frantically as he spills his seed onto your chest. Your eyes dart from his angry cock to his fucked out expressions. The moonlight shines behind him like a glowing aura as he finishes with a scrunched nose and his tongue between his teeth. He looks angelic. You moan under him, flinching when a stray spurt lands on your chin. 

Fucked out and dazed, he laughs softly, running a hand through his hair as his chest heaves. Collecting the liquid with his finger, he brings it to your giggling lips. The taste makes you hum as you lazily begin rubbing his cum all over your tits. 

“Really?” He asks with a raised eyebrow. “You’re already starting?”

“Starting what?” You pout, batting your lashes at him and circling your nipple lightly with the tip of your nail, trying your best to look oblivious and innocent. Well, as innocent as you possibly can while literally covered in sperm. 

“Don’t play dumb. You know what you’re doing.”

See, in many ways, Jungkook is different from any other guy you’ve been with prior. For one, you didn’t meet via horny messages on Tinder at 1 a.m. For two, he’s older, meaning he’s much more intelligent and much more experienced. After years and years of honing in on his craft, he just knows how to fuck. Jungkook is one of the rare few penis-havers in the world who can orgasm back to back; no refractory period necessary. Truly a hidden gem. 

To put it simply, the man is a fucking faucet—one that you can turn off and on whenever you want. 

As if on cue, Jungkook twirls his inked finger, indicating for you to turn around. The other hand squeezes his cock just below the crown to cut off circulation, keeping himself erect. With that, your white converses are planted flat onto the sparse grass as you bend over the back seat, leaning your weight on your elbows. 

It's like whiplash when Jungkook's aggressive persona drops, and he's running his hands all over your body. Up your thighs, over your back, down your arms. He blooms petal-soft kisses on your bare shoulder before whispering in your ear. “Can I go in like this? Or do you need some foreplay?”

“This is fine,” you murmur, jarred by his sudden tenderness. “Perfect, actually.” 

With a hushed ‘alright,’ Jungkook reaches over you to rummage through the pocket of his discarded blazer. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as he pulls out a square foil packet. Condoms were an unwavering constant in your weekend escapades. Jungkook always wears condoms. Normally, that would be a great thing; however, in this situation, it’s like a stab to the heart…

Because if he’s adamant about using protection with you, then that means he’s still sleeping with her, doesn’t it? And it’s not like you can even ask or scold him about it. She’s his wife, after all. You’re the outsider. 

Jungkook hooks his thumb into your panties and pulls them aside. Your glistening folds are on full display, waiting to get pounded mercilessly right on the side of the road. He shoves three digits into your mouth, letting your drool on them a bit before pressing them to your wet cunt. Opening your folds with his index and ring fingers, he lightly dips the middle inside you. He collects some arousal and spreads it to your clit in feathery flicking motions. You cry out, feeling the shocks of a blossoming orgasm. 

“Already dripping, I see.” You can practically hear his cocky, satisfied grin as he stands straight and rolls the condom down his length. “Always so sensitive.”

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, “I always get like this with you.”

“I know you do.” Pulling a cheek to the side, Jungkook cards his sheathed tip through your entrance, making sure to nudge under your clitoral hood with every swipe. Lewd wet sounds ring in your ears as he tortures your hole relentlessly. 

“Kook,” you huff, reaching back to dig your manicured, almond-shaped nails into his skin. “Just put it in!”

Suddenly, Jungkook slams your torso onto the leather. In one swift motion, he’s catching your wrists, pinning them both to your lower back with a single hand. 

“I’ll give you what you want just-” releasing the back of your neck, he spanks you so hard you recoil, “be patient.”

Despite his words, you wait no longer than a minute before he’s guiding his dreamy member right where you want it. Jungkook always gives in quickly. How could he not when you’re ass up, face down, and practically begging? As he sinks into you, and you feel that familiar burn from the initial stretch, your eyes roll back, mouth opening around a silent scream. 

Usually, Jungkook likes to overwhelm you with his entire length all at once. There’s some hesitation this time as he slides in only halfway before stopping. Too much hesitation for your liking. You’re confident he’s testing you. Your assumption is verified when he speaks in that annoying, condescending voice.

“If you want it so bad, come get it.”

“You’re so,” breaking free from his grasp, you press your palms into the seat and lift yourself up with a grumble, “infuriating.”

He hums halfheartedly, head dropping to watch you work yourself onto him. Only a single stroke in, and he can already see you coating him in a shiny, milky dew. “So fucking wet…”

“Can’t help it,” you peep, taking him to the hilt and circling your hips, trying to savor the feeling. You’re no stranger to his cock; how good it makes you feel. You spend every Friday night bathing in that pleasure, forgoing parties and hangouts with your best friends for a romp in the five-star hotel sheets with Jungkook. Still, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to commit his touch to memory. Perhaps, despite your denial, you recognize that this is temporary. Deep down, you know that someday, all you’ll have left of him is a tragic echo. “I love the way you make me feel.”

“Me too,” he gasps, guiding your movements as his fingers dig into your hips. Clearly interpreting your admission differently than you had meant it. “Your pussy’s like heaven.” 

High on praise and drunk on the sounds you’re coaxing out of him, you whine, dragging your cunt up every inch of his throbbing length before slamming back. Hopefully, the dense forest behind you is enough to insulate the pornographic wails ripping through you. Even if someone somewhere hears, you can’t bring yourself to give a damn. Not when heady pleasure and adrenaline course through your veins like blood. 

Just when you’re about to collapse, arms giving out underneath you, Jungkook grabs you by the neck and holds you flush against his toned chest. “Don’t you run,” he chuckles. The low baritone rumble goes straight to your clit. His warm breath gusts over your skin, contrasting the chilly night air. “Don’t give up on me.”

He’s pounding into you now, choking you tighter than he ever has, but he pecks you so delicately. Lips barely ghosting over the shell of your ear. So gentle and tender. As tears stream down your cheeks for the second time tonight, you can’t help but feel there’s a hidden meaning behind his words.

“What’s wrong?” He smirks, tilting your face, wanting you to look him in the eye as you fall apart. The visual nearly makes you combust. His stringy hair is sticking to his cheeks, flushed from exertion. Even the tattoos littering the expanse of his neck are splotched pink and red. Twisting in his hold, you grab a fistful of his damp waves, fingers tickling his short undercut. “What do you want, baby?”

“Cum…”

“You wanna cum?”

“Please, please, please.” Weak whimpers punch out of you in tandem with his brutal thrusts.

“What do you say?”

“Please, sir?”

“Good girl,” he rewards you with a smack to your sensitive clit, “you can cum. I’ve got you.”

And with his permission, you’re cumming. Your legs shake violently as you’re overcome with blinding, electric gratification. If it wasn’t for Jungkook’s strong arms supporting you, you would’ve toppled face-first into the seat. He fucks you through the height of your orgasm; hips never ceasing, even when everything becomes so intense and sensitive that your body instinctively tries to push him away. He watches your face intently, reading your expressions to ensure he’s milked every last drop of your orgasm before he lets you fall onto the leather.

Even in your hazy state, you catch the breathy string of curses, a telltale sign of his own impending orgasm. “Fuck!” He groans, removing the condom to paint your ass and lower back in hot, white ropes. 

It’s funny, really. 

He refuses to cum with you or inside you, something so intimate and special, but he has no qualms cumming on you. It’s almost like he’s marking you, burning himself into your flesh. Consuming a piece of you every time your bodies come together as one. 

And all the while, his mind is somewhere else as his body swallows you alive. 

“Look at you,” Jungkook laughs, smoothing a palm up and down your spine, rubbing his semen into your skin the same way you had earlier. “I’ve made a mess out of you.” 

That’s true in more ways than one…

Lost in post-nut clarity, your brain barely registers Jungkook maneuvering you both into the car. Closing the door behind him, he moves you onto his lap, your back pressed against his sweaty button-up. Peering down, you see his slacks and boxers still around his ankles, black dress shoes poking out underneath. You’re in only a thong and sneakers, and your makeup is definitely melted. The two of you must look like the biggest sluts ever.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook mutters, noticing your delirious giggles. 

“Oh, nothing,” you hum, leaning into him. Habitually, he wraps both of his inked arms around your middle. You despise how incredibly natural and serendipitous it feels, almost like you’re meant to be in them.

God __, get your head out of the clouds and return to Earth. 

Life isn’t a romance novel, and you’re not a child anymore. You shouldn’t see the world as quartz-colored and magical. The man is seven years older than you. He has a wife and child. Logistically, it could never, ever work…

But if soulmates exist as they do in the books, you wish on every falling star that Jungkook is yours.

“What are you thinking about?” You coo softly, turning your head to stare into the abyss of his infinite eyes.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, he can’t resist lowering his sinful hand to your most private area, cupping your sex unabashedly. “I want more.”

“You always want more.” 

“So do you,” he laughs, pointing out the way you grind into his touch. Nuzzling into your shoulder, he nips your skin and then soothes his tongue over it like an insincere apology. “Just one more time, okay?”

You nod, head leaning back on his shoulder as you succumb to his skilled fingers, rubbing your clit in tight circles. Jungkook pauses in contemplation before popping his glistening fingers into his mouth. When the taste hits his tongue, his face contorts. He even moans dreamily like you’re the most delicious dessert he’s experienced. The scene has your own brows furrowing, lips parting at just how hot and bothered he’s got you. 

Sensually, he trails the wet pads down, ghosting over a nipple, teasing you on their treacherous journey to your waiting core. He slides them in your wet cunt seamlessly, curling right into your g-spot. They move in a dip and wave that drives you wild, a wet suction noise sounding in the enclosed space. Turned on by your purrs and mewls, Jungkook subtly ruts against you, his plumping cock sliding between your cheeks.

“You’re already close, aren’t you?” He tuts patronizingly. “Gonna cum around my fingers, sweetheart?”

“No…”

“No?”

“Wanna cum with you…”

He stops, realizing what you’re alluding to, before pulling his fingers out and tapping your clit gently. “There’s another condom in my pocket. Can you hand it to me?”

“We don’t need it.”

“Yes, we do. Don’t be foolish.”

“... I’m on the pill,” you suggest hesitantly. Once again, you’re nothing but stupid and irresponsible when it comes to Jungkook. You just want to be with him, that’s all. 

“__,” he starts, voice shadowed with sternness, “give me the condom.”

Realizing he won’t budge, you do as he asks and fish it from his blazer, watching idly as he goes through all the steps—stroking himself to full mass, rolling on a barrier, and then positioning you between his spread legs as he guides you down onto his length with a hand on your hip. 

Cyclical. 

Like clockwork, your jaw drops, eyes screwing shut as you let him invade your space and infiltrate your mind. You don’t believe the two of you have ever tried this position before, but it feels so fucking good. His cock is so deep you can feel it in your fucking stomach. It’s obvious from his groaning and the aggressive spank he gives you that the unexplored angle is affecting him too. 

Outside, light rain begins chiming against the steel roof of his car as you take the first shallow rise of your hips. 

Scratch everything you’ve said about this not being a romance novel.

Distracted by the calming sound, you thoroughly miscalculate how much space you have in his sleek Mercedes Benz and bonk your head on the ceiling.

“Ow,” you wince with an embarrassed giggle.

Hissing at the impact, Jungkook clutches your head, massaging the area gently. “Are you okay?” His voice is muffled, and you can tell he’s trying his best not to laugh. 

“It’s not funny!” You shout playfully, slapping his knee. 

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry.” Chuckling, he moves your hair and places a gentle kiss between your shoulder blades. “You’re cute, that's all.”

Cute? You swoon. 

“Alright baby, keep going. Don’t stop,” Jungkook orders, the heel of his calloused palms pushing at your ass, encouraging you to bounce on his needy cock. A fucked-out sigh escapes him, head falling back for a split second before it jerks back up again, not wanting to miss the view of your perky cheeks rippling as they collide with his solid pelvis. “This position is so sexy.” Overwhelmed, he doesn’t know where to put his hands. He chokes you for a moment, plays with your tits, swats them, grabs your hips, and then finally settles on your clit, flicking it like a light switch.

“Jungkook!” You wail, knees knocking together as you brace yourself. Men you’ve dated in the past struggled to get you off. Sure, they made you feel good, but they couldn’t quite bring you to the edge. It only ever took Jungkook a matter of minutes to have you whimpering and shaking, begging for release. “I can’t take so much! I can’t!”

