#so fuck it the first post is only about four years ago

[rotationalsymmetry]

There's such huge ecological and sociological world building potential in seasons that last longer than years, and we could have had that and instead we get...the dramatic tension of a very vague sense of the lean times coming and that's it. I don't really mind when Pratchett created an eight season year and then didn't really do anything with it, because the Discworld series is comedy, but George RR Martin's deal is "realism" and specifically claiming to be more realist than Tolkien, and then he made years long seasons that have no impact on anything.

i think it must be important for writers to read an absolutely shit book every once in a while, that series of blog posts roasting game of thrones gave me a spark of worldbuilding joy long dormant

[soupbtch]

ummm. my fic is done.

[sooniebby]

ఌ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

꧁ 𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡��� 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

w.c. › 4.9k

Plot › if you had told yourself six weeks ago, that you would meet the camboy you’ve been faping for a year, you’d laugh. But meeting Gojo was a curse from God. Part 2 of this post!

Warnings › same as before. Gojo is a little shit and very annoying. A bit of dubious consent at first since reader doesn’t say “yes”. Nothing extreme. How yall not notice the porn I linked in p.1 though? Smh

Kinks › size kink, praise, rough sex, lite dry humping, creampie, manhandling, possessive Gojo, groping, brat behavior from reader, lite dom/sub,

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“Today’s my lucky day, huh?”

Oh, fuck.

You kinda just… stood there for a few seconds, staring at Gojo in shock. Before you screamed out in fear and ran into the back room.

So humiliating.

“Hahaha!!! Put your glass back on, your blue eyes scared (Name)!” Nobara laughed, walking to join you in the back room. Megumi only rolled his eyes.

Nobara found you in a fetal position on the ground, rocking back and forth as she stared at you in shock.

“Okay, I know his eyes are freaky but it couldn’t have been that bad,” she said, kneeling down to get on your level. She ‘comfortably’ patted your hair, twirling a few strands around her index finger.

It took a few minutes before you could really open your mouth.

“I…know…him…”

“How? This is his first time here.”

You sat upright, staring Nobara right in the eyes.

“Camboy.”

Nobara was quiet, her eyes slowly widening as she took in the new information. Her mouth opened as a shriek left her mouth.

“No fucking way?! Him?! You’ve seen his dick?!”

“Nobara!!!”

She lowered her voice. “Him? Really? The one I called a 4 inch? He’s…. The one you had the call with? Holy shit! Do you think he remembers you?”

“Hopefully… not.. but he said it’s his lucky day.. do you think…?”

“Maybe he’s still mad over the four inch comment.”

“Uhm.”

“Or maybe he’s upset that you were a guy.”

“I dunno…”

“Oh! Maybe he wants to fuck you.”

“Oh c’mon. Now you’re just saying shit.” You stood up with a grunt. “If I’m lucky, he was just saying something about getting a discount. Can you do the cake for him? I really don’t wanna talk to him.”

Nobara frowned but didn’t say anything else. She walked away to go do Gojo’s order. It was silent for the most part, the slight muffled voices of Gojo and Nobara talking. Though it seemed Nobara was talking shit about him.

Hopefully, Gojo wouldn’t come here again due to Megumi’s insistence.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“So, can you take my order this time?”

You blinked, staring right at Gojo as he leaned on the counter, grinning at you. It was in the evening and the cafe was mostly empty. So you didn’t feel bad about shaking your head. You had hoped this blue eyed freak would leave you alone but he seemed set on bothering you.

He’d even come on days Megumi wasn’t there yet or was off that day!

You didn’t speak to him directly. Too embarrassed. All you could remember was your desperate moans to know his name. Yup, no way in hell were you going to speak to him.

Nobara came over to the cashier and took over—you didn’t even have to ask. This had been happening for weeks now. Just a simple look was all she needed. Even Inumaki and Megumi knew what to do. Though the two didn’t know why you seemed so adverse to speaking to Gojo.

Megumi believed you hated him for being annoying. He could relate to that.

Inumaki believed Gojo must’ve did something because you hardly hated people.

So he did from time to time purposely put salt in Gojo’s coffee.

And would sometimes put jalapeño seeds into his food.

What could he say? A true friend.

Nobara was the only one to know the truth. And while she did think you were overreacting a bit—she knew how embarrassing your actions were. If you didn’t want to speak to Gojo, so be it. She’s not one to force it.

You were in the back room when Nobara came back, sighing to herself. She plopped down on the chair beside you, staring down at the table before looking over to you.

“That blue eyed slut keeps asking for you it’s annoying.”

“Slut?”

“Affectionately.” She said. “‘Why does he keep ignoring me?’ ‘Why isn’t he speaking to me?’ ‘Let me talk to him.’ ‘Aren’t you his friend?’ Blah blah blaaaah!” She cried, her voice rising in pitch out of frustration as her hands dug into her scalp, moving her hair around.

“What would he even want to talk about?” You whispered to yourself.

“Maybe he’s scared you’re going to tell Megumi.”

“What would I gain from that? The only thing I’ll tell Megumi is to ban him from the cafe.”

Nobara let out a soft huff. “Really though… if he’s making you that uncomfortable, tell Megumi.” She said, her voice suddenly serious. She reached out and rested her hand against yours, squeezing it gently. “You don’t even have to tell Megumi the true reason… he won’t judge. If it comes down to it, we’ll tell Boss.”

She pulled away. Your eyes met hers, a bit shocked at how.. caring she was about the situation. You knew you were overreacting a bit and a normal person would’ve just told Gojo straight up to leave them alone. And you knew she was right.

Megumi wouldn’t judge. He would tell Gojo to stop coming.

But…

It was like you didn’t want him to go for some reason.

In the back of your mind, you truly wanted to know why he kept bothering you.

Was he angry?

Scared you’d tell people?

Well… it couldn’t be good either way.

You just hoped he’d get tired of you soon.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The sound of loud music was beating with your heart as you leaned against the wall. You, Nobara, and a begrudged Megumi were at a newly opened gay club in Shibuya. It was cool for like the first two hours but now your social battery was practically dead.

Megumi was somewhere… you remembered him saying he needed some fresh air.

Nobara was having the time of her life with some girls on the dance floor. Good for her.

You were dressed way more conservatively than most of the people at the club. Just a t-shirt and pants. You weren’t someone to dress up like that. As you drowned your drink and placed it on the bar counter, you asked for some water.

No one was approaching you which was great. You didn’t know if you could handle talking to someone right now.

But that soon changed when someone was suddenly right beside you.

A taller guy, black hair and brown eyes. He seemed to be looking for one thing. You didn’t look his way at first, believing he was just getting a drink until a shot glass was slid over to you.

“What’s a pretty boy like you doing here all alone?”

Typical…

You forced a slight smile. “I’m here with friends. No thanks.” You said, sliding the shot back over to him. He shrugged and took it himself, downing in seconds.

It was quiet for a moment, even though the music still roared in the background. “Would your friends mind if I steal you for a little bit?” He suddenly asked, his lips right near your ears. You flinched but couldn’t help but grin in response.

“Why? Where are you going to take me?”

“Wherever you’d like, baby.” His hand slowly trailed down your shoulders to your hips, lightly squeezing before his finger teased the slight opening in your pants. Since you were so touch starved and the last time a man ever touched you was a hundred years ago, you didn’t push him away at first.

So what? You were desperate at this point.

Dildos get lonely…

“Mhm, I don’t—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence because suddenly the man was… gone? You blinked rapidly before looking around in confusion. Huh?! As you reeled in shock at how fast a man could just disappear, you felt a tug at the belt loop of your pants before the hand grasped it entirely and pulled you out of the club.

“Who?! Dude, you’re going to rip my fucking pants off! Get—”

The fresh air slapped you in the face before you were harshly pushed against the wall of the alleyway. Your eyes saw dark spots before you could fully open them, ready to scream bloody murder before you saw who attacked you.

Fucking Gojo!

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you looked away. No way he found you here! Did Megumi tell him? Nobara? No, they’d never do that to you. Oh… he was a fucking stalker!

But you didn’t get to accuse him as he grabbed your face and forcefully turned it so you would look him in the eye. No, your cock didn’t twitch. You’re just horny.

You didn’t speak. More so just because you knew it pissed him off that you weren’t. So you only gave him your meanest glare and closed your eyes, knowing he wouldn’t pry them open. Only to be wrong because apparently Gojo has no sense of boundaries.

He did force open one of your eyes and you quickly slapped his hand away. Fuck that felt weird. You looked at him shock, the fuck was his problem?

But you weren’t going to speak first! No way. You were going to be petty until the day you died.

Gojo was silent for a moment before groaning, deciding he had to be the one doing the talking.

“What’s your problem?”

“My—?!” You clamped your lips shut. He almost got you there. You reached up and began pushing at his chest but you didn’t even make him budge. Gojo rolled his eyes and grabbed your wrists, with one hand, and pushed them against the wall, right above your head.

“You avoid me like I killed your entire family. What the hell did I do?”

You pursed your lips and shook your head. For the next few minutes, it was Gojo spouting questions and you acting like a child being asked if they were the one who drew on the wall. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so stupid.

It took a moment before Gojo was finally giving up. He sighed as his hand released his grip on your wrists. You watched as he pulled away and suddenly, you didn’t want him to do that.

So without thinking, you grabbed the belt loops of his pants and pulled him close. Gojo’s eyes widened, his hands quickly moving to rest on either side of you so he didn’t crush into you. You didn’t like the sad look on his face.

But you were about to regret it as his signature smirk appeared. He leaned in close, his mouth pressing against your ear. His light chuckle sent a shiver down your spine, making you unintentionally arch your back.

“I see how it is… you’re into being a brat, huh?”

You shook your head violently, biting your lip. Okay, you were certainly playing into it. But it was the reason your ex broke up with you so you didn’t exactly like the word used in regards to you.

Something something ex boyfriends suck

You gasped as his leg was shoved between yours, rubbing right against your crotch. It happened so fast you couldn’t even think straight.

“I asked you question. Answer.” He said, pulling away so you could see his face. His blue eyes stared straight into yours, making you squirm in embarrassment. You kept remembering the incident. Cumming just from seeing his face.

Gosh, who can say they’ve done that?!

The only sense of light in the alleyway was the moonlight and the blinking neon sign of the club. It would occasionally light up Gojo’s face and you felt your cock twitch when you got a clear view. His eyes staring you down. Jaw tight. His lips no longer in a smirk. You didn’t know he could look so serious.

His eyebrow raised a bit when you didn’t answer. You wanted to see what he’d do and he was quick to show you. His leg began to rub your crotch but it was slow—way too slow for you to get anything from it. It felt like a taste to what you could truly get if you acted like a good boy.

As your cock began to twitch, straining against your pants, he stopped. You whimpered, staring up at him with pity as he tilted his head.

You knew what you had to do to get what you wanted.

“N…no…” You whispered, shaking your head. He let out a sigh, a hand moving away from the wall as it harshly gripped your face, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“I don’t like liars. Tell me the truth. What happened to the good boy on the call, huh? The one who listened and put on a nice show for me.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes, not wanting to look him in the eyes. When you felt his hand squeeze your cheeks, you slowly opened them only to see him looking at you with worry.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked.

Did you?

Did you want to stop?

You reached up and placed your hands on his shoulder, leaning up on your toes to press a soft kiss on his lips. It was soft, way too soft compared to the debauchery you two were just participating in.

Gojo eagerly kissed you back, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you closer. He kissed you as if he was hungry. Like if you were to pull away, he’d miss his chance. You moaned into the kiss as he grasped your ass, gripping it tightly before moving downward to grab your legs and hoist you up.