Ignoring your pleas, Jungkook pilots your right arm around his shoulder, sending you flush against his frame once more. Dipping his head, he sucks the closest nipple into his mouth. Caught off guard, you’re so overstimulated that your hips come to a grinding halt.

“Move,” he commands with his lips sealed around your piercing, sending dizzying vibrations to your sensitive bud. 

“I can’t,” you whimper, back arching off his chest as you try to calm all five tingling senses. 

“Yes, you can.” 

“No…”

Jeon Jungkook was never one to take no for an answer. 

Scooting further down the seat, his large hands clasp behind your knees. He lifts your legs until the heels of your white sneakers are on either side of the driver’s headrest. In this new position, he’s able to pound up into you freely, relentlessly beating into clenching walls. Hitting every single delicious spot inside of you. “Jungkook, please!”

“Please, what?” Honestly, you have no clue what you’re begging for. All you know is that his mushroom tip rigorously stimulating your g-spot is going to have you gushing at any moment. His guttural, sensual groaning does nothing to slow your approaching orgasm. “You want more?” 

As if you weren’t already gasping for air, Jungkook raises your legs to your head, knees locked onto his inner elbows. His fingers intertwine behind your neck, thumbs pressing into the base of your throat as he folds you in half. 

A full fucking nelson. 

“Watch me fuck it.” With a stern grip, he forces your gaze to his thick shaft, sliding in and out of your sopping cunt. Your vision is watery, but you can clearly see just how turned on you are, creamy juices coating his entire shaft. “Open it, baby. Watch what I do to you.” 

Reaching both hands under your thighs, you spread your lips, getting a better look at him completely destroying you.

“Isn’t it so pretty?” Jungkook grunts, speech slurred as his arousal lulls him into a delirious, catatonic state. “Tell me what you see, baby.”

“So pretty, Kook.” You’re simply playing into his dirty talk, but the sight of your bodies connecting, becoming one, is profoundly gorgeous. “So wet…”

“Yeah? Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours.”

That sends him into a frenzy, thrusts becoming so punctuated and violent that his cock accidentally slips out. 

“Put it back in, put it back in!” You chant, frantically shoving his length into you. The yelp you chortle out is accompanied by the sound of your hand smacking against the foggy car window as your climax engulfs you. “I love it!”

“I love yo-”

He quickly cuts himself off, but everything stops when the sentence fragment hits the air. 

Is your brain playing sick, twisted jokes on you… or was he really just about to say he loved you?

Before you can even process what’s happening, your biological responses take over, sending through the most earth-shattering, world-bending, mind-boggling orgasm you’ve ever had. Everything goes blank. Your eyes cloud with splotches and stars. Your ears ring with static and white noise, blurring the sound of Jungkook cumming underneath you, and the pouring rain outside, splashing against concrete. 

This time, he doesn’t pull out, just works through both of your orgasms with gentle ruts and vulnerable whimpers.

After you’ve both calmed down and your heaves have diminished to a slow, even pattern, he pulls out, crumpling the used condom into a loose napkin he found in the center console. Still on his lap and in his arms, you watch intently as Jungkook leans his head back, eyes closing as he inhales deeply. To you, he looks almost… peaceful. 

The moon trickles in through the thin streams on the window, reflecting on his face like stained glass—something that was once so clear and pure now jaded with somber shades of blue. Sad, but still beautiful, you think. 

Delicately, you trace a finger over the black ink decorating his skin. You sit silently for a while, basking in the comfortable aura, simply enjoying one another’s company, before you finally speak.

“Why this?” You peep, pointing to the dainty letters at the base of his neck.

“It’s my daughter’s name.” He counters playfully, the faintest hint of a smile on his pierced lips.

“Well, duh, I know that,” you roll your eyes with a giggle, “but why here?”

“Yul is like air to me.” 

Humming in contemplation, you continue your journey over the endless swirls and loops. During sex, the first three buttons of his shirt popped open, exposing the canvas of his chest. You feel a thick, dark cloud loom over you when you reach a certain tattoo, the one that’s plagued your mind ever since you first saw it. 

Another name is engraved right above his heart in the same delicate font as Yul’s:

Seol. 

“Yul, please. Enough.” If Jungkook had a dollar for every time he's said that in the last twenty-two minutes, he’d be nearly as rich as his boss, sitting directly in front of him on a very important Zoom call. “Daddy is working.”

Jumping at the sudden inflection of his voice, the little girl on his lap pulls her tiny hand away. For the most part, Yul was well-behaved. However, working from home proved to be an obstacle that he and his clingy toddler have yet to overcome. 

She’s interrupted his meeting three times already. First, cutting off his proposal with the Baby Shark theme song, blaring from her Pinkfong tablet that he’d forgotten to mute. Second, peeking above his desk with her space buns and doe eyes to show his colleagues the latest addition to her squishmallow collection. The last straw was when she squeezed his nose. 

With watery eyes and warbled lips, Yul blinks at Jungkook, heartbroken and confused as to why he didn’t make that funny noise she loves so much. Quickly, her gaze averts to her chunky legs, swinging aimlessly as she attempts to hold back the tears.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Jungkook sighs, tacking on an apology before turning his screen off. “Bunny,” he lifts her chin with his index finger, another palm flat on her protruding tummy, “please, don’t cry. You’re not in trouble. Daddy just-”

The ring of a doorbell interrupts him.

“__?” Jungkook questions, baby at his hip as he stands in the doorway before you. “What are you doing here?”

You gulp. You weren’t expecting to see him.

Usually, you spoke to Seulgi. You’ve only ever seen Jungkook in passing, sparing quick greetings before he’s out the door. It worked in your favor, really, because for whatever reason, you felt extremely awkward around him.

Almost like that gross nervousness you get when you’re around someone you find so incredibly attractive it makes you uncomfortable…

Maybe it’s because he’s covered in tattoos and piercings. Maybe it’s because he’s a dad. Your group of fellow horny twenty-something-year-old friends have told you mythical stories and fantasies about older men. Freshly turned thirty-year-old men. Men like Jungkook. Dilfs. Something about that potent dad nut… Like, you know it works. 

It’s inappropriate; you know it is. You’ve always tried your best to ignore the feral thoughts.

Today seems to be putting your mental strength to the test because Jungkook is dressed in baggy gray sweats, long dark hair slicked back into a ponytail. A few loose strands dangle devilishly in front of his eyes, taunting you.

“I-It’s 10… I’m supposed to be babysitting.”

“I’m working from home today. My wife didn’t tell you?”

With wide eyes and hot cheeks, you shake your head. “I’m sorry for bothering you,” you stutter, stepping back and preparing to make a mad dash to your hand-me-down Honda Civic. “I’ll just… be on my way then.” 

“Actually.” An icy grip on your wrist stops you. “I could use some help. This one-” he nods his head towards Yul, stuck to him like velcro, “-is being a bit needy today.” 

One look at her turns your flustered gape into a smile. The past month with her has been more difficult than you’d imagined. Yul was incredibly sweet and intuitive, but unbearably shy. Building a relationship with the girl was challenging, but you were determined to overcome it. “No way,” you frown animatedly, tickling her leg with the tip of your finger, “Yul would never.”

A giggle or two had been the goal. Instead, she buries her face into her father’s shoulder.

“Don’t take it personally,” Jungkook orders, noticing the defeated slump in your shoulders. “She’s always like this with new people.”

Seulgi had warned you that Yul would take a while to come around. Hopefully, it’ll happen organically. But for now, a little gift or two wouldn’t hurt your efforts, you supposed last night while running errands. Reaching into your purse, you pull out a bottle of non-toxic, baby-friendly nail polish. “Yul, look what I have!”

“Wow,” Jungkook plays along, gently nudging her head out of his neck. “Bunny, look!”

He calls her Bunny? 

You’re in for it now. 

Plump fingers wrap around the plastic, taking it out of your own with an awe-stricken stare. She holds it up right in front of Jungkook’s nose. “Pink.”

“Mhm, that’s right,” he confirms, pecking her temple. “Now, Daddy has to get back to work. Can you stay with __ for a bit?”

She looks at him, then at you, then at him again, then back at you, and finally, landing on the nail polish, giving her father a reluctant nod. You knew it would come in handy. Despite her agreeance, Yul still stretches the neck of his shirt with her tiny fists as she’s transferred into your arms. 

Somehow, you managed to survive that painfully awkward encounter…

Only to be thrown into another one immediately after. 

See, you’ve always known Yul was a daddy’s girl. On good days, the toddler would grab you by the hand and guide you around the house, giving you a tour of everything that belonged to her father. His shoes at the door. His coat on the hook. Even taking you into the bathroom to show you his shampoo bottle. But that fact was never more apparent than now, as Yul stands in the middle of the living room on the verge of tears.

“Daddy?”

“He’s working, sweetheart. Remember?” You coo on your knees in front of her. You’re quick to redirect her. “I like your shoes.”

The sniffles stop as she glances down at her white sneakers. “Mine…” she takes a hesitant step back, mistaking your compliment as an attempt to swindle her out of them. 

“That’s right,” you laugh, “they’re so pretty, just like you.”

She blinks at you for a moment, and then begins stomping her little foot: heel first. When she’s finally able to kick off her left shoe, she bends all the way over, pressing her palms flat against the hardwood floor. It’s the most uncoordinated way you’ve ever seen anyone pick something up. 

Without warning, Yul throws the shoe across the room. Well, that had been her intention, you assume. She had cocked her arm back too far and released too early, making it land behind her. 

Oh no, she hates you. 

With an excited grunt and a bounce, Yul points to the sneaker—its clear sole sparkling pink and purple.

“Oh,” you sigh in relief. “They light up?” 

“Yesh.” Plopping right onto her butt, she takes the other one off, repeating the process. “Like this!” Her arms stretch out and she clenches her two little front teeth, executing the most stellar charade of a light you’ve ever seen. 

It’s a small breakthrough, but you’ll take it. 

Then you paint her nails, just like you said you would. She’s as patient as a toddler could be, but her tiny toe keeps curling under the tickle of the brush, making pink polish bleed outside of the lines. 

“My goodness,” you groan, admiring the messy, albeit adorable, result. “You’re so cute! Wait until your dad sees you.” 

Yul shrieks wildly, smacking both hands over her mouth as she hobbles to her feet. You watch with confused giggles as the milk-drunk baby stumbles down the corridor. You figure out where she's going too late. 

Yul stands on her tippy toes, jumping to click open the door to Jungkook’s office with a loud creak. 

“Yul!” You whisper-shout. “Don’t-”

“Daddy!” She calls, stepping a single foot into the room, showing off the fresh paint job. “So cute!” 

Literally, your only job today was to keep Yul preoccupied while Jungkook worked, and you failed. Your breath catches in your throat, awaiting his response. 

“So pretty,” he gasps, “now go play, baby. I’m almost done.” 

A relieved exhale flies past your lips. 

Something you’ve picked up on from years of babysitting is that little girls aren’t allowed to compliment themselves. They’re always told it’s rude or conceited. Jungkook does neither, and you find that so refreshing. 

“Close the door, please,” he orders before she runs away, “gently.” Yul does her very best to shut the door quietly and then sprints back to you. 

The next few hours go smoothly. You discovered that the green-hating toddler has an affinity for avocados after giving her a bite of your toast. “Mmm!” She had hummed, looking at you with wide eyes. With a full belly and squishmallow in hand, Yul went out like a light for her afternoon nap, giving you time to catch up on some reading. 

“How was she?” You didn’t even hear him come out of his office, so the deep voice makes you jump, eyes tracking the sound. He’s leaning against a kitchen counter, one tattooed hand stuffed in his pocket and the other wrapped around a water bottle. It’s a thick one too, and his fingers still touch. 

“Better,” you cough, “she’s sleeping now.”

He hums halfheartedly, dark irises boring into you as he takes a sip. Without Yul to soften the edges, Jungkook is… intimidating, to say the least. “What are you reading?”

“The Catcher in the Rye…” you peep, quickly closing it. “I know, it’s kinda lame.”

“No, not lame at all. Anyone who thinks that is lying to themselves… or is just being a contrarian.” He leans his elbows against the dark granite island, fingers crossing as he stares at you. You’re sitting idle across the room, but his presence looms over you. He has this way of making you feel like he’s in your head, listening to everything you’re thinking. 

You pray he’s not. If he is, you'll definitely be fired. 

“I can’t tell which one you are yet.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but the ‘yet’ makes you come clean, shifting in your spot on the leather couch. “... Both.”

“Right,” he smirks, tongue fiddling with his lip ring, almost like he’s taunting you. “That’s one of my favorite books, actually. I relate to it in many ways.”

Your fingers dance across the red cover, concealing hundreds of pages of isolation, emptiness, and the heavy dread of passing time. What an awful thing to relate to. Sometimes, when you get too engrossed in the text, glimmers of yourself bleed within the lines too. 

“You’re an English major, right?”

“Oh, um, I’m not in school at the moment… I just read for fun.”

“Well, you have an Associate’s degree.” Him knowing that information about you makes you think he asked the previous question with the intention of baiting you into this conversation. “Why not get your Bachelor’s?”

“I don’t know. It’s… complicated.” 

Why is he interrogating you? What does he want? For you to confess that the fear of becoming a full-fledged adult makes you not want to go back to college? 

“Life is complicated. You’d be ridiculous to not go back.” The audacity should make you mad, but he speaks with so much authority that you’re dumbfounded. His head tilts, eyes squinting as they shift to the ceiling, debating something. His tongue clicks when he finally makes his decision. “Follow me; I have something I want to show you.” 

With the curl of two thick fingers, Jungkook calls you to follow him down the hallway. You blink for a moment, gushing at the suggestive motion of his hand. Shaking your head at the evil, intrusive thought, you rise to your feet. 

Just like a child, you have to skip to catch up to his long strides. Your gaze trails along white walls; there are pictures of him and Yul, Yul and Seulgi, but not a single one of them all together. 

Now that you think about it, any affection you’ve ever seen in the household was reserved for Yul and Yul only. Seems like trouble in paradise…

You shouldn’t speculate.

The heavy wooden door creaks as Jungkook holds it open for you. You’re not sure what you expected his room to look like, but it certainly wasn’t this. The rest of the house is pretty modern, consisting of sleek blacks, whites, and woods. Countertops designed with icy swirled marble. Everything has this cold, impersonal vibe, but this room is the total opposite. The walls are baby blue, decorated top to bottom with dreamy clouds. You spot a chubby yellow star peeking out from underneath one of them, adorned with a hand-painted smiley face. On his nightstand, there’s a pastel purple foldable record player. Standing behind it is a single vinyl: Beautiful Boy by John Lennon. 

“Since you like to read,” Jungkook coughs, turning your attention to a sleek bookcase, stuffed to the brim with hundreds of titles you’ve never even heard of. “I figured you’d appreciate my collection.”

“Yeah, it’s…” The words trail off as you step forward. On a whim, your finger extends, tracing the delicate spine of a well-loved book. A low chuckle brings you back to reality; you peep, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as you yank your hand away. “It’s… really cool.”

“You can borrow something if you’d like. Does anything catch your eye?” Plopping down onto the computer chair, Jungkook rummages through his desk drawer and pulls out a tiny black case. You didn’t even know he wore glasses, and when he nudges them comfily onto the bridge of his nose, you nearly melt. As if he could get any more attractive.

“N-No,” you stutter as he wheels closer. Even though you’re towering over him, you still feel so small in his presence. You pray to God he can’t sense how incredibly nervous he makes you. “Not really.” 

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, you know,” he hums, low and sly. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No!” You peep in shock. Is the man a fucking mindreader? 

“Right.” Jungkook peers over the rim of his lenses, dark eyes glimmering in the whimsical glow of the room. “So __, what do you want to be?”

“A teacher,” you say, playing with your fingers.

“My wife wanted to be a teacher, too.” He shoots you the softest, gentlest smile. “She ended up doing business instead.”��

“Why?” You ask, gnawing on your bottom lip. You don’t mean to pry, but this is the first time you’ve ever actually talked to him in a meaningful way. Something about him intrigues you, like a puzzle you’re determined to find all the pieces to. 

“Ah, well,” he sighs, inked fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “We figured it’d be best for our family if we both pursued more lucrative career paths. I switched my major from English to finance.” You light up at the confession, the similarity putting you at ease. “I’m sorry if I was abrasive earlier,” he frowns, “I settled down young and had to sacrifice a lot, so I encourage you to go for something that fulfills you.” With his elbows on his knees, he leans closer to you. “I think you’d be a fantastic teacher. You take care of my daughter well.”

“Thank you,” you peep, cheeks heating up at the compliment. “I mean… you didn’t have Yul that young.” He tried to comfort you, so it’s only fair you do the same, right? “I think your late twenties are a great time to have children.”

Almost immediately, his face drops, eyes glazing over with something so raw. So… longing. You’ve never seen anything like it before. The corners of his nose twitch before he composes himself. “Yeah, I suppose they are.” His pink tongue toys with his lip ring, swiftly changing the subject. “You seem surprised.” 

“I guess I just wasn’t expecting all this.” 

“Expecting what?” 

“I don’t know,” you laugh clumsily, “books.” You mentally curse yourself as soon as the answer comes out. Really, __? Books? 

“What?” He starts, raising a brow at you. “You thought I couldn’t read?”

Thankfully, Jungkook takes your comment playfully. 

“Maybe,” you respond in the same lighthearted manner, feeling a bit more comfortable in his presence, “I also didn’t expect your room to look like a little boy’s room.”

All of the cheerfulness in the air evaporates as Jungkook glares at you with a clenched jaw and flared nostrils. Cleary irate. You’ve triggered a landmine.

“Jungkook, I’m-”

“Stop talking.” He raises a hand, cutting you off before you finish the sentence. Turning his back to you, he wheels over to his desk. “You can leave. You’re done for the day.” 

Looking back, you know why he was so upset that day. You had put the puzzle pieces together a while ago. You’re unsure of the details, and asking for them feels wrong. Silence feels wrong, too, though. Until now, you’ve never dared to speak up. 

You have no idea how to navigate something of this magnitude, but you just want him to know that you’re here. That you’re trying.

Cautiously, with your hand still on the tattoo, you whisper: “He must’ve been so beautiful, Jungkook…”

The thumb that had been drawing soft shapes into your side comes to an eerie pause as he freezes under you. When you look at him, your heart shatters. His chin is caved in with little dents, eyes glazed over with so much emotion. You’ve never seen a human being look so broken.

“Get off me.”

You frown at the shift in his demeanor. “Why?”

Remaining tight-lipped, Jungkook physically removes you from his lap, dumping you onto the seat next to him.

“Why can’t we ever talk about anything serious?”

He remains quiet as he slides his underwear up, not sparing you a single glance. When he speaks, his tone is painfully detached. “Like what?”

“Like what you said,” you answer curtly. 

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Shaking his head with a cynical chuckle, he begins buttoning his pants, pretending you don’t exist. Like you’re not right beside him, falling to pieces. 

Your eyes dart to the ceiling, lashes fluttering rapidly as you mull over what to say next. You guess now would be an appropriate time to ask him what you’ve wanted for weeks. Blinking does nothing to combat your unshed tears when you realize that his answer has the potential to destroy everything you’ve been dreaming about. Everything you’ve hoped for. “When are you going to leave her?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous, Jungkook!” Shaking your head furiously, you feel the first hints of anger in your chest, tears threatening to spill at any moment. “I’m not! I see the way you look at me!”

“What the fuck did you think was going to happen? Huh?” Finally, he’s paying attention to you, just not in the way you hoped. His face is beet red as he leans closer. “Don’t tell me you actually thought we were going to end up together, __. Seriously? You’re my babysitter! You’re seven years younger than me! This isn’t some fucking fairytale; it’s life! There’s no such thing as happily-ever-afters—grow up and stop acting like a damn child!”

“No, Jungkook,” you croak, fully sobbing as you push an angry finger into his chest. “You’re the one who’s acting childish! I may not be the most mature person, but at least I know how to accept love!”

“So let’s say I divorce my wife, then what? Huh?” He seethes. “I get partial custody? I only see Yul on weekends? Every other week? She grows up in a broken home? I refuse to ruin my daughter’s life like that.”

You take a shaky breath, eyes shifting to the car floor, the air fresher on his mirror, the window. Anywhere but him. The way Jungkook explains your make-believe future together is nothing how you envisioned it. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s just a fucking asshole. Neither thought process eases the pain.

“But you’re okay with ruining mine?”

For a moment, his features soften, and you see a glimmer of guilt wash over him. It fizzles out just as fast as it came. “You’re being dramatic.” Jungkook steps outside, tucking his shirt into his pants. “Get dressed.” 

With jittery hands and blurry eyes, you grab your discarded lace bra, the one you had bought just for tonight, and slide it on your shoulders. When you pick your shirt up, you see that it’s ripped and tattered. Completely destroyed. 

“Here,” Jungkook mumbles, tossing you his blazer as he watches you in the rearview. 

Once you’re dressed, you awkwardly slide into the passenger seat. The scent of his cologne makes your head pound and your stomach flip. 

“I want to go home.”

His lips part, preparing to persuade you otherwise. The hotel room he booked is ready and waiting, just as it is every Friday. He decides against it, simply murmuring an ‘okay’ before putting the keys in the ignition and starting the engine. 

“Do you want to get something to eat before I drop you off?” 

You just want your dad. 

“I just want to go home.”

Other than the whoosh of splashing puddles and your soft sniffles, the ride to your house is painfully silent. Leaning your head against the window, you watch the moon. For miles and miles, it never changes. It’s stagnant, frozen in time, surrounded by nothing but endless blackness. 

“Stop crying! I can’t stand it anymore!” Jungkook shouts, hitting the steering wheel with his open palm, finally growing uncomfortable from your non-stop tears. The sudden outburst makes you flinch. Sighing heavily, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. Just… stop crying, please.”

You sink further into your seat, curling your lips into your mouth to suppress a sob.

“I’m not worth your tears, __.”

You feel nothing but relief when he finally turns onto your street, stopping all the way at the end, concealed by the night and the shadows of overhanging trees. 

“Am I picking you up next Friday?” He asks just before you leave. 

With raw cheeks and a scowl, you slam the door in his face. 

Your feet are so heavy that the sidewalk sinks under you like quicksand. No matter how many steps you take, the comfort of your house seems out of reach. Too far gone. Confusion weighs on your shoulders. You should feel proud, empowered even, but that voice in the back of your mind smothers any sense of relief. 

Deep down, you know this isn’t going to be the last weekend you spend with Jungkook. 

© chryblossomjjk 2022 [do not copy, translate or repost]

[ribread03]

Shower. c.sturniolo

You and Chris decide to take a shower together after you've had a long day with the "pampering" of his fans.

warnings: slight depression, overthinking, getting threats (small tho), breaking down (crying), just being sad overall, showering together, kissing, lots of fluff

use of y/n, babe, love, ma

WC:1651

AN: just thought of this while in the shower so I'ma write it real quick while I'm still thinking about it lol. there isn't that much dialog

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

Pulling up into the driveway of yours and Chris' house that you share with his brothers you sigh, not expecting what to walk in on. you've already had a long day at work and you just want to get into the shower and relax in bed.

When you walk into the house you hear screaming and what sounded like a fork being thrown across the room. You take a deep breath and walk farther into the house not expecting to see Chris, Matt, and Nick all sharing a drink. You stand there and smile to yourself from behind the camera.

Your relationship with Chris is public and has been for about two weeks, you guys have been dating for a little over a year and thought it would be a good time to share the love you have for each other. It went smoothly for a bit with all of the fans being happy for you guys and them being happy that Chris was happy. But that slowly turned and you started to get some hate from the few that didn't quite love that you are Chris' girlfriend. Now it's weighing on you and you're starting to overthink things and know that you need to talk to Chris tonight.

You start to walk to your and Chris' shared bedroom to get changed when Chris pulls you into frame for you to say hi. "Hi guys!" you say with a big smile on your face trying to hide the fact that you didn't want to be in the video today after getting small threats you still put on a brave face and smile for the camera. Giving Chris a small kiss on the cheek you head to your room.

--

Once the boys are done filming Chris comes to find you. He finds you in one of his fresh love hoodies and shorts in a ball on the bed wrapped tight in the sheets. He walks over to you with a concerned look on his face and bends down to see what was going on.

"What's up baby?" He asks. "Wait- why are you crying?" asking now more concerned.

"I- Its nothing, really." You say slightly stumbling on your words.

"I can tell its not ma." He pauses for a moment. "Please tell me what up and what I can do to help."