He slammed you against the wall, never pulling away from the kiss as you gripped his hair for some sort of purchase. The innocent kiss you had given him was leaning to pure lust.

His teeth biting your lips, earning little gasps from you. You’d never kissed a man like this before. But even though it was pure lust, you somehow felt loved.

“Ahem..”

You both froze. Gojo was still biting at your lip as you both glanced to your right to see a pissed off Megumi.

“I called you to take me home, not fuck my friend.”

Gojo pulled away, though his hand still held you up, “Megumi~~ sorry! I just got caught—”

“—fucking my friend? C’mon, I found Nobara.” Megumi stormed away while you felt like jumping off the nearest bridge.

Jesus Christ!! You might as well replace your middle name with “Embarrassment!”

Gojo only chuckled slightly as he pulled out his car keys and placed it in your hand. He gently placed you back on your feet. “Go to the car, I’ll join you guys in a minute.”

“What are you doing?”

He simply smirked. “Taking out some trash.”

He was so weird…

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Nobara was conked out in the spare bedroom while Megumi slept on a futon in the same room. Gojo had driven you three to his apartment. It was actually quite nice. You wondered what his actual job was because you knew being a cam boy couldn’t actually pay that well.

While Gojo was looking for some spare clothes for you, you decided to take a look around. You found his office and instantly knew this was where he did his cams. It was surreal seeing it in person.

As you closed the door, you shrieked when you came face to face with Gojo. He was smirking, handing you a pair of pajamas he found that could possibly found you.

“How was it?”

“How was what?”

He rolled his eyes. “The room. Better in person?”

You simply let out a huff. “Where’s the bathroom? I’ll change in there.”

“No need—change in my room. You’ll be sleeping there anyway.”

And then he just walked to his room. You stood there for a moment, mouth agape. Sleep? Sleeping? In there? His room?!

If there wasn’t two people already sleeping you would’ve screamed.

You slowly followed behind him, unable to stop the steady rise of your heartbeat. Your stomach felt weird, slightly churning as you thought about what could happen. But it didn’t feel like anxiety, more so like excitement. Though you couldn’t fight back the slight feeling of nausea.

You haven’t slept with someone in over a year.

And Gojo was so experienced.

Would he compare you to others?

Would you disappoint him?

You suck at giving blowjobs, haven’t gotten out of the habit of not using teeth. Your ex complained about that all the time.

Has he even fucked a guy before?

All these thoughts rushed in your head before you bumped right into something. You glanced up, grinning shyly as Gojo raised an eyebrow. His hands gripped your shoulder as he leaned down a bit to look you right in the eye.

“What’s wrong? Nervous?”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to lie. So you mutely nodded.

Gojo chuckled slightly, his hand moving up to lightly caress your cheek. “Don’t be. I’ll lead.”

His hand slowly slid down, his thumb lightly teasing your lips. It pulled down at your bottom lip before he switched to his index and middle finger. They pushed your lips apart before inching their way inside your mouth. It took a moment for you to not push them out—getting used to the odd feeling of them.

Slowly, you lightly suckled on them, closing your eyes to try and keep calm. More than likely, he was going to finger you open. And you felt your cock twitch at the thought.

You almost completely lost yourself, not even noticing the stuttered breath Gojo let out. Your eyes opened slightly, looking up at him hooded eyelids. He almost looked possessed. His throat bobbed as his lips pulled into a slight snarl.

You pulled away, taking his fingers out of your mouth. “What’s wrong…?”

“I wish it didn’t take me so long to fuck you.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Jeez, you’re tight, (Name), you don’t stretch yourself often?”

The sound of your muffled whimpers was filling the room, moonlight seeping through the curtains as you tried to keep still. You were sitting on Gojo’s lap, your legs spread open as he fingered you. His fingers stretched you deeper than you thought was possible.

Your back pressed against his chest as you had your hand clamped around your mouth. You only imagined his hands inside you. Especially during his streams. It was almost like a fantasy that it was happening right now.

That he actively sought after you.

“If they weren’t here,” he muttered, most likely referring to Megumi and Nobara, “I wouldn’t have allowed you to hide those pretty little sounds.”

You felt yourself blush.

He finds your moans pretty?

If you weren’t too busy moaning, you would’ve been giggling.

His fingers stretched you slowly and methodically, rubbing against your wet walls as if searching for something. You wondered if he was having trouble reaching your prostate. So you shuffled a bit, thinking maybe it was the angle you were sitting in that was giving him trouble.

“Uncomfortable?” He suddenly asked, his fingers stopping.

“Oh.. no… thought you… were having trouble reaching my.. uhm, prostate.”

“I wasn’t. I know where it is.” You felt his finger brush against it, causing you to whimper. “I’m avoiding it on purpose.”

“W..why..?”

A light chuckle left him as he rested his chin on your shoulder, looking down at your nude lower half. He hummed slightly, his free hand trailing downward to tease your leaking cock. It was still taking you some getting used to being fully nude while he was still dressed.

“Because of this.”

Suddenly, his fingers began to harshly target your prostate. Rubbing and teasing it relentlessly. Your body arched against him, toes curling as you screamed out. It was inhumane at how he was able to keep the fast pace with just his fingers.

No wonder those girls in the video practically screamed when he fingered them.

His free hand grasped your cock, thumb lightly teasing your sensitive tip. The constant between the harsh thrusts and slow, sensual movements on your cock was something you never felt before. Your hands gripped at everything beneath you—bedsheets, your leg, but soon found purchase gripping his thigh.

Wow, how often does he work out?

You couldn’t dwell too much on it as you began to feel the familiar sensation in your body. Your cock leaking pre-cum all over your tummy. But just as you almost reached your peak, it was over.

His fingers pulled out.

“Wha…?” You muttered, chest heaving as you glanced over at him.

Gojo only patted your thighs before motioning for you get off. You hesitantly stood up, legs feeling entirely like jelly as you watched him pull down his pants, his cock sprinting out.

It was huge.

That seven inch dildo certainly came in handy…

His cock was possibly close to eight. Seeing it in person was different from any video or live stream. The veins and just how much thicker it was.

“Condom.” He whispered, pointing at the nightstand beside the bed. He began to lightly stroke his cock, spreading the pre-cum leaking from his tip.

You didn’t move to get the condom. He didn’t use condoms when fucking those girls. Why did he need to use one with you?

There was some weird surge of jealousy within you. And it wasn’t because he fucked other people.

It was because he wasn’t going to cum inside you.

Well, what if you wanted that?

“Mhm, no.” You replied, pushing his hand away from his cock.

Gojo raised an eyebrow at this, watching as you moved to sit down on his lap. You grasped his cock and placed it right between your ass, lightly teasing your puckered hole. Your free hand gripping tightly at his shoulder, balancing yourself a bit.

“You cum in all those girls.” You whispered, smirking slightly as you leaned in. “What if I want it too?”

A laugh left Gojo as his hands reached over and grasped your waist, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. You were sure this was going to leave a mark. Any sort of control you just tried to hold was pushed away by Gojo.

“Aw~ it’s okay, baby. You’ll be replacing those girls, no need to think about ‘em anymore.”

“Wh—?”

You screamed out as he pulled you down onto his cock. Your face squinted in pain as you whimpered and squirmed, trying to get used to his cock. It was different seeing it than feeling it stretch you whole. No wonder he spent a good amount of time stretching you out.

Gojo kept his grip on you tight as he bounced you up and down on his cock. You didn’t get no say in how he got to use you. Your voice filled the room, you forgot all about keeping quiet by this point.

“Ngh, sorry, hate this position.”

You didn’t even get to answer him back when you were suddenly picked up from off his cock and dropped onto the bed. You were now on your knees as he got behind you. His cock teased your hole for just a moment before he slammed right back inside.

Your face squished against the bed as his hands moved downward, gripping your ass tightly as he began massaging it. His cock stretched you fool, easily rubbing against your prostate with each thrust.

It was better than any dildo.

“You don’t even know… how much I masturbated to your moans,” he suddenly said.

You almost didn’t hear him at first. “H..hng..?”

“I recorded the sound of your moans during the call. How could I not when it made me cum so fast,” he reached down, pressing his chest against your back. He angled his hips against your ass and began thrusting again, his cock continuously rubbing right against your prostate.

You tried to say something but the only sound that left you was cries of pleasure. The sounds of skin slapping and your whimpers filled the room.

It was weird, totally. But…

You’d look past it.

Dick too good, y’know?

“Then you came from just seeing my face.” He chuckled slightly. “Knew I couldn’t let you get away but you blocked me everywhere.”

He pulled away slightly, his thrusting coming to a pause. You whimpered in disappointment, glancing back at him. Gojo grinned slightly as he grabbed your arms, pulling them back a bit before sliding down to grasp your hands.

The position wasn’t comfortable at all, having your hands behind your back. You couldn’t hold up your face anymore, being forced to just let it lay on the sheets.

“Imagine my luck when I saw you again. You’re prettier in person.” His hips slammed against your ass, earning a scream from you. But he didn’t move again, leaving you to calm down from the harsh thrust.

“But then you ignore me.” He muttered. “Thought I was going to have to give up on you… but today was my lucky day. Just had to throw that guy away and you were mine.”

You felt your cock twitch.

His?

You were his.

He released his grip on your hands and pulled out again. You didn’t even get to whine this time as you were flipped onto your back, staring at him now. He crawled over you, his cock easily sliding back inside. You wrapped your legs around his waist to hold him close.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours…” You whispered, “won’t… run away anymore… promise.”

Gojo grinned slightly as he leaned down to press a kiss on your forehead. His hand patted your head, his finger twirling a strand of your hair. Seeing him like this, so soft compared to his camboy persona was out of a dream.

“I’ll be nice—since it’s our first.” He sat back, his hands reaching down to rest on the curve of your hips.

As he began to slowly thrust inside of you, you couldn’t help but sigh. It felt nice. The soft rhythm of his cock going in and out. But it soon started to pick up, his grip tightening on your hips. You whimpered, gripping at his chest as you wondered how this was going to go.

“G-Gojo?!”

“Hm?”

“H…how is this nice..?!” You managed to moan out.

His hips slammed against your ass, the sound of skin slapping together returning in harmony with your moans.

“This is my nice.” He grinned.

Fucking asshole!

His hand moved up and gripped one of yours, tangling it into a handhold. Your hand was practically engulfed by his. Crap, he was making you feel crazy.

“You know my name now, so scream it.”

You gasped in shock, suddenly remembering when you had whined in the call about not having a name to moan. Your back arched as his pace somehow picked up even more, his hips slamming into you with a force you questioned was human.

If this was his nice… you didn’t want to know what his mean was.

Okay—that was a lie, you definitely wanted to know.

You started to moaning his name which soon turned into screams. Your cock spurted pathetically on your stomach, coating it with your cum. But he didn’t stop. He kept his rough pace as he used you for his own release.

His last thrusts practically took your breath away as he pushed deep inside of you. The only sound left was your gasps as he cummed, coating your insides.

Your hand was still entangled with his and he didn’t seem to want to let go. As he pulled out, cum slowly leaked out of you, coating the bedsheets beneath you. He laid down beside you, wrapping his free arm around your waist as he tugged you closer.

It was silent for a moment, only your heavy breathing as you tried to calm down. Gojo buried his face in your neck, humming slightly. The moonlight shined down on you both through the windows, illuminating his white hair beautifully.

As your eyes felt heavy, you cuddled closer to him and fell asleep with a smile.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“I can’t believe you.”

You and Gojo sat kneeling on the floor in front of a disappointed Nobara and Megumi.

“I can believe Gojo… but (Name)…” Megumi whispered, shaking his head as he looked at you.