You sit and think about telling him what's really going on or just saying you're tired, but end up telling him everything. "I-It's just since.. since we've told people about being together it's" You stop sitting up more before continuing. "Its been dif-different online."

"What do you mean "different" y/n/n?"

"Like I've been getting some small threats-"

Chris cuts you off, not letting you continue before grabbing your hands, pulling you into a hug. This is when you break down completely, letting it all out into his chest, small sobs escaping your mouth, tears falling down your face and you pull back he gives you a gentle smile and a quick peck on the lips.

"Ill handle it don't worry about the crazy bitches who think you don't deserve me. You are the best thing that has happened to me, over all of the fans. You. You are my number.." he stops and thinks "You're my number three." you stare at him blankly "Matt and Nick." he says and you giggle a little. "There is no one I want more than you and know one I love more than you."

You smile at him and pull him into a kiss. Smiling as you guys pull apart you start to speak before he quickly kisses you again. "Sorry" he says. "They just look so kissable" he has a shit eating grin across his face.

"Can we take a shower together?" you ask your voice slightly cracking.

"Sure love. Let me go get the shower started." he starts to walk across the room to his bathroom. "Water temperature?"

"As hot as hell its self please" you ask with a small smile forming on your lips. You love when Chris takes care of you even if its as simple as taking a shower together.

Once the water was hot Chris came back out with just his pants on. "Waters hot, like supper supper hot. just how you like it." He says as he pulls you into the bathroom filled with steam. You can feel your body relaxing already.

Chris comes up behind you and pulls you into an embrace. He starts to take your shirt off. Helping you get undressed. You let him help you, taking your pants off to speed up the process. Once your fully undressed you can feel Chris staring at you from behind. You spin to look at him, giving him a look that makes his lips go into a straight line. He just nods understanding that you're not in the mood tonight.

"Lets just get in." you say walking over opening the shower door letting more steam out. Chris not too far behind you.

Stepping into the shower you and Chris find your comfortable spots, him behind you, you right under the water soaking it all in. You feel an arm reach the shampoo on the right of you. Hearing the cap open you step aside so Chris can get his hair wet but he just pulls you back under the water. Looking over your shoulder you notice that he grabbed your shampoo.

"Chris what-" You start to say before he cuts you off.

"Just let me. I feel bad this whole going public was my idea and now your getting backlash for it."

"Ok." You say stepping back so just your head is now not getting hit by water so he can start washing it.

Hearing the cap open you prepare yourself for the cold shampoo to hit your head. Once Chris put his fingers on your scalp you relaxed even more into him. Now fully leaning your back against his chest closing your eyes as he does all the work. Feeling him massage your head was the best feeling in the world.

Chris knew that you loved when someone played with your hair so he made sure to take his time in each spot before moving on. Once he took his hands off your head you groaned at the loss of contact and slowly spun to start washing the shampoo out of your head. Chris giving you a quick kiss helped you wash the soap out of your hair.

Once done that he started putting conditioner in your hair. "remember only the ends." You remind him. He hums in response liking the comfortable silence that filled the room. Just the sound of the water hitting your bodies and the floor.

This time Chris spun you around washing the conditioner out of your hair, making sure to get it all before turning the shower off and stepping out to grab a towel for himself then for you.

"Chris you didn't even wash yourself." You kinda state kinda ask.

"I dont need to. I showered before you came home."

"Oh ok" You say to him as he wraps you up in the plush towel. You snuggle into it before walking back into the room.

"Here, take these." He says while walking to his side of the closet pulling down his favorite pair of sweats and a nice sweatshirt he knows you love.

You smile while you grab them putting them on and climbing into bed. "You coming?" questioning why he was starting to walk to the door.

"Yeah, one second." He starts walking out the door. "I have to do one thing"

"Ok, I'll be here" You tell him smiling. He returns the smile back to you before closing the door.

~~

Its been five minutes since Chris has left the room and your starting to wonder what he is doing. As if he could read your mind he opened the door with a smile on his face, phone in hand. "What did you do" you asked him.

He didn't answer you all he did was hand you his phone that was playing a video of him, Matt, and Nick all together talking. You turn the phone up and hear Nick say "If we hear someone is sending threats to y/n again we will All" He says waving his finger around pointing at the three of them on the couch. "Block you from every form of social media we have." He finishes his statement with a quick smile but his eyes dark from anger.

You look up from the phone with slight tears prickling your eyes, feeling so loved by each of the boys. The fact they would go as far as finding the person and blocking them meant the world to you. You let a sob escape from your lips and Chris looks down to see you laughing and crying at the same time.

Chris climbs on to the bed resting his head on you. You look at him a kiss him out of the blue "As a thank you." You say when you pull back to find a surprised Chris looking back at you. You giggle when you see his kiddish smile form. "I love you so much Chris, thank you for doing that." You pause "and tell Matt and Nick I said that you as well."

"You're welcome y/n" comes from behind the door. You start to laugh as you cant believe they were eavesdropping on you, but you thought it was cute.

~~

A few hours later you and Chris are passed out tangled in each other's bodies and embrace. Your favorite way to sleep, next to the person you loved the most, the person who care so much about you sleeping with his head on your chest, snoring slightly, cute little noises coming from him as he dreams. Your absolute favorite.

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

AN: pt2: I hope you guys liked this! this was my first time writing for than some head cannons. this took me like two hours the write and I feel like it was supper cute and the end is just *chefs kiss*

[the-californicationist]

Good Fences (Fluffuary #04)

FEB04: Cheering Them Up

You had a boyfriend.

Keyword: had. 

Getting broken up with in the middle of the night was one thing, but having it be over a text message (all lowercase, no punctuation) was a whole new low. You knew it wasn’t going to last, but the suddenness of it was dreadful, as were the personal criticisms he decided to throw your way just to rub salt into the wound. 

your bodys just not doing it for me anymore

we could still hook up if you want just hmu

but not in bethesda obvi lol 

You weren’t sure what possessed him to say those things to you, but you had seen enough, so you blocked him.

Tear-stained and angry, you went outside to get some fresh air. You wrapped your blanket around you and stared up at the stars, trying to move on from that asshole as quickly as possible. 

Suddenly, you heard John’s sliding door open up. You turned to look at him, and he seemed just as startled to see you there. 

“Oh, hey… Hey,” he furrowed his brow, “What’s happened?”

You sniffled, trying to find your voice,

“Got dumped.” 

“What? Just now? It’s midnight,” he sat next to you, “Did he just leave?” 

You shook your head, dreading having to admit to the fact that you hadn’t even deserved a capital letter much less an in-person visit,

“Text message.”

You passed over your phone to let him experience the drama first-hand. As he read the messages, his face grew increasingly dark, almost scary. You couldn’t help but notice his attire while he read, and you felt insane for doing so. He was in running shorts and a cut-off tee shirt with some rock band’s logo fading and flaking on the front. You were supposed to be sad, but now you couldn’t stop staring at his very visible and extremely muscular arms and abs.

“You’re joking,” he handed you back the phone in disbelief.

You shook your head again and looked down at the tissue in your hands, trying to come up with something to say. 

“What a fuckin’ wanker.”

You laughed, nodding, and he cracked a smile. You let his voice wash over you like a salve, healing the hurt another man had caused, 

“Well, this calls for a bloody drink, don’t it?”

“Don’t think the bars will be open by the time I make it out,” you joked. You weren’t going out anywhere tonight. 

“Wait here,” he said, ducking back into his apartment.

He reemerged with a bottle of Scotch whisky and two glasses, pouring one for you and then one for himself, each equally generous. 

John tinked your glass and drank. You followed suit, albeit a bit more timidly. 

It burned. Then it spiraled into oranges and vanilla and honey. And then it burned again. You tried not to, but you made a face, and said,

“Wow, it’s good. Thanks.”

“Strong, hm?” He purred softly, pleased with his choice.

“Yeah, but still good,” you insisted.

“Don’t worry about those messages, love. Your body is doing wonders just how it is. He wants your reaction.”

You tried not to let the compliment linger in your mind for too long, but it was stuck in there like popcorn in your teeth. 

“I know,” you admitted, “And I wasn’t going to marry this guy or anything, but…”

“Still hurts.”

“Yeah.”

John was clipping and lighting a cigar to have with his drink, and you watched him as he worked. He still hadn’t bought that ashtray he’d promised, but he was using an old glass bowl for now. He smoked for a bit, sharing it with you wordlessly. Then, he took a long breath and gave you a droll look.

“What is the difference between a condom and a coffin?”

You laughed before he even gave you the punchline of the joke, shocked by its crudeness,

“What?” 

“You come in one and leave in the other.”

“John!”  

He snickered, listening to you laugh, turning a little red in the face as he did so. 

“Alright, alright,” he prepared another one for you, “What can you spell with P, E, N, I, and S?”

You raised your eyebrows at him, and shrugged, 

“Penis?”

He scoffed, 

“Spine, you filthy thing.”

You stayed outside talking and telling jokes long enough to see the black starfield give way to a pale pink morning, and before you knew it, half a bottle of whisky was gone. John had certainly worked his magic in you, and by the time you said goodnight and climbed back into your bed, you’d forgotten why you’d even been wasting your tears on a jerk like that in the first place.

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

[taevbears]

To Be Loved - 05

Tale as old as time

⤑ pairing: namjoon x reader ⤑ genre: hybrid au, romance, hurt/comfort ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 7.7k ⤑ warnings: our favorite asshole, kangdae, is in this chapter SO: violence, threats against reader and the tannies, verbal/emotional abuse, detailed descriptions of fighting and gore, some angst, minor character deaths ⤑ note: and with this, to be love is concluded! thank you everyone for reading and for all the love this story has received. i hope this last chapter meets your expectations. and lol, did you guys guess correctly on what kind of hybrid namjoon is?

Chapters 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 (End)

It was a clear and starry night.

The giddiness between you and the hybrids as the evening’s plans come together. A look of awe on your face when you see yourself in the mirror, dressed in a yellow ball gown, and think to yourself how you’ve never been more beautiful. Sparkling lights from the crystal chandeliers glow and romantic music softly plays in the background as Namjoon dances with you, and the way he looks at you tonight with such endeared warmth, you could only describe it as love.

Everything was perfect. A calm before the storm.

Ruined in the matter of seconds.

The shot that was fired was aimed at the ground, near Seokjin’s paws. A warning to you and the hybrids that they’re armed and not afraid to use their weapons. The wolf hybrid shifts into his human form, but his ears are pinned back against his head and his tail is between his legs as he backs away, startled but luckily unharmed. You stand between them and the group of vile men before you, including the man you’re supposed to marry.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding.” Kangdae takes one look at you and bursts into mocking laughter. “What the hell are you wearing, babe? That’s not sexy at all!”

You feel your cheeks burn with humiliation. “What do you want, Kangdae? How did you even find me?”

“You were a pain in the ass to track down,” he mutters, shaking his head. “The whole town was worried about you, babe. My folks got everyone searching. Someone found your car in these woods, thought you were good as dead. And yet, here you are, gallivanting with these … abominations.”

“Shut up! Don’t talk to us like that!” Seokjin snaps. Two of Kangdae’s lackeys point their guns at him, ready to fire.

“Easy, pup. I’m having a conversation with my stupid woman.” He doesn’t divert his gaze away as he stares you down. A growl rumbles from Seokjin’s throat, but you step in front of him, shielding him and the other hybrids.

“Tell them to put the guns down,” you order tersely, trying not to look as frightened as you feel when you see the ends of the barrels being pointed at the hybrids. “I don’t want anything to do with you anymore, Kangdae. Just leave us alone.”

“Babe, I’m just here to talk. That’s all.” He raises his hands up and cracks a smile as if he has no intentions of hurting you. It feels condescending. “Just hear me out, and we’ll pretend we never saw them.”

“Whatever you have to say to her, you can say in front of us,” Namjoon speaks up as he stands by your side. The hand he presses against the small of your back gives you the tiniest bit of comfort, even if you feel it trembling with rage.

“I don’t think so, beast,” he quips, finally turning his gaze away from you to look at Namjoon. If he recognizes him, it doesn’t show on Kangdae’s face. He does, however, look intrigued with how close Namjoon stands to you. How protective he is over you. When Kangdae looks at you again, his smile is gone. “You and I talk. Alone. And no one gets hurt.”

Guns cock and more are aimed at the hybrids. Kangdae begins to count down.

“Okay! Okay!” you give in before the next number leaves his lips. You give Namjoon an apologetic look. It feels like this is all your fault. If you hadn’t stayed this long, if you had left when you were supposed to, maybe they’d never find this place.