Nobara sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I thought he was killing you at first. Can you imagine the horror of hearing you scream in the middle of the night?!”

You froze, glancing up at Nobara. “Did you…?”

“Head back down!” She yelled, you quickly obeyed. “And yes, I did see Gojo fucking you! So traumatizing.” She whined, wiping at her imaginary tears.

“I wish I didn’t hear it.” Megumi muttered.

“So, were you guys role playing or something?! Why did you act like you hated him for almost two months straight?!” Nobara asked, staring right at you.

You pursed your lips, keeping your head down. “Uhm… I dunno… I just…”

Gojo grinned. “It was a brat tamer role play!”

“I didn’t need to know that!” Nobara screamed, covering her ears as she began to sing to herself as she ran away to the kitchen. Megumi only gave you another disappointed look, one that reminded you of a mother, before glaring daggers at Gojo.

“You still can’t bother me at work.” He said before walking away.

Gojo simply laughed, standing up. He stretched as he held out a hand to help you up. “Don’t mind Megumi, he’ll get over it.”

You nodded with a pout, hoping he was right. As you moved to go join Megumi and Nobara in the kitchen, Gojo suddenly grabbed your hand. He pulled you close, pressing his lips against your ear.

“I wasn’t lying about you replacing the girls, I wanna show you off.” He whispered before releasing you. He gave you his signature cocky smirk before walking away to go bother Megumi some more.

You stood there for a moment, reeling in shock.

Show… you… off…?

Did he mean…?

Holy fuck.

He wanted to make videos with you!

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

No part 3, stop bugging me

Tag list: @teyvat-writer @tehyunnie @the-ultimate-librarian @kiiyoooo @mello-life69 @iwishtobeacrow @remdayz @ofclyde @smellwell @flurrina @tomoeroi @star-3214 @rhetorical-conscience @honey-valentin3 @byul9158 @xiaovrsven7ti @vivian-555 @huboi @a-purple-person

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 1

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: A lot of mood and scene setting—just vibe with it, MC is in her sad girl era, hints of depression and anxiety, masturbation, Yoongi is a new dad y’all he is tireddd af

Word count: almost 6k

Posting date: November 12, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕🫶🏼

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Masterlist

Namjoon leans back in his seat, sporting an all-too-familiar, slightly conspiratorial glint in his eyes. Hmm. You know that look. 

It's the same one he had when he "casually" set you up to tutor one of his trainee friends in English—the one you let slip was kinda cute. Or when he signed you up to perform with one of his rapper friends in that underground club in Hongdae. Sure, you knew every word of the chorus to eminem’s Stan, but you were not a fucking singer. 

You still did it, though. Both times. 

Namjoon’s especially notorious for volunteering you to do things he insists are "right up your alley." There’s a fire in his eyes when he starts talking about one of his ideas, and before you know it, you're swept up in his vision, already picturing yourself right there beside him, doing something you’d never consider on your own.

Namjoon has been your best friend since forever and for reasons you can’t explain, saying no to him has always been impossible.

Right. It’s definitely that. It’s definitely not because in those two prior instances mentioned, both friends of his are actually the same guy. The one you had an almost crippling crush on over a decade ago. (You’re sooo over it, though. Trust.)

When Namjoon leaned in, you were already bracing yourself.

“So, you know Yoongi, right?”

You blink, pause, and slowly shake your head. It has taken years, but today is the day you tell him, “No.”

“The fuck? What do you mean no?” He replies, already looking hella amused. “I haven’t even said anything.”

Your face feels like a furnace, but you grit and steady your voice. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

He lets out a hum, shifting in his seat, and you get the sense he’s working up to something. 

You sip your coffee, keeping your eyes on him. He gives you an exaggerated shrug, dimples deepening as he lets his shoulder sag. 

God you’re literally already about to break. 

“Fuck. Joon. Spit it out.”

He nods triumphantly, “Ok, there’s something I thought I’d run by you first, before he hears about it.”

The words hang in the air, and you raise an eyebrow. “Joon. What are you getting me into?”

Namjoon chuckles softly as he folds his hands on the table. “So… Yoongi has a son. A baby, actually.” He pauses, watching for your reaction. 

Woah. Someone has fuckboi Min Yoongi all locked down?! Huh. You never saw that coming.

You let that sink in, surprise filling the quiet space between you. “I… didn’t know he had a kid.”

“Not many people do,” Namjoon admits. “Only those close to him know. Yoongi’s a great dad, but his caretaker recently left, and now he’s scrambling to balance his schedule and take care of his son.”

“And his wife?”

Namjoon sighs, gives you a look that means he’s about to say something confidential. “There’s no wife.”

“Baby mama?”

“Out of the picture.”

You let out a small breath, absorbing everything you just heard. You already had an idea of where this is leading up to, but you want it said explicitly. “So what exactly are you asking me?”

Namjoon nods, eyes hopeful. “Look, I know this is a big ask. I’m putting this out there because you’re one of the best with kids I know. And Yoongi—well, he’s pretty wary about letting new people get close to his son.”

You take another sip of your latte as he prattles on.

“While you’re still getting your bearings back, maybe you could take over the caretaker job, even part time?” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly as he says your name. “I just thought you might consider it. You’d be doing us both a favor. Yoongi really needs help, and I’d trust you more than anyone with this.”

You sit back, letting Namjoon’s words settle. Namjoon knows exactly what he’s asking—knows exactly how hard it is for you to refuse when he gives you that puppy dog look, especially when he’s throwing Yoongi into the mix. Honestly, you hate how you're apparently still soft for him even after all these years.

Namjoon also knows your current situation. Does he not realize it’s a bit unfair to ask this of you right now? Not when you're still picking up the pieces after your breakup with your long-term boyfriend. Not when you need time to heal. Not when you literally uprooted your life and just moved back to Seoul a month ago.

But somehow, you can’t shake the curiosity. What would it even be like to see Yoongi as a dad? To get a glimpse of this whole other life he’s got now?

It’s probably a terrible idea. 

Yeah, no. You don’t need this right now. Money isn’t tight. And you need to focus on… 

You take a slow breath, mentally tracing the edges of this mess. There are a hundred reasons to say no, and only one reason you’d even consider saying yes. And because it’s for Yoongi… damn, maybe that’s reason enough.

The next time you see Yoongi, it’s at HYBE’s massive rehearsal space. Namjoon had invited you to watch the group practice—innocent enough, though you know it’s also his way of nudging you toward the job. Joon thinks he’s subtle, but you know his plans are, more often than not, clunky as hell.

You settle in one corner, holding on to your half-finished iced Americano. A few staff are scattered around the studio, there was another girl (maybe a member’s girlfriend, you’re not sure), but it’s mostly empty. The boys are warming up, stretching or chatting, and you wave to Jungkook and Taehyung before finding yourself glancing toward Yoongi.

Wearing an all black outfit and a baseball cap, he’s standing off to the side, arms full with a fussy baby, and a bassinet stroller in front of him. The boy can’t be more than a few months shy of his first birthday. He’s close to tears, twisting and squirming, while Yoongi, visibly flustered, tries to hand him a toy, then a bottle, then anything he can find. Nothing works. Soon, the baby’s fuss turns into a full-on tantrum.

Oh, damn. Poor Yoongi. 

He drops the bottle, spilling milk across the floor just as the stroller, half-locked, rolls a few feet away. He lunges for it, fumbling as the baby’s wailing intensifies, tiny fists flailing in frustration. Yoongi’s eyes dart around, panicked, while a couple of female staff start toward him, hands outstretched. But he waves them off, his face set in a mix of fierce determination and mild desperation as he rocks and hushes the baby.

It honestly hurts to watch the scene unfold. You almost want to do something.

Namjoon starts clearing people out, Jimin dims the studio lights, and Seokjin picks up the spilled bottle, wiping down the floor. Hobi taps a white noise track on his phone, placing it near the stroller. Your heart warms at how effortlessly everyone pitches in, their movements so practiced it’s obvious they’ve done this before. But it makes you wonder just how many rehearsals have paused for these moments. It’s probably why Namjoon wants to help find a solution, a.k.a you.

You meet your best friend’s gaze and he cocks his head toward the door, signaling for you to file out with the others, but your feet take you somewhere else entirely.

“Is he okay?” you ask, approaching Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t hear you at first, too focused on calming his son. His face is etched with exhaustion and something fragile, an uncharacteristic crack in his calm. He finally glances up, half-exasperated. To your mild relief, a look of recognition crosses his face, before he replies, “Yeah, he’s—he’s usually not this fussy.”

You watch him struggle for a bit, then, before you can second-guess, you step forward. “Do you mind if I try?”

Yoongi hesitates, studying you like he’s weighing the decision to trust you with his son. His eyes flick towards Namjoon who was standing by the door, before it goes back to you. After a tense pause, he nods, handing the baby over.

You hold the little boy, shifting him gently away from the mirrors and bright lights, rocking him slowly and humming an old lullaby you used to sing for your preschoolers. Gradually, his cries quiet down, his tiny head resting against your shoulder as he begins to relax, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt. Within minutes, he’s fast asleep.

When you glance up, Yoongi is watching, his face unreadable. There’s relief, yes, but also a quiet wonder, an almost surprised gratitude. 

“I owe you,” he murmurs, a softness in his voice you hadn’t expected.

“‘S ok,” you say, quietly, careful not to wake the baby.

The two of you stand there, his eyes on you for just a beat too long, and if you didn’t have the baby to ground you, you feel like you just might float.

“Thank you,” he says, tone soft and sincere.

From across the room, Namjoon watches, his eyes mirroring the same gratitude.

The call from Yoongi comes unexpectedly one evening, just after dinner. You don’t recognize the number, then again you don’t have a lot of +82s yet since you just moved back after many years of being in the States. The last thing you expect is to hear Yoongi’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, it’s���Min Yoongi,” he starts, voice a little rough.

“Oh, hi.”

There’s a short silence, and then he clears his throat. “Namjoonie mentioned you uh might… be interested in helping with my son.”

You feel a strange flutter, both at the fact that Yoongi is talking to you, and at the fact that he’s asking something so personal. “Uh, yeah. I can help out.”

The pause is long enough that you imagine him somewhere, shifting uncomfortably. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he finally says, sounding almost apologetic. “I don’t want to… impose or anything. But it would help. A lot.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you,” You hear Yoongi release a sigh of relief. Then he says the next phrase in a rush, “I know you are overqualified for this, so uh please let me compensate you with your salary as a teacher in America.”

You feel your face flush. Thank god this was not a video call. Seems you’re as uncomfortable as he is talking about money, though it is a necessary evil. “Oh, no, please Yoongi. You don’t have to. Joonie’s my bestfriend and you’re his brother. I can just help until you can find a more permanent solution.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t argue with you on this. You hear a puff of breath before he says. “Alright. Thank you.”

And just like that, you’re set. He gives you the address, and you’re left wondering for the rest of the night how you’ll manage this strange new gig.

The first day you arrive at Yoongi’s apartment in Hannam-dong, you’re a bundle of nerves, unsure what to expect. 

After you ring the bell, the door opens to reveal Yoongi with his usual reserved expression, a piece of muslin cloth draped on one shoulder.

“Hi,” he says simply, stepping aside to let you in.

You offer him a smile. “Hey.”

He closes the door behind you as you step inside. You look around, taking everything in.

The apartment is spacious but cozy, with a warmth that speaks of careful design—minimalistic furniture in muted colors, shelves lined with books and vinyl records, a few baby toys strewn around the living room. Homey.

This is the first time you get to really see Yoongi. The brief encounter at the rehearsal studio didn’t afford you the chance to appreciate how time has treated him. 