The smug smirk dances on Kangdae’s lips again as he meets Namjoon’s gaze. It’s like that dark and stormy night all those years ago, when the two of them stood against each other on the stage. The arrogance that Kangdae had that day hasn’t diminished at all. In fact, it’s gotten even worse as he grabs your arm and yanks you closer to him, childishly possessive like you’re a pretty doll that Namjoon can’t have.

The hybrid’s rage is silent, but he clenches his jaw and scowls as he watches Kangdae pull you away, out of ear-shot for even the hybrids to eavesdrop. You look over your shoulder at him, helpless, scared. Not because of him, but of the human that has you in his grasp. The indigo in Namjoon’s eyes darkens and looks sharper, the black pupils thinner like slits. The air around his mouth as he exhales becomes visible like smoke.

You’ve never seen Namjoon look so angry.

When you and Kangdae are far enough, he eyes you again and gives you a sleazy smirk. “You know, for an old dress, it makes your tits look nice.”

“What do you want, Kangdae?” you repeat, exasperated, stepping away from him before he could think of touching you.

“To take you home, of course. My folks planned a nice ceremony for us, you know?” He moves closer to you, until your back hits the trunk of a tree. Then, he cages you in with his arms. Objectively, Kangdae is good-looking, especially up close like this, but his beauty is only skin-deep. All you see before you is a monster. “Then, you pulled your little stunt. So, what the fuck happened? Did you want to rebel? Did you think you’d get away? You’re usually so quiet and obedient.”

“Stop.” You pull Kangdae’s arms as he squeezes your cheeks together. 

“Stop,” he repeats in a whine, mocking you again. “It was never supposed to be serious between us. You were the prettiest girl in school. We looked so good together, but all you do is read and stay home. You can’t even talk to people without getting nervous. So, I thought maybe you’re just the girl I can bring home to my parents. Someone that makes me look good during social events and family parties. So that people can get off my fucking back about the actual fun girls I date. But it turns out, my folks really like you. Especially after you started working at our company. Not only are you beautiful. They said you’re smart and hardworking, too. They thought you’d be a good match for me, and even threatened to cut me off if I didn’t propose to you. They’ll write me off my inheritance if I don’t marry you. But you’re just a prudish, annoying bitch that got cold feet and ran away.”

The truth spills out. Every word confirms what you’ve already known about you and Kangdae. Hearing him tell you all of this to your face, however, makes you spite him even more. “I hate you. You never loved me.”

“No one would,” he sneers, pinning you harder against the tree and watching your feeble attempts to push him off. “Don’t you know what people say about you? How you’re a weird, little freak? The whole town is only nice to you because you’re dating me. Or have you forgotten? Is that why you’re hanging out with hybrids of all fucking things?”

“They’re not things, they’re—”

“Monsters,” he finishes for you. “I know, babe.”

“They’re not that either.”

Kangdae loudly laughs as if that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Let’s not speak nonsense, okay? Where is he?”

“Who?”

“The hybrid. The bunny,” he clarifies, and your eyes widen slightly when you realize he’s talking about Jungkook. “Tell me where you’re hiding him, and I’ll forgive you.”

Dread weighs heavily on your heart as you glance at the others he came with. You don’t recognize any of them, but they look more menacing than a pack of wolves. They’re not just here for you, but they’re after Jungkook as well. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t fuck with me, babe. I know you ran away with him.” His grip around you tightens. “Is he with those other hybrids? That guy from the fighting ring has been threatening me since you took off together. That bunny was his prized fighter. Didn’t you think he’d want him back?”

“Fuck you.” You’d never give him up. Jungkook is your friend.

He looks over his shoulder where his men continue to point their guns at the manor’s residents. The hybrids are looking at you. Even from this distance, you can feel their worried gazes. “That’s okay, though. I see a leopard, a bear, and a wolf among the other hybrids you’re hiding. I could make a lot of money selling them off.”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Kangdae.”

“Here’s the deal, princess,” Kangdae begins, his voice low and angry as he digs into his pocket for something. “People have been hounding me for six months straight. Either you be a good girl and marry me, and I’ll leave your hybrids alone. Once I get my inheritance, I’ll take you straight to the guy from the ring. You’ll explain why his prized fighter is still missing, and you better pray that it’s only money that he wants from you.”

Your stomach feels sick at the implication.

“Or, if you’re still going to be stubborn, I’ll send my men to raid the manor and capture every single hybrid you’re hiding in there. I’ll make you watch as my men and I use them for target practice.” There’s a wicked smile on his face as he unveils something you’d never thought you’d see again. The engagement ring you left behind. “The choice is yours, babe.”

A tense silence fills the air as Kangdae pulls you aside to talk. Namjoon doesn’t keep his eyes off you. His jaw is locked and his gaze is steady as you look back at him.

He’s never smelled fear on you before. Not like this. Not with him or his pack. At least, not since you first stepped into the manor. Even then, it was never to this degree.

You’re terrified of Kangdae.

And all Namjoon can do is stay where he is – between his pack and the guns pointed at them – and helplessly watch you become more distressed.

The conversation feels longer than it is. A soft, worried whine from Seokjin, a small hiss from Yoongi. Even Taehyung stops himself from anxiously pacing as he guards the door, keeping the other hybrids inside the manor out of sight.

As for Namjoon, he feels his self-control slipping.

Anger rises when Kangdae puts his hands on you. How he pins you against the tree. How he roughly grabs your face. You struggle against his hold, but Kangdae is bigger and stronger than you are. His body now blocks you from his view, but when Kangdae turns to look at where his men are holding them hostage, he meets Namjoon’s eyes. 

And he smirks.

“Careful, Namjoon,” Yoongi whispers, grounding him.

For a split second, the beast inside him almost takes form. It shows on his cracking skin and his glowing eyes, like a broken mask unveiling his true self. He covers his face with his hand, but his eyes are still glued on you.

If you’re to see him now – if you’re to see what he really looks like – you’ll hate him. 

When you and Kangdae return, he has his arm around you. There’s a look of haughty triumph on his face as he makes a show to kiss the top of your head. 

“Fifteen minutes,” he gives you before releasing you from his hold. It’s not much time at all, but you head straight to Namjoon.

“What’s going on?” he asks you, touching your arm. You still smell so distressed, it’s bitter and almost tannic from your usual warm, sweet scent.

“I’m going with them, Namjoon,” you tell him, your voice so quiet, it’s almost a whisper. Tears glisten in your eyes, and honestly, it makes Namjoon want to cry too.

“Wh-What are you saying? You can’t go with them,” Namjoon begins as waves of emotions hit him at once: anger, confusion, disbelief, hurt, sadness, yearning. “No. I won’t let them take you.”

“Please don’t make this harder for me. I made my choice.”

A glimmer catches his attention, and his eyes are drawn to the band around your finger. His heart breaks when he realizes it’s an engagement ring.

He… he feels like a fool. Of course, you couldn’t be his. Of course, you’d choose to be with someone else. Why would you ever love a beast like him?

“Thirteen minutes,” Kangdae loudly counts down from behind you, relishing the look on Namjoon's face.

And like that, you step away from him. Cold air escapes with your warmth, and he barely registers the thanks you give him for taking care of you all this time. Your voice feels like it’s underwater. His packmates are shocked and unhappy, their own feelings adding to the bitterness Namjoon could practically taste in the air.

He feels numb when you step in front of him again several minutes later, dressed in something more comfortable and with your duffle bag slung around your shoulder. It only occurs to him that he’s been crying when he glances up at you, his vision blurred by his tears.

There’s an apologetic look on your face. Words at the tip of your tongue that you can’t say to him. Truths that can’t be told. “Take care of Jungkook for me, okay?”

“You’re just letting her go?” Jimin berates, standing in the middle of Namjoon’s room in the west wing. It’s the only area in the mansion that hasn’t been fixed yet. A gaping hole on the side of the wall exposes the room to the dark clouds that cover the night sky whenever Namjoon is in a sour mood. “Why didn’t you try to stop her?”

“She’s already promised to someone else.” Namjoon’s voice is low and calm, almost matter-of-fact. But the scales on his face are cracking again. He’s able to control himself better at night, when the beast inside him is quiet and asleep, but after everything that’s happened, his emotions are all over the place.

For six months, Namjoon has been very careful to hide the monster he is. Afraid he’d scare you off if you know the truth. Afraid to show you any part of himself that doesn’t appear human. He’s been patient, yearning, glad to have you around but terrified for the inevitable day this would come.

The day you decide to leave.

Once Kangdae and his men got what they came for, they retreated. As if they never saw them, as promised.

It’s been hours since then. Namjoon, and the others return to the manor where Hoseok and Jimin anxiously question what had happened and where you’ve gone. 

“You know damn well as much as I do that she doesn’t love that man,” Jimin hisses, his black feathers ruffled with agitation. “You’re so happy with her, Namjoon. You’ve been lonely for so long, and you told me it was a miracle that you found each other again. Every night, you’ve been courting her. Every night, you two were getting closer. And now, you’re just letting her leave without a fight? What if she doesn’t come back?”

“It’s okay, Jimin. She made her decision.” Namjoon’s voice is still calm, still quiet, as if trying to be complacent. But his voice breaks as he admits, “I’ll miss her too.”

The swan hybrid falls silent. Fresh tears sting his eyes, terrified that you’ve abandoned them. After they’ve all gotten used to you being around. After they began to consider you and Jungkook a part of their pack.

Jimin knows it’s not Namjoon’s fault that you left. He knows it isn’t yours either. That if those men hadn’t found the manor, you’d still be with them. 

But as much as it pains him to question if you’ll ever come back to him, nothing could compare to how hurt Namjoon must be.

After all, you’re his mate. Namjoon wanted to finally tell you that tonight.

To love and to be loved in return.

If Namjoon could wish for anything, it would be that.

A single petal falls from a smeraldo flower Namjoon keeps in a vase. A beautiful flower that means an untold truth.

Jimin watches as it delicately lands on the table. It almost feels like watching sand in an hourglass. Every second that slips by seems emptier and emptier, and it makes him anxiously wonder if you’ll ever know how much Namjoon truly loves you.

Footsteps hurry toward the west wing, and Hoseok appears, out of breath. There’s urgency in his eyes as he looks at Namjoon and Jimin. “Those men! They’re back!”

“I thought they left,” Namjoon practically snarls. What more could they take from him?

Taehyung is with Hoseok. There’s a frown on his face as he says, “I don’t think they left at all. They just brought reinforcements.”

Namjoon’s eyes are ablaze. He’s barely in control of himself and it makes Jimin and the others eye each other nervously. He shoves past them, the scales on his skin becoming more apparent and glistening with the moonlight. “Find the others and stay inside!”

He storms out before he could hear their responses. The clear and starry sky now shrouded with dark clouds as a sudden storm picks up. Lightning flashes and Namjoon is gone, a menacing roar drowned by the rumble of thunder.

The three look at each other, unable to hide their worry. It’s been a long time since they’ve seen Namjoon like this, consumed by his anger and self-hatred. Where chaos and destruction mark his path, and the storms outside are strong enough to sweep everything away.

Seokjin and Yoongi join them, wearing similar expressions of concern. Jimin looks at his pack before him and realizes there’s one missing. “Where’s Jungkook?”

A bump in the road stirs you from sleep. In the back of the car like an arrested suspect, you must have dozed off. You’ve been crying the whole time. Tears stain your cheeks and the puffiness in your eyes and face are evident of that.

It’s just you and Kangdae in the white van. One, you’re certain, specifically designed for capturing hybrids.

The backdoors aren’t unlockable from the inside, and there are strong chains hooked against the sides and bottoms to keep the hybrid in place. A cage mesh separates you from the front seats of the car, keeping you contained like an animal.

The other men he was with must have taken separate vehicles, but you all seem to be going to the same place. Back to that small, provincial town.

Where everyone knows you as the odd, quiet, but beautiful girl who is incredibly lucky to be with someone as handsome and wealthy as Kangdae. Where you’re about to sign your life away to a loveless marriage with a terrible man. Where you could only hope that this is the right choice, and that nothing will harm the hybrids.