Seeing him after six years, he’s both the same and somehow different. He has always had that calm confidence—a steady, grounded energy that feels both nostalgic and new. His usually colorful hair, now in its natural hue, casually frames his face. He wears a simple white tee and you can tell the noodle arms are gone. His shoulders are much broader, arms stronger than how you remember him. The silver earrings are still there, subtle reminders of his edginess, softened by time.

But beneath it all, there’s a layer of, hmm… exhaustion, you guess? A shadow under his eyes, faint lines hinting at the weight of sleepless nights. His lips are chapped, there’s a tiny red bump on his chin. He’s a new dad, he hasn’t prioritized himself for a while. Still, his face carries a tenderness in the fatigue, like he’s tired, but happy.

“He’s napping right now,” Yoongi clears his throat, motioning toward a small crib by the window, where his son is sleeping peacefully, bundled in soft blankets. 

“You haven’t told me his name.”

“Haneul.”

“That’s beautiful,” you reply, and Yoongi nods, almost shy.

He hesitates, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. Then he says your name. “I… um, I didn’t know how this would go. His last caretaker was actually my aunt, but she got sick and had to go back home.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He nods, “But after seeing how he calmed down with you… I think he’ll be alright.”

He gives you a tour of his apartment, the baby monitor clipped in his jean pocket. His place is modern, spacious, baby-proofed. There are pictures that line the walls of the hallway linking the nursery, his studio, guest room, guest bath, and the masters.

You spend some time going through Haneul’s things—familiarizing yourself with the layout of the nursery. He shows you where the baby food and snacks are. Talks about his favorite toys and activities. 

While he downloads the 101 on Haneul, the one thing you were curious to know was, where is his birth mom? You obviously don’t want to be a prick so you swallow the question down. Maybe you’ll find out in the future. But for now, you just need to know where the baby wipes are.

For the first few days that you come over, Yoongi keeps close, hovering just within earshot as you ease into the cadence of his son’s needs. He’s there with his arms folded, watching as you handle Haneul, a cautious yet respectful distance. You get it though. You’re a virtual stranger he just let into his home and his son’s life. Who wouldn’t be guarded?

You quickly notice that Haneul has a sweet temperament, but has a bit of a sensitive side. He doesn’t take to loud sounds, so you keep your voice low and movements gentle, singing him lullabies and nursery rhymes under your breath while Yoongi quietly observes, even if he pretends to be engrossed with something else.

On your third day, Yoongi has to leave to attend an important meeting at HYBE. He’s been pacing by the door, making sure his son is settled before he goes, even though you’re right there, holding the baby with practiced ease.

“Are you sure you’re… good with this?” he asks, his brow furrowed, as if still convincing himself to leave.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Go. I got him. He’ll be fine.”

He hesitates one last time, eyes fixed on you, and then he finally gives a small nod. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as the door closes, you’re left with the quiet hum of the apartment and a very awake, very curious baby in your arms. You spend the next hour rocking him and singing songs, amazed at how easily he settles, almost as if he’s known you longer than a few days.

After his nap, you take a video of the babbling Haneul enjoying his yogurt gems and send it to Yoongi. He replies almost immediately with a smiley emoji and a curt: cute.

Yoongi returns around dinnertime right as you’ve settled the baby down in his bed. He steps inside the nursery quietly, watching as you tuck the blanket around his son. When you look up, he’s standing there, holding two cups of steaming liquid.

“I, uh… thought you might want some tea,” he says, looking slightly awkward but endearing.

“Always.” You take the mug with a grateful smile. “How was your meeting?”

“Could’ve been an email,” He shrugs and stuffs the empty hand inside his pocket.

You grin as you take a sip, remembering how you’ve always enjoyed his dry sense of humor, in the rare occasions you hung out in the past. Ooh, this tea is… your favorite.

“Silver moon?” you asked.

He nodded, “There’s a TWG shop that just opened near the office. Namjoonie might have mentioned it was your favorite, so.”

Your ears warm up just as well as your throat as you savor another drink.

“How was Haneul? Did he give you a hard time?”

“Not at all,” you shake your head, looking over to the little angel. “I’ve had a lot of practice, you know.”

“I can’t imagine handling a whole classroom full of them,” he says, looking at you with a mix of admiration and amusement. “One’s hard enough.”

“You’re lucky to have him,” you reply wistfully, suddenly feeling a tug at your heartstrings. ‘What I would give…’ you almost utter out loud.

The thing is, you actually do, without realizing it. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi files the thought away, a subject he might bring up one day—when the time comes that he thinks you trust him, too.

The days blur into a steady rhythm. You arrive in some afternoons, not really everyday, only when Yoongi needs the extra hand at home or if he needs to leave the house for a day of rehearsals. You both establish that this is merely a favor so he doesn’t treat you like you’re at his every beck and call. Usually it starts with a short message in Kakao, and if you’re free, he would send a car to pick you up. Your meals are always ready, delivered on the dot. Conveniences are always within your reach—your favorite tea, extra clothes in case there are food or poop blow-outs, etc. The cleaning lady that goes thrice a week, Mrs. Kwon sometimes keeps you company and assists you with anything.

As you help take care of his baby, you feel that he’s looked out for you, too. Which is nice.

On days that he is working from home, Yoongi brings his work into the living room, just to be nearby during playtime with you and Haneul. 

One evening, when his son falls asleep in your arms after a particularly fussy day, Yoongi glances up from his laptop and leans back in his chair, a tired but grateful smile breaking through.

“He’s really taken to you,” he observes, sounding almost as if he’s admitting it to himself.

You smile, feeling a strange warmth at his words. “I think he’s just a really sweet kid, Yoongi. He’s easy to love.”

The smile he gives you after that is probably the gummiest one you’ve ever seen. 

A few weeks pass, and a subtle partnership has started forming between you, like you’re both slowly finding a rhythm in the chaos of caring for Haneul.

Bath time becomes a kind of unspoken relay: you gather the towel and clothes, while Yoongi preps the tub, testing the water with careful fingers. There’s a brief exchange of glances—no need for words, just a nod as you pass off Haneul, who’s already giggling happily.

Snack time turns into a ritualized watch party. You set out the applesauce and crackers for Haneul, and Yoongi brings a bag of chips and his laptop over to the living room, joining you and Haneul for yet another episode of Miss Rachel. Occasionally, he’ll mutter a sarcastic comment under his breath, trying (and failing) to disguise the fact that he’s memorized the songs, too. (And in English, no less!)

There was one particular afternoon that you walk in on the father and son having a heartwarming exchange.

Haneul, who’s wobbling on his unsteady little legs, is reaching eagerly for a stuffed tiger Yoongi is holding just out of reach.

“Oh, no, no, no—you gotta work for this,” Yoongi teases, eyebrows raised dramatically. He moves the tiger side to side, adding a low, exaggerated growl that makes Haneul squeal with laughter. Yoongi leans fully into the act, growling and making faces, finally swooping Haneul up with a playful roar, both of them dissolving into laughter.

You can’t help but laugh along with them, your heart catching slightly at the sight. The way his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement, his mouth relaxed into a wide gummy grin. And you’re startled by how… soft he looks, how fucking attractive he is when he’s like this. When his usual quiet intensity is replaced by this playfulness, by this open warmth. It hits you somewhere deep, a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest that you can’t quite ignore.

Yoongi catches you watching, his smile faltering for a moment, but he holds your gaze. His expression shifts, something curious reflecting in his eyes as if he’s wondering what you’re thinking, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he swallows a lump in his throat, cheeks dusting a faint pink as he looks down, bashful.

You force yourself to glance away, feeling warmth creep up your neck. For the first time, you’re struck by an awareness of him that wasn’t there before, and it lingers, even as you turn back to whatever it was you were supposed to be doing. The image of his smile, his laughter—it all stays with you, stirring something you can’t quite put a name to.

And just like that, you’re settling into this role in the life of the Min men—something you know is temporary, but is infinitely meaningful.

When you’re not in Yoongi’s apartment, your own place feels strangely foreign.

God, you hate it here. You can’t even bring yourself to call it home—it’s just a room with white walls, half-opened moving boxes, a stack of unread books Joonie gave you, a mattress on the floor, and a fridge with a single egg. It’s quiet. Too quiet. You could fix the place up—it’s not like you can’t afford a bed frame or groceries—but for some reason, you’re punishing yourself. Like this is the way someone like you—unwanted and rejected—ought to live.

Nothing in this flat tethers you to it, and maybe that’s why you prefer being out.

You’re afraid your heart is stuck somewhere in limbo, somewhere between Seoul and LA. Maybe it’s still floating above the clouds on that flight back. You don’t know when it’ll come down, but you hope it’s soon.

Tonight, you’re restless, tossing and turning in your makeshift bed, replaying fragments of your old life—a love that once felt solid, a future that had once felt certain. Your mind drifts to those last conversations with Jiyong, your ex, the ones where he shut down every hope you had for a family, making you wonder if wanting more was somehow wrong.

You probably deserve it, though. You want a family, but you can barely cook for yourself. What do you hope to feed a child—takeout? Junk food? It’s laughable. You can’t even make a home feel like one. Jiyong probably got tired of you because you’re useless at it.

Stop. You close your eyes, focus on your breathing, try to still your mind. 1, 2, 3…

Some nights, you especially hate yourself. Tonight is one of them.

You need to call Namjoon. He can usually talk you down, ease the self-loathing. You ring him three times, but each time, you get his voicemail. Fuck. Maybe he’s out, maybe he’s getting laid. Good for him, honestly.

But that might actually work. You rummage through one of your boxes and find the one purple bullet that’s gotten you through plenty of spirals. With a flick, the vibrator buzzes to life, and you slip it beneath your panties, pressing it right against your clit. You’re not in the mood to drag this out—you want release, quick and easy, something to take the edge off.

At first, your limbs relax as that familiar tingle begins, little sparks shooting from your core, teasing you with hints of pleasure. You keep at it, determined, but after a few minutes, the sensations stall. It’s like your body’s stuck, lingering on the edge without tipping over, leaving you stranded and more frustrated than when you started. You decide to cut your losses.

Maybe a shower. Maybe you can pop by the GS25 down the block for a bottle of soju.

But then your phone pings. It’s Yoongi.

Your tummy suddenly feels funny.

You immediately swipe up and read the string of messages that has popped on your Kakao.

Yoongi: Hey so I found this in Haneul’s crib Yoongi: image.jpg  Yoongi: u got this for him? he is lowkey obsessed. Yoongi: But WTF is it? 

You cackle. Loud and hearty. A sound you didn’t think you were capable of on a shitty night like this.

You: A capybara! Look it up! Yoongi: Oh Yoongi: never heard of it You: They’re cute Yoongi: ? You: Don't be mean You: Haneul and I love bora Yoongi: ?? You: thats her name Yoongi: noted

That night, the Kakao thread becomes your lifeline. Yoongi asks about your next visit, what you had for dinner, and when you say goodnight he sends back a grainy selca of him and a sleeping Haneul with Bora. The photo brings unexpected joy, something to remind you that you aren’t as alone as it sometimes feels. Finally, you succumb to slumber, clutching your phone to your chest, thoughts of Yoongi and Haneul floating in your dreams.

After that, you become more and more aware that Yoongi’s place has become a sanctuary. There’s Haneul’s bright laughter, the way his tiny fingers curl around yours, and the sound of Yoongi’s soft, steady voice, creating a background that somehow starts to feel comforting. With them, you’re too busy to dwell on the past or the ache left behind by someone else’s rejection. Instead, you’re present, stable.

And it’s in those moments—when you’re reading Haneul a story or soothing him to sleep—that you feel a glimmer of something you’d thought you’d lost: hope. The simple act of holding him, soothing him through his small struggles… It’s healing in a way you can’t quite put into words, as if this little boy is slowly fusing pieces of your heart you’d almost forgotten were broken.

And Yoongi—he’s part of it, too. His presence, his quiet strength, the way he’s trusted you with something so precious. 

You know this is just a phase, that this isn’t your life, but a part of you can’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were. To be here, day after day, with this little family that’s somehow found its way into your heart.

You’re still healing, still putting yourself back together, but this—this feels like the start of something you could believe in again.

What you couldn’t believe though was the email from your building administrator with an acknowledgment receipt for next quarter’s rent payment—all settled. You haven’t made the deposit yet, how come it’s saying it’s been paid for already?

You pace your room staring at the email from your phone as if it holds all the answers. 

What is happening? Who paid for this? You didn’t sign up for some sugar baby service… 

Wait. Something clicks in your brain. Suga. Baby.

Your first instinct is to call Namjoon, meddler extrordinaire. He picks up on the second ring, sounding annoyingly chipper.

“‘Sup, buttercup?” he asks.

“Don’t act cute, Joonie,” you warn. “Did you know about this?”

There’s a pause. “About what, exactly?”

“Yoongi,” you say, practically hissing his name. “He paid my rent, didn’t he? Three months’ worth. How did he even know where I live?”

Namjoon lets out a hum, his tone maddeningly calm. “Ah. That.”

“Yes. That. Care to explain?”

“Look,” Namjoon says, unbothered. “Yoongi asked, so I gave him your address. He said you refused his offer, but still he wanted to pay you back somehow.”

“But Joon! It’s too much—” You pause, scrambling for the right words. “How did he even get a hold of the landlord and settle all this without my knowledge?”

Namjoon chuckles, which only makes you more annoyed. “Yoongi hyung is an influential guy, you know. If he wants something, he’ll fuckin’ find a way. Just take it, okay? You’re helping him, he’s helping you. It’s fair.”

You huff, still not convinced. “It’s just… a lot, Joon. I don’t need anyone swooping in and paying my bills. And you could’ve at least warned me.”

“I get it. But you’re helping him with something really important. This is his way of saying thank you.”

You sink back into your chair, the irritation draining out of you. “Fine,” you mutter. “But if he pulls something like this again, I’m coming for your ass.”

Namjoon laughs. “Aishh. Why the hell is it my fault?”

“You’re a smart man. Figure it out.” You hang up.

You spend that afternoon at Yoongi's. He was in a rush, dashing out for some shoot as you arrive. You hear him return around seven, just as you're finishing putting Haneul to sleep. Once the baby is settled, you tiptoe out of the nursery with the baby monitor on hand, following the sounds of soft clinking and the rich aroma wafting from the kitchen.

“Hey, Yoongi,” you call out, stepping into view. “Haneul’s all tucked in. I was just gonna—”

“Stay for dinner?” Yoongi’s eyes light up, his voice gentle but hopeful as he turns, holding a pot in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. It looks like he came straight from his shoot, his hair still styled in soft, precise waves that swoop perfectly across his cheekbones. He’s wearing the softest, oversized yellow sweater layered over a crisp white shirt, and his jeans hug him just right. But it’s his smile that really draws you in—light radiates from him, his face glowing not just from a bit of skincare, but from something more.

Goddamn. The man is looking fine as hell.

You’d planned to meet up with Namjoon tonight, but one look at Yoongi—whose eyes are too shy to hold yours as he ladles red sauce into a ceramic bowl—and you know you are absolutely staying put. Joon will understand.

“Ok, yeah, that looks really good,” you say.

“It is.” Yoongi smirks, just barely, and gestures to the fridge. “I’ll plate this up if you can grab some drinks?”

You procure a couple of beers from the chiller and set them on the dining table, shooting off a quick text to Joon afterwards.

You: Hey, raincheck? Yoongi made dinner and it looks good ngl

His response is instant.

Namjoon: You blowing me off to play house with hyung. K. I see how it is.

This asshole.

You’re about to call and give him a piece of your mind when Yoongi’s voice pulls you back. “Everything okay?”

Your gaze shifts to the plates of spaghetti he’s just set down, the aroma working wonders to sway your thoughts. “Yeah, just Joon being a pain in my ass as usual.”

“Sit.” Yoongi gestures to your chair as he settles into his.

“Wait.” You grab the baby monitor from the kitchen counter, setting it between you and Yoongi. The screen shows Haneul fast asleep, Bora tucked securely under his arm.

“There. Now we can eat.”

Yoongi nods, and the two of you dig in.

It hits you that this is actually the first time the two of you have shared a quiet dinner together like this. You were expecting Yoongi to let the silence linger, but he starts a conversation mid-way.

“I, uh, was surprised to see you back here,” he says casually, twirling a forkful of pasta.

“Me too. It was… kind of abrupt.”

He nods, not pressing, just listening. You don’t think you’re ready to talk about that so you try a joke.

“Didn’t think you’d ever see the girl who carried your performance of Stan?” you add, smirking. “I basically launched your career.”

“Carried?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Nah, you were choking.”

“Hell no.”

“Uh-huh.” He laughs softly, shoulders bobbing. “Rewriting history….”

“Fine. I sucked. Joon totally went behind my back with that one. Not that he’s the only one who likes going behind my back,” you add pointedly, of course alluding to the matter of your paid-off rent.

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, looking almost guilty. “Sorry for overstepping.”

“Just don’t start paying my utilities behind my back, too. Because—”

He shifts awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

“Yoongi?”

He clears his throat. “Just your electricity. I… may have asked the landlord to include it this month.”

“Oh my god.”

“And water,” he adds quickly, eyes widening like a kid who just got caught.

“Add my Netflix subscription while you’re at it.”

“Done.”

“NO!!! You’re actually worse than Joonie,” you groan, though a smile quirks at your lips. “But, thank you:”

He nods, briefly pausing before he speaks up again, a little too flippantly. “So… you and Namjoonie—what’s the deal there?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, looking somewhere over your shoulder. “You know what we all think? That he’s playing some kind of long game with you.”

You wrinkle your nose, laughing. “Oh god, no. Y’all are waayyy off. Namjoon’s like my brother, that’s it.”

Yoongi nods slowly, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you.

“Everyone thinks that, huh?” you ask, leaning in, a little bolder than usual.

“Mhmm.” Yoongi gives a slow nod, as he nibbles his lower lip.

“All the members?”

“Yeah,” he says, watching you carefully.

“Including you?”

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though something shifts in his expression, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know existed.

“Interesting,” you murmur, swirling your glass.

“Why?” he narrows his eyes on you, wheels turning in his head.

Maybe it’s the beer loosening you up, bubbles lifting your usual filters. You’ve always been a lightweight.

“You never wondered why Joonie suddenly set you up for English tutoring with me—just you—even though your company had a professional hired to teach everyone?”

He blinks, eyes narrowing a bit more.

“Or why I ended up singing with you at that damn club?” You laugh, leaning back.

His lips mold into a small pout, processing, but you’re already laughing.

“Joonie’s been throwing me into your orbit, Yoongi,” you say, giggling, the alcohol hitting you hard now. “And you’re telling me you never noticed?”

He looks like he’s having a full conversation with himself, his mouth opening and closing like a stunned goldfish inside a gallon bottle. All he manages is an eloquent: “shit.”

“Well, for the record,” you pause, “I thought you were cute, but it was obvious you weren’t interested. Don’t worry, though,” you say lightly, glancing down on your almost empty plate. “I’m a big girl now. It’s all in the past.”

As you stab the last meatball, you miss the way Yoongi’s gaze softens.

You have no way of knowing what’s going through his head. But if you did, you would find that he’s thinking:

If he could go back in time, he’d kick his younger self straight in the balls for not noticing, and tell him to get his head out of his ass long enough to realize this one shocking truth: 

You were not Namjoon’s girl.

And he actually had a chance with you.

Because maybe you’re right. Back then everything was about the dream—y’know, big house, big cars, big rings, and all that shit. So yeah, maybe, he wasn’t ready then.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t now.

Notes: Oh-KKKAYYY!! How are we feeling? Anything you liked in particular in this chapter? Where is the baby mama? Do we even care atp?!

Part 2 is where things get more flirty, spicy, and all that good stuff.

Tell me your thoughts and theories. See you in the comments! <333

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful, human 💕🫶🏼

You can sign up for my permanent taglist here so you can be notified when I post updates to this story and more.

Part Two >

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Sorry if I'm unable to tag you. Did my best to include everyone who commented and asked!

[poisonf0rest]

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐜*𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

love and deepspace: zayne x fem!reader

tags: smut, teasing, guided masturbation, fingering, first time (kinda), pwp

word count: 9.3K what the fuck

synopsis: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. - partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

original ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57209872/chapters/145519015

art credit: @/kaito_aii

You’re screwed. Fucked. Utterly damned.

Groaning into your desk, you slam your head down upon piles of patient records and old case files. 

You’re only halfway done with your medical residency and somewhere along the way turned your lifelong passion for writing into a successful side gig. So successful in fact, that it was single-handedly providing you with enough money to get by and complete residency.

After anonymously posting online for a decade, you signed with a publisher three years ago, on the exact same day you matched with your first choice cardiothoracic residency program here at Akso Hospital.

Needless to say, you haven't felt that magnitude of happiness in years.

You doubt you ever will again.

In the midst of your wallowing, your phone lights up: Michaela. It’s a follow-up to her previous messages, all with the same damn request. 

Michaela - Boss Man

checking in on my star, how’s that manuscript going?

talked to the director again to try and plead your case but she didn’t budge :( 

she said w current book trends the fans will go crazy for a few explicit spicy scenes

pluuuus she believes in your writing enough to know you’ll make it big! come on, star, you know I’m here if you need any extra help

You - Little Star

Hey Micheala

You cringe for a moment at how formal you sound, but honestly, you’re too burnt out from writer’s block to match your editor’s energy and too tired from today’s shift to push back any further. 

You - Little Star

No I get it, thanks for trying though

I’m almost done with the novel, it's just those scenes that are taking a little more time

And by a “little more time,” you mean you’ve tried writing and rewriting them over a dozen times just to cringe, delete, and scream into your keyboard. Over. And over again. 

It’s not that you’re clueless, you’ve read your fair share of erotica for inspiration and pleasure equally. But actually writing them yourself? That was a whole different story. Pacing, banter, and even making the right word choices without sounding like a repetitive pervert or absolute lunatic were all so much harder to do than you previously gave authors credit for. 

Not to mention, you haven’t actually experienced a lot first-hand.

Beyond a few situationships in high school and undergraduate flings between pre-med classes and internships absolutely kicking your ass, you’re probably half as sexually experienced as most adults your age. And you had absolutely no intention of re-entering the dating scene with residency, until now. 

With Michaela breathing down your neck about how these explicit smut scenes were a marketing goldmine and the combined stress from your jobs, it seems like you’ve been fighting a losing battle. This time, however, your main income was on the line. 

You groan  as another ping lights up your phone, going to silence it when you realize it’s from the hospital Slack and not your editor. 

residency-CS-alerts

Dr. Zayne: Second look needed for a CMR scan. Nonurgent. 

Jumping to your feet, you sprint from the office wing to get to the MRI’s before another resident can take your spot. It’s not that your program lacked opportunities- far from it as you attend the top program– but rather that this particular opportunity was rare indeed.

Doctor Zayne. Akso Hospital's respected chief cardiac surgeon, who has made groundbreaking advances to the treatment of congenital heart abnormalities in neonates. At only twenty-seven he is the youngest recipient of the Starcatcher Award. His dedication to his craft is unparalleled, as he tirelessly devotes more time to surgeries than any other doctor you know, cementing his reputation as an unwavering force in the field.