Emotional exhaustion still has its hold on your body. You hear Kangdae’s voice, but you could barely make out what he’s saying. He’s speaking so quietly, he must think you’re still asleep. Your eyes start to adjust to the darkness in the back of the van. There isn’t much to look at anyway. It’s empty except for your opened duffle bag and…

You nearly scream at the pair of big, doe-shaped eyes staring at you in the shadows. Before you could make a sound, he quickly covers your mouth with the palm of his hand and places a finger to his pouty lips, gesturing you to keep quiet.

“Jungkook? What the hell are you doing here?” you question, bewildered, when he finally lets you go. He must’ve snuck into your bag while you were in a rush to pack your things.

The bunny hybrid smiles so widely, his nose crinkles a little. “I couldn’t let you face the bad humans alone, can I?”

Conflicted between relief and upset upon seeing him, you’re touched that he’s here. Even if he’s supposed to be in the manor with everyone else. Before you could question it, he motions you to keep quiet again. One of his long ears is pressed against the divider as he crouches in Kangdae’s blindspot.

“It’s even better than that,” Kangdae continues, keeping his voice low as he talks to someone on the phone. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice that you aren’t alone in the back. His attention is focused on the road ahead. “There’s a house full of them.”

Your eyes widen when you realize Kangdae is talking about the hybrids.

You can’t make out the response on the other line, but you recognize the tone Kangdae is using. It’s the voice he uses whenever he makes a sales pitch. He describes the other hybrids one by one: how bigger Seokjin is compared to other wolf hybrids, the rarity of Yoongi’s leopard skin, the pros of Taehyung’s strength as a bear hybrid for intense work labor. Your stomach knots as he talks about how much profit he could make if he were to capture and sell them.

The more you listen, the sicker you feel. Whatever Kangdae is planning, it sounds like it will happen as soon as tonight, and you and Jungkook need to come up with something quickly if you want to warn the others in time.

“Kangdae,” you call out to him, back in the same position you woke up in as Jungkook shifts into a bunny and blends in the shadows. “I need to use the restroom.”

“Shit. I gotta go,” Kangdae mutters in annoyance before he hangs up the phone. “Hold it in, babe. We’ll be in the closest town soon.”

“I can’t,” you whine, wiggling around and squeezing your thighs together. “Kangdae, please. Can you pull over?”

He glares at you from the rearview mirror and curses, suddenly swerving. Tires screech in an abrupt halt that slams you forward against the cage. Luckily, you and Jungkook aren’t hurt as Kangdae rips the car door open and slams it shut. In his bunny form, you watch Jungkook dart toward the other end of the van. You catch your breath as the door opens and Kangdae grabs you. “You better make it fast or I’ll—”

Before he could finish, Jungkook shifts and jumps out at him. The sharp snap of his knuckles hitting Kangdae square in the face is the most satisfying sound you’ve ever heard. He instantly lets you go and yelps in pain, but Jungkook quickly pins him to the ground, throwing his legs around Kangdae’s torso, and uses his brute strength to keep him in a chokehold. “His keys!”

You snap out of it and yank the van’s keys from Kangdae’s jeans.

“Bitch!” he wheezes, choking a bit more as Jungkook’s hold on him tightens. His face looks like a mess. You’re pretty sure Jungkook broke his nose and blood drips freely onto the hybrid’s arm. 

You shut the back doors and jump to the driver’s seat. “Jungkook, come on!”

It’s only then that he lets Kangdae go. The bunny hybrid kicks him in the ribs for good measure, snapping that the kick was for calling you a bitch, and then quickly climbs onto the passenger seat beside you. 

Tires screech again as you turn the van around and floor it back to the road that you came from. You glance at the rearview mirror to see Kangdae still on the ground, but struggling to get back on his feet. You don’t see any of the other men around, but you’re sure it won’t be long until they’re on your trail.

You glance at Jungkook, who is rubbing his knuckles and taking deep breaths to let the adrenaline die down. His eyes are fixed on the road as he tells you, “I don’t think we lost too much time, but he told them where the manor is. We should hurry.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to remember the path you took all those months ago that led you to the manor. “You were amazing back there, you know?”

“I told you I’m strong,” Jungkook teases with a flex of his muscles. His smile falls as he admits, “I’m just glad that I was able to use it for something other than fighting other hybrids, you know?”

“You’ll never have to,” you promise as the van speeds along, reminiscent of how your adventure started. Back when you were so lost and scared, and not sure where to go. But now, you have direction. Now, you have a place to go to. “Let’s go home, Jungkook.”

What once was a clear and starry night becomes dark and stormy. Black clouds hang over the manor by the time you reach it, and rain pours as heavily as it did the night you first arrived. An old and forgotten manor, once peaceful and unassuming, now holds the aftermath of a perilous battle.

You and Jungkook step out of the van with caution. Blood is spilled on the ground. Grass is singed with ash and dying embers. Weapons have been dropped and shells of bullets discarded. Something tore through here, and you can only assume that the carcasses and severed limbs are the men that foolishly stayed behind.

Your stomach twists with worry and grief. Had Kangdae ordered his men to attack the hybrids as soon as you left? Are any of them hurt?

“We have to get inside,” you remind Jungkook. More men are coming, based on what you overheard Kangdae say. You need to warn them before it’s too late.

“Don’t give up!” a voice in the roughly distance exclaims. You and Jungkook immediately hide around the van, noticing a group of armed men by the front doors. “Break the doors open! I want those hybrids captured alive!”

Your heart sinks when you realize you might be too late.

Jungkook nudges you, grabbing your attention. He nods toward the side of the manor – that there still might be another entryway you can sneak into without alerting the men outside. Both of you jog toward the east side of the manor and see a window that you could climb into. Jungkook gives you a boost before he easily jumps in after you.

At the entryway, you see the hybrids have barricaded the doors. Taehyung in his bear form is leaning against the furniture, but you’re not sure how long he can keep holding them back. The others are on their guard, getting ready to attack. Everyone is there but one person.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

The hybrids snap their attention toward you when they hear your voice. Hoseok’s eyes widen in shock. “You came back?”

“I came home,” you correct as they return your smile. Taehyung grunts as he struggles to keep the barricade up. You grab the heaviest thing you could use as a weapon and signal for him and the others to hide.

The front doors slowly creak up with a loud, echoing groan. The intruders slowly enter, pushing aside the furniture piled up by the door. It feels haunted with how old and antique the style of the manor is, and although it seems empty, they can feel pairs of eyes watching them from the shadows.

Jimin drops something from above, startling the men, distracting them as the rest of you sneak in and attack. The fight is instant. In your hands is a heavy candelabra, and you swing it at the back of a man’s head. It disorients him, causing him to drop his gun, and you kick it out of reach. You then swing the candelabra into another man in front of you, nearly knocking him back into another person, and causing both of them to stumble on the ground.

The others around you are fairing just as well.

Taehyung’s ferocious roar is enough to scare some of them off. From above, Jimin snatches weapons out of their hands and tosses them where they can’t reach. Hoseok uses his antlers to ram into multiple people, and Yoongi’s agility makes it difficult for anyone to catch him. Seokjin’s bite is powerful as he chases them out of the manor, and Jungkook, who is trained in hand-to-hand combat, uses his skills to knock them down before they could hurt anyone from the pack.

The battle spills outside. Most of the intruders have given up and fled, vowing to never return when they realize the price of the hybrids aren’t worth their lives. They slip on the wet mud mixed with blood and scream in horror when they finally see the carnage and are reminded of what their fates could be. The hybrids around you are breathing hard from exertion, worn from battle but otherwise unhurt.

It’s almost over. Only a few stragglers are left, but the victory is yours. The manor is safe for another day, but you haven’t seen Namjoon yet.

“He’s in the west wing,” Yoongi tells you as you eye the forbidden area. He grabs the collar of a random man and starts to drag him away. “We got things covered here. You should go to him.”

Adrenaline still pumps in your veins, but you nod your head, enter the manor, and climb up the stairs to see him. At first glance, the westside of the manor seems identical to the eastside. However, the further you go, the darker and desolate it becomes.

Time always seems at a standstill within the manor. The furniture is old, the floorboards creak, the wallpaper is outdated, but it isn’t until you enter the west wing when you truly see the effects of time and abandonment. White sheets cover the furniture, cracks and holes on the walls, old paintings are weathered and an armor suit with a sword is rusted.

At the end of the long hallway is a large doorway that’s cracked open. Rain spills from the exposed area, further damaging the soaked floorboards. The cold wind makes you shiver as you slowly cross the threshold. It looks like you’re in the master bedroom. A large bed, antique furniture, a vase with a smeraldo flower, but more notably, by the tall windows, is Namjoon.

His clothes are torn, as if he’s been clutching them so tightly, they’ve ripped. You see that he’s breathing heavily, gasping for air, curling into himself as if he’s in pain. Your heart suddenly yearns for him – wanting to comfort him, wanting to kiss his burdens away – as you take a step forward and carefully call out his name. “Namjoon?”

When he looks at you, he’s almost unrecognizable. Half-shifted to whatever hybrid he is. The smoothness of his sun-kissed skin has turned into scales that glimmer slightly in the moonlight. His fingernails have grown to long claws, painting his entire hand black and shaping it like a talon. Horns grow out of his head, bending back. Blood covers his mouth and clothes, and you can’t tell if it’s his blood or not. The whites of his eyes are gone, but they still look at you with the same surprise, gentleness, and worry that the Namjoon you know would always have.

“What are you doing here?” he questions, his voice rough with a low growl. He tries to hide from you, curling up into a tight ball, clearly ashamed of his appearance. It looks like he’s trying to fully shift back into a human, but isn’t able to. “Don’t look at me. I won’t– I can’t hold it back!”

But you don’t care. You take another step forward. “Namjoon, I–”

Out of nowhere, someone grabs you by your hair and yanks you back. A yelp of pain escapes your lips as one of the intruders, who followed you through the west wing, hisses down your neck. “Bitch. Did you think you’d get away from me?”

“Kangdae!” you cry out, trying to pry his fingers off you, but he just pulls you harder, forcing you down on your knees.

Tears prick your eyes as he starts to drag you by your hair, and you scream for him to stop. To let you go. You don’t want anything to do with this man. You don’t want a future with him. You never wanted one to begin with.

He only manages to pull you out of the master bedroom when a deep rumble for the shadows comes from within. The ground shakes and bits of debris fall from the ceiling. Kangdae’s grip tightens around you, this time, out of fear.

In the shadows, a pair of angry, glowing indigo eyes glare at him. Lightning flashes, giving a glimpse of a monster in its depths.

Then, since the night you first arrived at the mansion, you hear it. The same sound that spooked Jungkook all those months ago. The sound of an ungodly roar.

Namjoon never wanted you to see him like this.

A pitifully lonely, ugly, beastly creature like him doesn’t deserve to even be looked at by someone as beautiful and precious as you. He’s seen the terror in the eyes of everyone who’s witnessed this form, even from his own pack mates. He can’t bear the thought of scaring you, but Namjoon is selfish. Because he can’t bear the thought of losing you either.

Perhaps it's fate that drew him to participate in that underground battle all those years ago. His hatred and anger for himself and for the world could be catalyzed in forms of words and poetry as a writer, as a rapper. He wanted to at least try.

Namjoon noticed you right away among the crowd. You were breathtaking then, and even more so now. Namjoon doesn’t know much about love. He doesn’t have much for himself, let alone for others. But something akin to it – something warm, something right – he felt it that night. He knew you were someone special to him before he even knew your name.

The second time, after thinking about you nonstop, it’s like you manifested for him. Again, he saw you in the crowd, looking up at him with intrigue. Then, to his horror, his disguise falls off and the only sign of him being a hybrid is unveiled to the room. He remembers the shock, the disgust, the fear. He can smell it on their skins, but among all that is your sweet one. 

You aren’t afraid when you approach him and hand back his sunglasses. There’s a gentle kindness in your voice when you speak to him. As you look him in the eyes, you don’t flinch from fear or nerves. You treat him like he’s human.

The interaction is too brief, but he’s never forgotten it.

Perhaps it’s fate that drew you to the manor half a year ago. He never thought he’d see you again. He’s mourned that idea more times than he’d like to admit: you were the girl who got away, a girl who he’d be too afraid to show his true self to anyway, a girl he could love but would never love him back in return. 

As the poor weather matches his uneasy heart, he still asks you every night to spend time with him, expecting that you’d refuse and turn him down. But you never did. Even if he shows you boring things like his plants or his books, you still look at them with fascination because those boring things mean a lot to him.