He’s also impossibly tall, extremely well built for a man who seems to spend most of his time in the hospital, and has a face sculpted like a Roman deity in marble. And gods, his voice.

Safe to say, you admire him just a little.

You’ve bumped into him a handful of times during your first two years here, but the doctor was so engrossed in his work that the occurrence was rare enough. But a chance to perform with him? To consult alongside him on a cardiovascular case? 

You began to fear for your own heart’s safety as you felt it skip in your throat. 

Finally reaching the MRIs, you knock once before sliding the door to the control room open with a bow. And when you stand straight again, Dr. Zayne’s steel-set eyes only glance at you before he points to the readings displayed on the computer. 

“Tell me what you see.”

Your mouth is still hanging open from what was going to be a very enthusiastic self-introduction, but you cut yourself off with a cough and stumble over to the monitor. Dr. Zayne’s eyes follow you with a precision that makes your hands tremble, and you bend over slightly to scan the patient’s readings. 

You’re about ready to make a diagnosis when you realize you haven’t gotten much background on the patient.

 “What’s the patient’s briefing?” You look down, flinching as you see Dr. Zayne already staring at you. “If I can hear it, sir?”

He nods once. “An adolescent female with complaints of shortness of breath and coughing. She had no specific medical history, but grew up in the countryside unable to visit a proper clinic for several years while this issue persisted.”

Countryside… that could mean this was an undiagnosed issue that festered. 

Clearing your throat, you begin to point to the different scans. “Firstly, there’s clearly an enlarged cardiac silhouette.” Squinting, you point at two denser mounds in CMR scans. “Here and here. There are two large cysts along the lateral and inferior walls of the LV pushing and invading the myocardial walls.”

Gods, the cysts were huge. Even if surgery was performed on her now, would she survive?

Dr. Zayne’s low voice pulls you back into the control room. “Then what is your final diagnosis?”

“I–” you stutter, shaking your head. “I would recommend surgery immediately.”

“More detail than that, please.”

A sharp inhale and you scan the readings again. “Maybe a cannulation? The cysts might be causing an SVC compression, which would explain her shortness of breath.” You dare ask. “Will she survive?”

Dr. Zayne stands up this time. “You did well. She was my patient, and underwent surgery over a week ago.” He gently pats you on the shoulder, touch warm. “Our job as surgeons is to act decisively, to learn, and to try. Not to be heroes.”

You can’t manage to say anything back as Dr. Zayne leaves the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

_______

Surprisingly, you’ve been seeing more and more of Dr. Zayne since that day. 

And if that wasn’t enough, the doctor has also been actively acknowledging you, exchanging greetings and simple conversation when you pass in the halls, cafeteria, or shared cardiovascular wing of the hospital.

Not that you haven’t been putting in the effort either. 

Dr. Zayne’s current apprentice is graduating from residency this year, and you have every intention of becoming their successor. Between picking up extra shifts, answering every pager call, and of course paying special attention in case Dr. Zayne specifically requests a second pair of hands, you’ve been climbing up the ranks amongst your peers. 

Luckily, it seems those efforts have not been in vain. 

You’ve been doing so well apparently, that Dr. Zayne wants to meet with you in the hospital’s cafe today. Interviews before officially announcing mentor-mentee pairs was not unusual, but the thought of being one-on-one with Dr. Zayne after your last case together still has your mind reeling. 

Will he pull out old case files? Will he bring you to a patient and test you in real time? You have half a mind that he might pull out a custom-made test and timer. It seems on-brand enough to be a possibility.

Yet when you arrive, the cafe is completely empty, save for the staff and a familiar man in a white lab coat.

Dr. Zayne stands as soon as he sees you and beckons for you to sit, pulling the chair across from him out in the same movement. He clears his throat, a barely-there smile gracing his lips as he watches you settle down. “How have you been, doctor?”

“Good! Good.” The words rush out from you and you flinch, forcing yourself to slow down. Was the cafe always this small? “Discharged a patient today, so all good news.” Holy striped cows, if you say the word good one more time you might lose your mind.

“Well,” Dr. Zayne nods, taking a sip of something that looks like a far-too-sweet cup of coffee practically drenched in whipped cream. “That’s certainly good to hear.”

You die a little inside. 

“I’ll keep things rather brief since I’ve already made my mind up.”

Was this it? Did you ruin your chance at having Linkon’s top doctor as your mentor because of your damn mouth?

Dr. Zayne reaches inside his jacket, and you swear your heart is going to beat itself out of your throat. He pulls out a simple white envelope with your name scrawled across the front, the paper crisp as he slides it across the table. 

His fingers linger on the edges before he speaks. "I wanted to formally offer you the position to shadow me as my apprentice."

"I accept!"

The words fly out before you can stop them and Dr. Zayne looks stunned for a moment before laughing, a smooth and deep sound you didn't expect from him. He looked good when he smiled. Softer, content. 

The ghost of the smile stays, even when Zayne speaks again. "It's not a timed offer, you don't have to agree so quickly."

You flush down to your neck, looking down at the envelope. "Right. Only, it would be an honor to learn from you, sir. I really don’t know anyone in our field who wouldn’t accept it."

Zayne hums, but his brows furrow. “You don’t have to call me sir either. Doctor Zayne is fine while we are at the hospital. Zayne is more than acceptable elsewhere, we’re not that far apart in age and I don’t wish for this to be an overly formal relationship.”

You curse your heart for fluttering, reminding yourself that he only means this in a conductive, professional way. 

After a beat of silence, Zayne looks at the clock and stands, taking his sugar-filled drink with him. You never pegged him to have such a massive sweet tooth. 

"I have a consultation now, but I would like to talk to you more about your residency. We should set up weekly meetings outside of work, check your calendar, and organize it later.”

You nod and thank him as he walks away, leaving you alone to open the envelope. Inside is a simple handwritten note, signed and stamped with Dr. Zayne's official signature alongside Akso Hospital’s. 

A reminder that this was, in fact, not a dream. 

_______

It’s barely been a month since you’ve begun officially shadowing Zayne, yet you swear it feels as though a part of you has known him forever. 

Aside from his virtually frozen demeanor and tendency to make snarky quips at your habit of running your mouth, he’s been nothing but a patient mentor. Brief, direct, unrelenting, but attentive to your work and growth. 

If that were all, then everything would be perfect. 

If that were all, then you would be sticking perfectly to your ten-year plan: graduating early, completing residency under the top doctor in the top program, and then overtaking him as the top cardiovascular surgeon with a breakthrough of your own. 

But of course, the plot has to thicken. 

Sure, the first few weeks have been strictly business, but since then, your conversations with Zayne—Dr. Zayne—have morphed into more casual, more playful meetings. Your weekly check-ins have moved from the hospital cafeteria to a cozy family-run cafe in town that Zayne introduced to you. And the way you’ve begun to think of him was the most damning part of it all. 

But you don’t have the time nor capacity to deal with whatever this was becoming. 

Not when your novel’s deadline was in three weeks, and you still had absolutely nothing to show for it. Without this new novel’s money, you wouldn’t be able to pay for rent or food or transport, and residency sure as hell wasn’t giving you enough to survive off of alone. 

This past week, you’ve gone from stressed to a thundering cloud of misery. Snapping at interns, drinking dangerously over the FDA-recommended caffeine intake, and ignoring the maelstrom your face has become.

And of course, today happens to be your weekly check-in with Zayne.

Dragging yourself to your usual booth, you watch him order at the counter and bring his drink to the table alongside a signature pair of macaroons, a slice of chocolate cake, and an eclair. He sets it all down with a huff and sits, looking over at you with an iron-cold gaze. You can smell the incoming lecture. 

"You're late."

You dip your head, but your patience is running on reserve, and your reply has more bite than you’d dare use otherwise. "I'm sorry, it looks like I’ve lost track of time."

"You're never late." Zayne doesn't sound any angrier at your attitude, but it still doesn't settle the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

"I've just been really stressed. You know," you wave your hand, "wrapping up residency."

"Is that so." Zayne's gaze is sharp as he fights to maintain eye contact. It's not a question. "I've noticed. You've been distracted and irritated recently, and I can't help but wonder why. Is it really the hospital? Am I demanding too much aside from your typical resident duties?” 

You shake your head, and the guilt is back. "No, of course not."

"Then I have to assume it's something else, is it not?"

"It's..." How on earth are you supposed to explain that the reason why you're a mess is because your editor is pressuring you to write a smut scene that you have no interest in, let alone sufficient experience with? And to someone you admire, your mentor, Linkon’s top surgeon, and apparently now someone your heart is deciding to blackmail you with. "I'm sorry, Dr. Zayne. It's nothing work-related, it's not your problem to fix."

Zayne raises his eyebrow, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “That’s the first time you addressed me as doctor outside of hospital property in over a month. ”

You really, really, can’t do this right now, or else you might start spewing some things you’ll regret. “Really? That’s fascinating, sir.” You watch him scowl at the title you know he hates. “Still does not entitle you to my personal issues.”

“As your mentor, it becomes entitled to me when your personal issues begin affecting your performance.” He says.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your anger down. "It's really not something I can talk about here, nor to you. Can we just have a regular check-in?"

"We are."

“You know what?" You stand, chair falling back with a screech. “I think I need a rain check today, sir. You know. Stress.”

"You’re not leaving until you tell me what is bothering you."

You're about to grab your bag and walk away when you're suddenly reminded of how tall Zayne is when he stands. Practically towering over you, he leans across the table, grabbing you firm enough to prevent you from slipping away, yet never harsh enough to harm you. “Please, we’re making a scene.”

You sit. Zayne follows. 

Seeing just how reactive you’re being, he softens, genuine concern in his tone as he reaches an arm out. “Is it a family issue? Are you alright?”

“No. Yes.” You inhale deeply through your nose, but your mind is still reeling at a mile a minute. “No, it’s not a family issue.”

“So if it’s not about the hospital and not family, then what could possibly be causing you this much stress.” Zayne’s eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick. “Don’t tell me this foolishness is over a boy.”

“No! God,” you want to push yourself off a building. Or him. “No, it’s this fucking–” You’re rambling. You’re rambling, losing control, and you’re going to blurt it out and regret it. “It’s this smut scene!”

You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

Zayne chokes on his drink and slams the cup down, coughing as liquid comes out his nose. You flounder in panic, trying to help but he holds a hand up and turns, still coughing into his arm. You can only manage to pull out a few napkins, handing them over in a pathetic bundle.

“A…” Zayne almost seems to buffer, clearing his throat before looking back at you. “An erotica scene?”

Your face is burning. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of it in waves, and you have to remind yourself that writing is your job. A respectable, decent-paying, well-appreciated job that you do for the sake of womankind everywhere.

“I write for extra income alongside residency, and recently my editor got it into her head that we’ll sell even more with some extra spice.” You scoff, “But it’s been months of looking at a blank doc. Now the deadline is approaching and I still have nothing to show for it.”

Zayne doesn't say anything for a moment, and you have to check if he's breathing, or if the shock has killed him. Finally, he shifts back in his seat, adjusting his tie.

"That sounds like a difficult position to be in, doctor."

You look up, and Zayne has his arms crossed. It's an expression you're familiar with, one that means he's actually thinking about what you've said, but the way he says "doctor" now feels strange, almost as if the term has no place here.

"It's fine, I'll figure it out." This is also why you didn't want to tell him, as if Zayne has any place worrying about this on your behalf. “Besides, I’m as much a writer as a doctor, this is my job after all. I have to figure it out.”