Like waves of the ocean meeting the shore, you ebb away his loneliness and sorrows. The raging storm inside him subsides, and he feels content with just your presence. It makes him happy, seeing you bond with his packmates. It makes him happy, hearing your laughter and listening to you talk about your day. It makes him happy when you decide to stay.

Namjoon is already upset that the intruders have taken you from him, invaded his home, and threatened his pack. The anger and self-hatred rolls back like a tsunami, crashing into him so viciously that he feels the beast taking over, consuming him. Namjoon is so scared of losing that control he’s maintained while you were here, but now, it’s like he can’t think. He can’t breathe.

Someone is hurting his mate.

It’s all he thinks about as the manor rumbles around him and he fully shifts before your eyes. In the piercing darkness, he glares at the man who has his hand on you. He watches as he falls down and scrambles back, eyes shaking but never looking away as Namjoon steps closer into the light, revealing his monstrous form.

Namjoon isn’t just one hybrid. He’s several of them at once: nose of a pig, iridescent blue scales of a reptile, tail and long whiskers of a carp, long body of a serpent, talons of a falcon, beard of a goat. An ancient creature that only exists in stories and legends.

Namjoon is a dragon.

Kangdae screams as the dragon roars at him. He scrambles backwards on the ground, unable to tear his eyes away from the monster in the shadows. Namjoon lunges after him but isn’t able to fit through the doorway. With a snarl, he exits from the exposed hole in the corner of the room.

You hear Namjoon on the rooftop, trying to find Kangdae. The two of you are startled when a window breaks in, glass shattering on the floor, followed by his frustrated grunts when he still can’t reach him.

You’re still in shock, but Kangdae is quick to recover. His nose is broken from earlier and dried blood stains his shirt and skin. But in the backpocket of his jeans is a gun.

 “Kangdae, stop. Don’t hurt him.”

“He’s a monster, babe,” he reminds you coldly. “One that will make me so rich and famous when I capture it. Imagine, a dragon hybrid under my command.”

“As if he’d listen to you!” Jungkook must’ve hit him harder than you thought. He’s insane to go after Namjoon like this.

“No,” he agrees, voice low like a growl as he eyes you. “But he’ll listen to you.”

With his gun drawn, he grabs you and drags you back into the master bedroom, near the exposed opening. Cold rain continues to pour down, drenching both of you. Vines and smeraldo flowers cover a lattice panel against the wall, and Kangdae barks at you to climb it. You’re trembling from both the fear and the cold as you glance down, hand shaking as you grasp the thin, wet wood. 

One slip, and it’s over.

Kangdae nearly shoves you off the ledge, demanding you to climb. Slowly, carefully, you get to the roof of the manor with Kangdae right behind you. Below, you hear the other hybrids call out to you. It’s hard to see from the storm, but Kangdae waves his gun around and fires it at random. You scream at the sound, clutching the wood so tightly as you shut your eyes. Thankfully, it doesn’t sound like he hit anyone, but you practically scramble the rest of the way when he snaps at you to move.

Thunder rumbles and lightning flashes as you finally reach the top. And it’s only then that you’re able to get a good glimpse of Namjoon’s hybrid form.

He looks nothing like any creature you’ve seen before. His scales are white-blue, shining the same way the smeraldo flowers do with the heavy rain. His body is incredibly long like a serpent, with long talons on his feet and claws. He looks intimidating, but as you look into his eyes, you can see that it’s so clearly Namjoon.

You could never forget how beautiful his eyes are.

“Nam—” you begin to call out, but Kangdae covers your mouth with one hand. The other holds a gun at the dragon.

“What’s the matter, beast? Are you in love with her?” he taunts, cackling sinisterly at the angry fire in the hybrid’s eyes. “Do you honestly think she’d want you, when she has someone like me?”

But Kangdae couldn’t be more wrong.

You struggle in his hold again, elbowing him off you, yanking his hand away from your mouth. “Don’t believe him, Namjoon! I’ll never love him!”

“Shut up, babe! Or I’ll make you regret it!”

“It’s you, Namjoon! You’re the one I love!”

You see the dragon’s eyes widen at your confession.

“I said shut the fuck up!” Kangdae shouts, trying to grab you again, but you manage to slip out of his hold, nearly falling forward as you scramble away from him. Namjoon stands over you protectively once you’re close enough, roaring so loudly it makes the whole manor tremble.

Kangdae nearly loses his balance too, almost slipping off the edge. He aims his gun at Namjoon and fires, but the bullets do little to harm him. Namjoon lunges to bite him, but Kangdae shoots again at his face. This time, it makes him flinch and recoil in pain.

You scream when you see Namjoon is hurt, just as the other hybrids catch up to you guys. Kangdae comes toward you again, his hand reaching to grab you once more. But you’ve had enough.

He threatens to make your life miserable, like he always does. Because he’s always been the man that never gets rejected. That always gets his way. 

And you’re so sick and tired of it.

Every single day with him has been a living hell.

“Fuck you!” you curse, shoving him as hard as you can. He stumbles toward the ledge. It’s raining so hard, you can barely see. The roof is slippery. Even you start to lose your balance until Jungkook comes up and holds you steady. As Kangdae starts to fall back, you barely notice that he’s pointing his gun right at you.

But Namjoon does. His roar shakes the entire manor, causing Kangdae to fall off the ledge before he could fire his gun.

It feels like everything is slowed-down. You’re thankful Jungkook turns your head away, cradling you to his chest so you don’t have to see. That he covers your ears as the heavy rain drowns out Kangdae’s final scream. You’re thankful the rain hides your tears as you try to process what just happened.

You feel shocked. You feel sad how it came to this. Relieved that it’s over. Scared, even.

But not as scared as Namjoon.

The dragon hybrid tries to hide away from you again, curling up in himself like a tight ball some meters away. If you hadn’t thought he was a monster before, surely you do now. That seems to be what he and the other hybrids are thinking because, after a while, you hear Taehyung quietly plead, “Please don’t be afraid of him.”

“He looks like one now, but he’s not a monster,” Hoseok adds as you finally look at where Namjoon is. 

“I know,” you reply softly. Of course they’re not. None of them are. Joy lights up on their faces as you move out of Jungkook’s hold, careful not to trip as you head toward the cowering beast. Up close, Namjoon looks ethereal. Carefully, you place your hand on his iridescent scales, rubbing it gently, petting him like you would Jungkook. You feel him tense beneath your fingertips before he turns his head to look at you – cautious, confused, maybe a bit hopeful. You smile at him, looking him in the eyes. “You’re so pretty, Namjoon.”

The rain begins to stop. Cold scales are replaced with warm skin as he shifts back to his human form. His large hand cups the side of your face as he looks into your eyes. You watch waves of emotion soar through him at once as he asks, “Did you mean what you said? Do you love me?”

“I do–” He barely lets you answer before he kisses you.

Deep in the woods, in an area that humans haven’t come across in many years, lies an old, abandoned manor. Harboring inside are neither men nor animals, but outcasts who have been shunned for their appearances. Grotesque mutations and behaviors deemed unfavorable to a society that treats them so cruelly.

Until, one day, you come along.

Beautiful as you are kind, but in some ways, you’re a bit of an outcast yourself. You never felt like you belonged in that small, provincial town. Burdened by expectations of keeping appearances to what others saw fit.

Perhaps that’s why you could never be afraid of them. You relate to the hybrids more than you had any other human.

“Ah,” Yoongi complains, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just replaced these floor tiles a month ago.”

“Sorry, hyung,” Namjoon apologizes sheepishly. “I’ll help you fix the mess.”

“Don’t bother,” he tells him, though he eyes Jimin and the others for an unspoken plea for help. One that Jimin pretends to not see as he helps you sweep up the debris. The leopard gives you a pointed glance and says, “Keep him distracted before he breaks anything else, okay?”

“Sure, Yoongi.” You look over at Namjoon, grinning to yourself at how flustered he looks at the request. And how easily you agreed to it.

Last night took a toll on everyone. You’re not sure what the hybrids did with Kangdae’s body, and honestly, you don’t want to ask. Whether they buried him in a shallow grave or left him to the wolves, it doesn’t matter to you anymore.

The westside looks more deteriorated than before Namjoon’s transformation, and all of you ended up staying in the east wing with what little sleep you could manage. The other hybrids piled together in Jungkook’s room while Namjoon stayed in yours.

And it’s between soft kisses and scenting that he tells you the one truth that was left untold. That you’re his mate.

To be loved and to be loved in return. It’s a new and unfamiliar feeling to you. It’s the same for Namjoon as well. That warm and precious feeling that novels you’ve read often retell, you’re willing to know it all with him.

Your hand slips into Namjoon’s, drawing his attention. There’s a fondness in his eyes when you don’t shy away from him, despite knowing what he is. His eyes linger at your hands for a moment, his gaze already telling you that he loves you before he even speaks the words. And you meet his beautiful eyes with a teasing glint in yours.

“Namjoon, would you like to spend the evening with me?”

Because the greatest thing you’ll ever learn is to love and to be loved in return.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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[msschemmenti]

Are You Jealous?

Chessy x Reader

prompt: jealous chessy :)

a/n: i rewatched parent trap recently and the craziest plotline in that movie was martin and chessy being lovers. both of them were clearly gay.

a/n: sorry this took so long lol unedited and probably pretty bad

“I’d love to see you tonight.” Y/n smiled down the phone. It’d been about a week since she and Chessy had seen each other and with the house to herself, Chessy was going to take advantage.

“Well Nick and the girls are going camping for the weekend, if you’re up for a drive out to the vineyard?” Chessy asked hopefully.

“I think I can swing that. What time should I be there?”

“Everyone should be gone by 5. So anytime after should be good.” Chessy grinned.

“I’ll be there by 5:30. SHould I bring anything?” 

“Just yourself. I’ll make us some dinner and we can crack open something from the cellar to go with.”

“Sounds divine. I’ll call before I head out. See you soon.” Y/n smiled down the phone and waited for Chessy’s reply.

“Can’t wait.”

-

“Dinner was great Chess. Thank you so much.” Y/n smiled around her glass as she sat at the kitchen island watching Chessy move around the kitchen. They’d been dating for about four months and were as smitten as a couple could be. After Meredith, Nick started renting out the vineyard as a wedding venue as a bit of passive income. Y/n’s company had been one of the first to host a ceremony on the grounds. she’d been lost and had somehow driven up the Parker’s driveway and was met with a very beautiful woman waving her hands to stop her. from there their romance only flourished. 

“anything for you honey. after i finish these dishes we can go sit under the stars for a bit?” 

“i’d love to. why don’t i dry do we can start relaxing sooner? i need as much relaxation as i can get with this current bride.” 

“well get your cute butt over here and get to work. the stars won’t wait forever.” chessy grinned, reaching to pull the woman close by the waist. The couple washed in tandem, giggling and stealing kisses as they went. really just enjoying each other's company. Just as they put the last dish away, voices floated through the open floorplan startling the couple apart.

“Chessy, who’s car is that?” Hallie called being the first to enter the house. It wasn’t long before more footsteps were heard and before they knew it they were no longer alone. Now standing face to face with a very intimately domestic scene.

“Uh. Hi guys. What are you doing back so early?” Chessy asked, stepping toward the small family.

“Rain at the campsite so we decided to try again next weekend.” nick shrugged eyeing the guest placing the last of the dried dishes in the cabinet.

“Bummer. I’m sure next weekend will be better. We’ll just be going then.” Chessy answered quickly grabbing Y/n’s elbow in an effort to leave the kitchen. Before she could even move around the island all four members grinned mischievously at the nanny and moved in.

“Wait Chessy, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” Annie asked looking past Chessy and toward Y/n. Chessy fixed them with a withering glare but sighed pulling Y/n forward as she prepared for the embarrassment. 

“Everyone this is Y/n, my friend,” she smiled toward the twins in censorship.

“Y/n, this is Nick Parker. He owns the vineyard. Elizabeth James, and their daughters Annie and Hallie.” 

Y/n smiled, politely extending her hand to shake each member of the family’s hand before stopping briefly at Elizabeth’s. “I know this is a long-shot but you wouldn’t happen to be the Elizabeth James? Like the wedding dress designer Elizabeth James, would you?”

“Guilty,” Elizabeth smiled.

“Oh I love your work. I’m a wedding planner and all the best dresses I’ve seen in the last 12 years have come from you.” Y/n gushed causing Elizabeth’s cheeks to glow in a blush. 

“How sweet, I’m so glad my dresses seem to rank so well.”