“Of course. I’d expect no less." Zayne nods a little to himself, slightly dazed, and you scramble to find a way to change the subject back into something even remotely work-appropriate.

"Anyway, I've been keeping up with my rounds, and I think I've been able to handle more cases on my own recently, too."

"You have."

Zayne is quiet for a beat too long and you frown, tapping the table.

"Are you alright? I know this is a lot, I shouldn't have burdened you with it."

When Zayne faces you again, you watch as his brows furrow. "But if this is such a pressing issue…” He clears his throat, looking at a spot directly above your head. “Then, what if I helped you?”

You swear your head is spinning, his words ringing over and over and over in your mind. The only thing remotely in focus was Zayne’s face, far too close for comfort now, even across the table. Oh gods, you’re having this conversation in public, too.

"What do you mean by help, exactly?"

"If you’re in need of experience," Zayne's voice is low, but he still manages to keep eye contact, the intensity of it making you smile nervously. "Then I could offer my assistance. Better coming from someone you know and trust, yes?"

There’s no way you heard that right. Your mind blanks, but apparently your smartass mouth hasn’t. 

"Are you offering to be my fuck buddy? Sex consultant? My smut guide, if you will?"

A deadpan, “I would prefer the term sexual partner.”

Even the way Zayne says it makes it sound more like a business proposal than an actual proposition, and it throws you off guard. He leans back, trying to act nonchalant. "You did mention lack of inspiration was your main issue, correct?”

“Well, yes.” That, and your lack of any novel-worthy sexual experiences.

“And you have had—“ There it is again. Not quite embarrassment, and if you weren’t so tuned in to Zayne’s resting expression, you may not have noticed it, but there is a deeper furrow between his brows as his eyes evade yours, and the slightest tint of pink on the tips of his ears. “You have been with partners before, yes?”

The stoic, pragmatic, level-headed Doctor Zayne is embarrassed asking you whether or not you’ve had sex before.

You nearly laugh.

“Yes,” an amused giggle escapes you at the absurdity of this entire conversation. “I’ve been with partners,” you mimic, slightly mocking his word choice, “but it has been a while, and I haven’t really…”

Zayne moves to take another sip of coffee. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve never come. Orgasmed.”

And he chokes. Again.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” You jump from your seat to hand him yet another pile of napkins, but this time Zayne stops you halfway there, grabbing your wrist as his coughs subside.

Neither of you speaks as he drinks water and coughs once more, his grip still iron and far colder than you imagined it would feel against your bare skin.

“My apologies,” Zayne releases you immediately, going back to staring at his coffee as his hand flexes once. Twice. “Continue.”

You can only watch him in fascination, sitting back down in your chair. The entire time he avoided eye contact, and he was definitely blushing. You almost wanted to push further, to poke and tease and test his reactions, but you knew that would end with you losing your head. Or worse, you muse, heart fluttering against your chest.

“Ah, I mean, I’ve felt pleasure before. It’s not that my previous partners were unwilling to do stuff for me, I’ve just never gotten over that little plateau.” It’s not resentment that washes over you, and not quite embarrassment either. Just a little bit of dull apathy towards the subject. And yourself. “Biologically speaking of course I know it’s possible, but there are also plenty of women who simply don’t climax during sex. I’m probably just one of them.”

Zayne, who seems to have returned to his usual stoicism, frowns at that, mouth drawn taut as though he wanted to say something.

"And if we were to engage in sexual acts," He's so clinical, even as he says something that could send anyone else running. “Perhaps that is what you need to start writing again. It would make sense. To write a compelling,” he stumbles over the word, “erotica, you’d have to experience pleasure."

The gears in your mind turn, and slowly, it begins to make a twisted sort of sense. You'd have to feel it for yourself, to be able to describe the sensation, the passion, the tension with conviction. Perhaps it really would get you closer to finishing this damn book.

But then you remember who you're talking to. Doctor Zayne. Your coworker. Worse than that, your mentor and direct superior in your field, and someone you happen to admire very much. So then why would he…?

"What do you gain from this, Zayne?"

Zayne stiffens. “I’m a doctor, it’s my duty to help my patients.”

A sly smile cracks against your lips, and you prop your chin against your palm. “I didn’t realize I was your patient now, doctor?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he straightens, his demeanor slipping back to his typical formality. "You have a bright future in front of you. This is an investment in you, and I believe this will help us both. I will draw up a contract tomorrow for us to discuss, you can meet me in my office after your shift.”

“Rather formal,” you say, but Zayne doesn’t take the bait this time.

He simply takes another sip from his coffee, and you swear you catch him smiling behind the porcelain rim. “Then perhaps I could also get a signed copy of your next book?"

You scoff, waving him off as you slouch back in your chair. "Of course, I'll throw one in the mail the day it's out."

"It's a deal then.”

He’s about to push in his chair when you lunge from yours, grabbing his sleeve as his eyes widen slightly, looking down at where your hands meet. "Thank you,” a smile. ”Zayne."

His gaze softens and he smiles a bit, nodding. "Of course, doctor."

And with a wave, he's gone.

_______

You don’t know what you expected. 

Zayne seemed like the type to take his girl out to dinner first, probably somewhere obscenely expensive. He’d show up with a single rose or another simple but romantic gift so seemingly contradictory to his outward appearance. Afterward, maybe he’d take her to a show or somewhere with fancy sweets, knowing his taste. Then, after all that, he’d invite her back to his apartment or allow her to whisk him away to her place.

You’d imagine it would go something like that. But then again, the terms of your relationship are quite different then the one he’d have with this imaginary woman. So when he texts you after your shift that Tuesday asking if you’re free tonight, you’re only moderately panicked. 

To make matters worse, he’s at your house five minutes early.

Two knocks, and you scramble to open the door, Zayne nearly dwarfing the door frame as he lingers outside the hallway. His trenchcoat only adds to his natural tendency to command attention, and you feel more vulnerable than usual in your sleep clothes. 

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.” 

Zayne adjusts his collar. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You tap your chin, pretending to mull it over in your mind, relishing in the slight nervousness your silence instills in Zayne. “It would be rather bothersome to fuck in the hallway, I suppose…”

Zayne shakes his head at the remark, but you can see amusement dancing in his eyes. With that, you step aside, and he ducks under the doorframe to slip inside. It’s as though something irreversible- something inevitable- shifts as you watch him cross the threshold, and it doesn't get better when you close the door and lock it behind him. 

You'd say he makes himself at home, but his stance is still too stiff, too awkward, even as he’s hanging his coat and slipping out of his shoes. It almost feels domestic.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Zayne shakes his head, "Not this time."

He says it so casually, and yet the notion of a next time has you dizzy. Of course there’s a next time, you’ll need more than one night to get inspiration. It was only a natural assumption, you reason with yourself. 

"You seem tense," he says, and then your back is against the wall.

Zayne leans down, hovering above you as his hand comes up to your waist. A tentative touch, and you give a small nod, feeling his arm relax, palm sliding further into the plush of your hips. He looks so good like this, in a work button-down with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his lips parted. Gods, and he’s not even trying- there’s genuine concern written in the way he scans your body with a deep crease between his brows. You hope he doesn’t notice how you squeeze your thighs tighter.

"It's the deadline, is all," you say, trying to brush off the question.

"Ah, of course. How inconsiderate of me. I’m supposed to be helping you and here I am making it worse.”

Zayne's voice is low and smooth. The cadence in his words, the slight drawl, is a sound that makes your heart skip a beat. It's a shame it's so easy to hide your arousal when you're this nervous.

“Well,” You smile, and his gaze flickers down to your mouth. “I suppose I can forgive you if you uphold your end of the deal.”

His stare is heavy, and it feels like the room is closing in. But you understand the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t dare move first, not until you asked for it, not when you have yet to set a precedent. So you loop your arms around his neck, forcing Zayne closer as his forearm slams against the wall to hold himself up against you. 

You nip at the lobe of his ear, smiling to yourself as he shivers with each warm exhale. Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your side while he lets you grind against him, guiding your movements as you groan against his neck. 

But Zayne feels you rush through the movements, a messy sort of impatience less from desire and more from routine. As though you wanted this done. As though you wanted him gone. 

You feel a familiar flutter against your core as Zayne’s knee comes up against your core, but when you move to grind against his thigh, the hand at your waist stops you. 

“I want to do this properly. You deserve—” he cuts himself off. Starts over. “Where would you like to do this?”

You’re about to tell him that right here is fine, not wanting Zayne to feel as though you needed any more special attention, when you realize just how serious he is. “Bedroom," you say.

Zayne hums, and the rumble reverberates throughout his chest. He offers a hand, and you take it.

And with that, you lead him to your room.

Somewhere between the span of your hallway and bed, Zayne seems to have decided how tonight will go. Despite your desperate touches, teasing up his body and luring him closer, Zayne slows his own pace, leaving burning trails traced with agonizing slowness over the curves of your body. Despite your fumbling to strip off your shirt, Zayne grabs your wrist, forcing it behind your back as his other hand teases the exposed skin of your ribs in a way that has you shivering. Despite your hushed complaints for him to just hurry up Zayne merely smiles in amusement, refusing to give you anything more as he scolds you with a click of his tongue. 

Zayne refuses to rush this. He wants to savor every moment, to etch the sight of you into his mind and commit it to memory, to relive it in this life and the next. 

He continues walking forward, each one forcing you to take a step back until your knees hit your bed, buckling as his form looms over you.

“The largest mistake in any relationship- sexual or not- is lack of communication.” He loosens his tie, “So if we are to do this, you have to talk to me. Tell me what you like, what you don’t.”

As he speaks, Zayne continues undressing, unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt before rolling up the cuffs so every glorious inch of his forearms is exposed. Your breath catches with each trailing vein, shadowed in the dim lighting up until they disappear under his sleeves.

Maybe you should write a Victorian-era piece next. Clearly, you had a thing for small swaths of exposed skin.

As if hearing your thoughts, Zayne undoes another button before his hands venture south. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unbuckles his expensive leather belt and allows it to slide through the loops of his pants. It drops to the floor, joining all the other articles of clothing as he takes a seat on the mattress, resting his hand on your bare thigh, inching closer and closer to where your sleep shorts have ridden up.

"Tell me what you like and don't like." Zayne repeats, eyes focused on yours, "And remember, you say no, and this stops."

Zayne moves painfully slow, his hands fluttering down your shoulders, breasts, hips, until he plants them behind you, caging you between his broad chest and the mattress. His hand slips under your shirt’s fabric once more, and you feel yourself tense.

You aren’t wearing anything fancy. After all, you were simply writing in bed, nearly falling off when you suddenly got Zayne’s text. Only a pair of shorts and a cami, but gods, when Zayne’s hands begin trailing up your stomach, dragging the thin fabric up with him, you really wished you put something sexier on.

He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the underwire of your bra, thick fingers slipping under the band as he practically tugs you toward him. "Can you take this off for me?"

"Don't know how to do it yourself?" You tease.

Before you even finish taunting him, Zayne's hand has already snuck around your back, undoing the clasp and forcing you onto your back. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Now, now, we'll be here all night if we start fighting." He chastises you, tone far too smug. Zayne tugs the undone bra up, his fingers tracing the red marks it left against your skin. You tremble under his touch. "Didn't realize how sensitive you are." 

His tone is even, but you can see the slight curl at the corner of his lips.

"Your hands are cold," you say, voice wavering as Zayne begins taking your shirt off as well. You try not to fidget, knowing that the way your arms are held up only emphasizes the size difference, Zayne being able to completely lift your chest against him as the other binds your wrists. You're not tiny. But next to him? It barely mattered.