“Oh most definitely, I hope you’re still designing by the time I finally have a wedding of my own. I’ve always imagined I’d be in an Elizabeth James original for my special day.”

“I would love that, have you already got ideas? I could roughly sketch you something since we’re all here for the evening.” ELizabeth offered. Y/n took a step around Chessy to follow ELizabeth before turning back to her girlfriend.

“Do you mind Chess?” Y/n asked quietly, knowing that if Chessy said she did, she’d politely decline and hope she got the chance another day.

“No, go ahead, knock yourself out. Just come find me when you’re done.” Chessy smiled, pushing the woman over toward Elizabeth with a smile.

“Great, I can even show you some recent stuff I’ve been thinking about.” Elizabeth grinned, pulling Y/n through the hall toward her work room. As soon as the women disappeared Chessy could feel three pairs of eyes on her.

“Your friend, hm?” Hallie grinned rounding the counter to one side of the nanny.

“How come we’ve never met this friend before?” Annie asked rounding to the other side, effectively caging Chessy between them.

“That’s none of your business. And rain at the campsite? When’d you all become such babies?” Chessy chided, poking the girls in their ribs. They giggled helplessly as the older woman tickled them. “Wanna watch a movie?”

-

The movie had been on for half an hour and the other women had yet to return. Chessy’s attention had been divided the moment they pressed play. During the quieter parts of the movie, she could hear giggles floating through the halls. Chessy’s eyes wandered from the screen in hopes of catching a glimpse of her girlfriend returning, but she wasn’t rewarded. Both Annie and Hallie had anchored themselves on either side of Chessy, legs stretched to each end of the couch. They’d both been commenting on the film and asking questions and Chessy tried to keep up but after noticing her gaze shift to the hallway for what felt like the 100th time they took to giggling and quietly talking to each other. 

As the credits rolled across the screen, Chessy was finally granted some reprieve from her torture. Elizabeth and Y/n came around the corner arms linked, quietly giggling over a sketchbook. 

“Oh Y/n, you’re just delightful. I can’t believe you’ve done four weddings here and I’m only just meeting you.” Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief.

“My brides are always extremely high maintenance. They make it a bit hard to socialize at all!”

“Well, I’ll have to have you come by my local studio sometime. We just have to get together again.”

“Oh Elizabeth, that’d be great. I’ll have Chessy give you my info and we can connect sometime soon.” Y/n smiled as she placed her hands on Chessy’s head affectionately over the back of the couch.

“I’ll be sure to share that.” Chessy mumbled gazing up at the two of you. Both of their eyes still on the sketchbook. 

“Perfect! Girls, it's getting rather late. Say goodnight.” Elizabeth smiled down at the twins while rubbing her hand over Y/n’s shoulder. The girls obediently wished their goodnights before leaving the room. As they left Y/n caught sight of the time herself. 

“It is a bit late, I should head home. I’ve got a few early meetings. It was lovely meeting you all. Chess, will you walk me out?” Y/n asked, finally meeting the older woman’s gaze. The older woman followed behind Y/n closely and as soon as they were out of sight of the family her hands were resting on her waist. 

They came to a stop outside of Y/n’s car and the younger woman turned to face Chessy, “Well that was fun.” Y/n smiled as Chessy backed her into the car. 

“Well I’m glad someone had fun.” Chessy mumbled wrapping her arms around Y/n’s waist with a pout.

“And what’s that supposed to mean? Did you not have fun tonight?” Y/n frowned as Chessy sighed and dodged her eyes.

“I barely saw you tonight.” Chessy huffed. 

Y/n looked over the nanny’s face with a smile. Seeing the jealousy simmering in her mind. With a grin Y/n splayed her hands across Chessy’s chest and pulled on the collar of her shirt. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” 

“What? Pshh, No.” Chessy rolled her eyes. 

“Oh I don’t think that’s true at all.” 

“Well, I think you spent the whole evening with the Elizabeth James.” 

“Chess…” Y/n dragged out, pulling the older woman closer to her.The older woman grumbled but ultimately sighed as the younger woman pinched her cheek. “You know I would’ve stayed if you asked.”

“You seemed so excited. Listen I’m just grumpy the evening didn’t go as planned. I don’t particularly like sharing you.” 

“Well next time, we’ll aim for no interruptions hm?” Y/n smiled sweetly.

“I like the sound of that.” 

“Now give me a kiss so we can say goodnight.”

taglist: @theonefairygodmother , @sleep-deprived-athlete

[tsumtsumrry]

my masterlist 🤍

tiny disclaimer: everything here is stuff that has been posted on this account, to find any of my old stuff that hasn't been posted here you'd have to go to my old account ch3rrybabyhon3y. i would post everything here but i'd feel so annoying flooding the tags lol. if there's anything specific you'd like to see/read again, send me an ask and i'll be more than happy to post it. kisses.

ordered from new to old 🤍

indicators: smut ☆ fluff ❁ angst ♪

one-shots:

Doctor's Orders: in which you have an interesting visit with your gynecologist when you come to him with an inconvenient problem.

or

“M’name is Dr. Harry Styles. You can call me Harry, Dr. Styles, or Doc. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m personally fine with it all. I know your name already and…” he blows out a breath with his eyes comically wide “…basically your entire medical history so I think it’s safe to say we’re well acquainted!” You take his hand and shake it softly, a small giggle leaving your lips. You don’t miss the way he glances down at the contact. His hand feels nice. And you know it’s weird to be thinking that about your doctor, especially when that same hand will probably be somewhere near your genitals in the next couple of minutes, but his hand feels really nice against yours. Calloused and sturdy, yet gentle and soft.

You appreciate how he immediately got in tune with how cracking jokes made you more comfortable. It feels like extra effort to you and a warm feeling blooms in your chest at how attentive he is. You can tell that he cares about his patients and takes pride in his job, and it makes you feel so much more comfortable. 

“Okay m’darling. Says you’re here for a regular check up. Are you sure there’s no concerns? Nothing we should be worryin’ about? S’more helpful if you tell me now so I know what to look for.” His hand goes out to motion you to lie down on the examination table. You oblige and he grins at you again, waiting for your response. 

Second Visit (part two)

Film Bro: in which sleepy best friend Harry gets a little too worked up while you guys cuddle. ☆☆❁

or

The poor baby’s worked himself up somehow and doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, doesn’t realize how needy he is. His face wears a tortured expression, his eyebrows arched and pushed tightly together. The desperate soft sounds continue to leave his slightly parted lips and all you can think about in this moment is how much you want to kiss his lips, soft and bitten. 

Honestly, you’re at a loss of what to do in this situation. Do you wake him? Do you let him keep going until he ruins his pants? Do you just will yourself to go back to sleep and pretend this never happened? You know that last one’s definitely not going to work considering how ridiculously turned on you are. With every thrust against your ass, an onslaught of butterflies assault your stomach and you feel the pool in your underwear only getting wetter. 

You don’t want to stop him. 

Favorite Holiday: in which you and Harry are friends with benefits ☆❁ ♪

or

"He plans to take you home tonight, you can tell. You two have been going at this for months, the no-strings-attached sex thing. You think it’s easy enough. There’s never been any real difficulties, just the fact that you’re trying to keep it discreet. 

The first kiss was at the New Years party. You were both tipsy, he confessed that he always had a little fixation on you and how you looked in “all those pretty outfits you like to wear” and you confessed that him and his “fancy british accent”, “pretty tattoos”, and “ridiculously charming personality” never failed to have you imagining kissing those incredibly soft looking lips. 

He looked at you for a second, his gaze moving from your lips to your eyes as if he was trying to gauge where your head was at. Then, at the perfect timing, the clock turned twelve and your lips were intertwined. The rest is history."

Sex Therapist: in which Harry helps you out a bit, and he's not actually a sex therapist. (but he might as well be)☆❁

or

"“Maybe you need someone familiar.”

You can tell he almost regretted it when he said it, but there was also something of what seemed like determination in his eyes. You can only imagine the mental battle he’s having right now.

“Someone…familiar?” You say, your tone is nothing less than breathless.

“Mhm…someone you know, someone you trust, someone that can take care of you.” You know Harry’s noticed your change in breathing, the way you tried to subtly press your thighs together, you know he’s noticed and that’s why his voice has lowered to a calculated sultry tone that you know he only reserves for times like this. He’s downright seducing you and you don’t seem to have a problem with it, “any ideas?”

Good Boy: in which harry is a brat. ☆❁

or

"“So sit down, and listen to me like a good boy.” she says, watching as Harry rolls his eyes. She scoffs because she knows it’s all an act, but also because she knows he’ll regret this later, when he’s on his second denial and begging her to just ‘please, baby let me come’. She knows he’ll regret it.

“No? This is how we’re doing it tonight? Alright then.” She loves it when Harry is soft and submissive and just does whatever she wants off the bat, but she can’t deny the fun in making him submit. She knows he loves it too.

Harry, is on cloud nine, he loves this, he lives for it. Being forced to submit, making her hurt him. Gives him a high like no other, really gets him going. Sometimes he regrets being smart with her when he’s on third orgasm, or his third denied orgasm, but still, he loves it."

Morning After: in which you wake up next to harry after your first night together. ☆❁

or

"They had sex for the first time. 

In no way were they virgins, but it was just as special as anyone’s first time. She had been holding off on having sex with anyone since her last relationship, scared to give all she had to someone only for them to hurt her and walk away like her ex did. She never wanted to feel that pain again. 

She was dead-set on becoming a nun before Harry found her and swept her off her feet. He loved and cared for her, showing her he would never hurt her like her ex did. It took some time, but she finally learned to trust Harry. And as soon as her walls broke down, she loved and trusted him fully. She gave her all to him. 

Harry wasn’t expecting from her, he just wanted to love her. So when the opportunity came to love on her, there’s no way he could’ve passed that up."

Piper: in which sub-harry let's go. ☆❁

or

"Piper shakes her head at his pout and opens her mouth to speak, “I have an idea.“

Harry’s eyebrows furrow and his pout lessens a little bit, “wha’ is it?” He’s talking slower and thicker due to how overcome with lust he is and Piper fight the urge to shift her thighs at the sound of it.

“Well…” she pauses to give him a slow kiss, “you’ve been working so hard lately, been so good. Was thinking I could dedicate a night to just you. Hmm? Make you cum so hard you see stars?”

Harry’s mouth parts slightly at her words and he tries to prevent his eyes from rolling back into his head at the butterflies that just swarmed through every part of his body."

Alexa: in which you're an assistant for one direction ❁♪

or

"“Do you want a coffee or something? I feel weird just standing here without getting you something…” Alexa mumbles and Harry’s face falls. Her words served a (very) painful reminder that she just worked for him. She was forced to be around him. Doesn’t mean she liked him. After all she only came up to him because Niall told her he needed help with something. Harry feels pathetic.

“No…no thank you.” he murmurs and Alexa nods quickly and turns on her heel to walk away.

Harry doesn’t understand why he can’t just talk to her. Every other “employee” feels like a friend (or even family) to him. Why can’t he cross that line with the one person he wants to?"

She: in which we dream with harry ❁☆♪

or

"The drive of his life, where his passion is derived from. He wouldn’t be where he is without her.

Some people may say it’s foolish to be so codependent on a dream, but he doesn’t see anything wrong with it. As long as he keeps seeing her when he closes his eyes, he’s at peace.

He imagines the color of her skin, the smoothness of her body, the volume of her hair, the sound of her voice. Every day he imagines it all. Every day he dreams about it."

Laura: in which you've had enough. ♪♪

or

"She hates herself for feeling weak, for showing him any emotion. She’s stuck between wanting him to know that he’s hurting her and not wanting to give him the power to know that he has any affect on her at all.

“You keep acting like you didn’t know how it was going to b-” Harry starts, but Laura interjects with an angry incredulous tone, feeling like if this were a cartoon you would surely see the steam coming out from her ears.

“Are you kidding me? This isn’t how it was when it first started, even when you were doing the first album, hell, even when you were on fucking tour! This is an us thing, this isn’t just a ‘studio’ thing and you know it!”

blurbs/asks:

sub ceo harry ❁☆

friends to lovers h ❁❁

sex with h headcannons ☆❁

friends to lovers angst ♪❁

sub bestfriendrry finding your vibe ☆❁

request that's basically just porn (lol) ☆☆

subby co-worker harry ☆☆

enjoy to all your heart's content. love you loads and loads. kisses. 🤍