"I apologize." But it feels half hearted at best, especially with the way he’s staring at your bare chest, not even bothering to take your shirt all the way off. It almost feels more embarrassing like this, cotton bunched against your collarbones under his palms.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

The way he says it causes a rush of blood to your face. “I’m not some virgin that might break.” You grumble under your breath, but Zayne is as stupidly attentive as always and frowns.

“Do not mistake my care for pity.” 

Something ugly aches in your chest when he looks at you like that.

Zayne’s hand comes up, large enough to encircle the entirety of your cheek as you’re enveloped in the chill of his touch. His body is nearly atop yours, each word breathed into your mouth. “Then, if you have no more snarky remarks, allow me to begin."

Zayne’s gaze drops to where he thumbs at your lips, leaning in as you watch his pupils dilate, flickering with something before he flinches away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.

His other hand cups the curve of your breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the feeling of his teeth against your collarbone, nipping marks into your skin. 

It takes a moment for all his featherlight touches to register, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubs your chin. You try to ignore the way he avoids your lips, refusing to get too close.

All for the better, you remind yourself.

He kisses lower, down between the valley between your breasts, hot breath the only warning you get before his tongue meets your nipple while his fingers deliver a sharp flick to the other. The contrast of the heat from his mouth to the cold of his fingertips sends you reeling as you muffle your cries into your palm. 

Zayne doesn’t like that. He forces your hand from your mouth, biting your nipple as if in vengeance as you moan, the sound broken and desperate as you claw at his forearm.

Satisfied, his tongue smooths over the bright pink bite mark and swollen bud, the unpredictable pressure fogging up your every thought before he retreats with a wet pop. 

Finally, Zayne moves to fully remove your shirt, but pauses when you flinch.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I undressed as well?” Zayne begins to take off his own shirt, but you lunge for him, stopping his hands as your voice escapes in a whoosh.

“No.”

His collared shirt was utterly ruined, unbuttoned just enough so you could see his flushed chest when he bent over. And now when he sat up straight the bottom rose up just a bit, exposing a stretch of his lean torso, a peak of his abs, and a dark happy trail that dipped into his tailored pants. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it sent a shameful throbbing down your core.

“You can keep it like that, it’s hot.”

Zayne doesn’t respond, but when he averts his eyes you swear you watch his lips curl into a smirk. It’s gone by the time he looks at you. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, not when Zayne closes the remaining space between you, guiding you against the pillows.

You try not to focus on how out of place he seems in your apartment, mere presence dwarfing everything else as he makes his way between you, forcing your knees apart.

Zayne leans back, his fingers trailing up your leg, edging up the fabric of your shorts up with his touch, but never daring to slip past the self-imposed barrier of the cotton. He coaxes your hips up, and you kick the shorts off in a clumsy movement, Zayne's eyes now focused between your thighs before you snap them shut as best you can around his waist.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– Doctor–”

“Relax. I can’t guide you if you don’t let me, now open.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Zayne’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You could call this off, he’s told you that much directly, and knowing Zayne if you did so everything would go right back to how it was before. A mentor and student. Coworkers. Strangers.

You force the tremors in your thighs to relax, knees dropping from Zayne’s hips to the sheets below as you move your left leg just enough to feel the inner band of your underwear stretch.

It’s a bearable amount of embarrassment and vulnerability, until you look up at Zayne again, and akin to a deer in headlights, you freeze. He watches with enough intensity for it to be clinical, a vicious sort of attentiveness that sees every twitch, every strain your body responds with, as if committing it all to memory. As if he were to devour you alive. 

You think you’d let him.

Zayne reaches over, and his thick finger trails a line up your inner thigh, immediately followed by goosebumps, knuckles ghosting the inner seam of your panties.

Your body reacts before you do. Before you can even breathe, the air catches in your throat, and your legs squeeze together in a pathetic attempt to hide yourself.

Zayne pins them down immediately, gaze snapping up to you. You expect a reprimand. Maybe a warning or a punishment, and the anticipation makes your stomach twist.

Instead, his brows draw in, as if lost in thought. “You said you never came from touching yourself either?”

You can barely manage a nod.

“Hm. Then you weren’t doing it right.” He says, so bluntly that you can only blink at him. “Show me how you do it.”

Zayne sits back between your thighs, one hand still absent-mindedly caressing your knee, waiting expectantly.

And you feel the flush burn all the way up your ears and down your chest.

Oh, that was not what you expected him to say. You were prepared for him to touch you, or to guide you, but instead he asks for the complete opposite.

And, well, you could only ever try your best for him— ever the people pleaser. 

It's humiliating how easily your fingers slip under the elastic band. Even more so when the pads of your fingers run down your folds, and you feel yourself clench at the mere contact, already slick and wanting. You move to tug your underwear off, but Zayne stops you, grabbing at your wrist.

"Wait," He's panting, eyes blown as he continues to stare at you, at the wet patch accumulating in the center of those damned panties. "Keep them on."

His tone is so serious a part of you wants to laugh. You're about to make a quip when he pulls your hand up, bringing your fingers to his lips and wrapping his tongue around them. The way he teases from the pad of your finger to your knuckle, sucking as he goes, has you lightheaded. Your hips stutter upwards, a pitiful sound escaping from your throat as you try to keep yourself together.

He doesn't stop. Not until your fingers are clean and your thighs have grown unbearably sticky, neglected and throbbing.

When he finally lets go, you're a gasping mess, and Zayne looks downright smug. "Now, you can continue."

The bastard.

You don't know how you manage to move, let alone bring your fingers to your entrance.

Pushing aside the cotton, your first touch is tentative, and you flush at how much easier it is with Zayne’s spit covering them. Your breath catches both from the initial stretch and the way Zayne leans in closer to see, even though the thin elastic prevents him from watching the way your cunt flutters around the new intrusion. 

You shift, but your need has grown nearly uncomfortable, hips beginning to buck up as one finger quickly becomes too little, and you whine as you attempt to push in another, to push in a little deeper.

"Slower. You're going too fast."

You can't help the scowl, your tone sharper than intended. “How would you know?" 

Zayne’s face is a cool mask, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. "You did ask me for advice, did you not?" Then his voice takes on a sharper edge, demanding again. "Slow down, then you may continue."

As if you needed his permission to continue. But you do as he says, rocking your fingers in and out, pace painfully slow, mere friction sending jolts of heat throughout you. 

Usually, this was the best part, the delicious and tortuous build-up that would ultimately lead to nothing. Not nearly long enough, your fingers hit just below your sweet spot, and you could feel tears of frustration prick against your eyes. Writhing, you tried to plunge further, choking out a moan again and again at the barest brushing against your sweet spot, mindlessly grinding your hips up to meet each cruel thrust of your fingers. 

You cry when you finally hit that spot inside you, head falling against the pillows as you tense, about to move again when something stops your hand, ripping it away from your desperate chase. 

“You–“ Zayne shakes his head, breath ragged as some combination of a frustrated exhale and moan rumbles through his chest, the sound going straight to your cunt. “You’re too impatient. Too rough.”

You try to swallow, try to hide how the sound of his moan and the rough cadence of his voice makes the muscles of your belly and thighs spasm, but Zayne doesn't miss a thing. He doesn't release your hand, not fully, but rather guides both of your digits to trace around your clit instead.

"Again," he says, “This time slower. How does it feel?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you feel his hand continue to guide yours, entire body jolting when he catches against the hood of your oversensitive clit, tapping as he lets you circle it on your own. 

“Good. It feels really good.”

Zayne hums, but he already knows that. He feels it through the drenched bottoms of your panties, rubbing your poor swollen clit through them, watching as you gush again, the slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist in sticky strands.

It takes everything within him not to withdraw his hand and lick it all. Or even better, take his mouth to you directly. Not yet. Not yet, he reminds himself. Next time.

You have to bite your lip as you feel Zayne’s hand take over your own, almost greedily pushing and pinching your clothed cunt, the fabric both a delicious friction and a damn barrier you wish was gone so you could finally feel his bare fingers on you, in you. It’s torture, every nerve on fire as Zayne continues to focus on your clit while your fingers return against your folds, teasing your entrance with a light touch before pressing in.

But it's still not enough. It's not what you need.

You look to Zayne for direction, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness. "Deeper. Keep going."

The angle isn't quite right, but you do as he says, trying and failing to muffle your sounds as you fuck yourself on your fingers, desperately chasing the feeling building up once more.

“Again. Deeper.”

It hurts. Your wrist is beginning to ache, and you’re really not sure how much longer you can keep going, crying out again when Zayne forces his hand flat against your clothed core, shoving your own fingers deeper and causing the wet fabric to rub deliciously against your clit. 

You don't even have time to react before he's pulling away, his own hand rubbing the wetness on his fingers together as he watches the strands break and drip down his hand.

His tone is so nonchalant despite the way he keeps his gaze trained between your legs. As if the sight of you, flushed and gasping, with your cunt pathetically leaking and yet still demanding more, wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen. 

“Ask,” Zayne demands, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Ask for it.”

“Need your help, please, Zayne” you manage, voice airy and heart still racing from unintentionally edging yourself over and over again. “I want your fingers.”

It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. Hands gentle enough to care for patients, steady enough to perform surgeries, cruel enough to tease you this mercilessly, and yet you can’t help but imagine what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly. 

You’ve probably thought about his hands more times than you’d like to admit.

At the hospital, at the cafe, at night in your apartment. Every inch of his body seems to haunt you like a forgotten memory your body had already grown addicted to.

The moan that rumbles out of Zayne’s chest is low and addicting. He sits back for only a moment before your hips are dragged down the bed, a yelp leaving your lips from the sheer force. 

Zayne practically knocks your leg over his shoulder, and when you arch off balance, you press against something that has you inhaling sharply through your nose. Fuck, Zayne’s hard.

He shudders violently at the contact, falling onto his forearms as you roll against him once more, watching his face twist from the painful pleasure you know all too well. You feel his control slipping, both in the way his fingers tighten at your hips and the throbbing heat you feel twitch against your thigh.

And just realizing how much you’ve affected him is enough to send your eyes rolling back into your skull with a violent tremor. 

You attempt to grind up against him again when Zayne roughly pins you back down. You writhe helplessly, hips pinned to the mattress as Zayne curses, adjusting himself in his slacks with a rough squeeze. “No.” A command to both himself and you, “You asked for my fingers, so that’s what you will get.” 

You’re about to open your mouth to make another demand, but Zayne is one step ahead of you yet again. “That’s all you’re getting.” As if to quell your anger, he begins to thumb at your clit again, moving to take off your last remaining piece of clothing. “Next time.”

A promise he has every intention to keep.

Ironically, Zayne is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your endeavors, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow. But you’ve been worked up far too long, and as soon as Zayne begins fucking you with two of his much thicker fingers, you already feel the familiar tension building.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Not really,” you manage through clenched teeth. 

You feel Zayne pull away and thrust your hips up into nothingness, only making yourself more sensitive when he roughly thumbs at your clit. He slams your hips back down, a cruel pinch to the oversensitive nub forcing you to arch into him as your jaw falls slack.

 “That was not a question.” Zayne is still hovering above you, watching as his fingers slip against your cunt, slick with your arousal. “Use your words.”

His voice takes a dark edge every time he commands you now, and you bite your lip to not whimper at the tremor his voice sends down your skin. It’s not fair, the effect something so simple has on you. But while his demand is still ringing in your ears, Zayne curls his fingers further upwards, rubbing directly against that sweet spot inside you with frustrating ease, and you sob. 

"Please,” you can’t even remember to beg. Zayne nearly abuses the spot, curling into it over and over again until you’re certain you’re drooling all over the silk of your pillow, writhing. "Please, I'm– I need more, and, ah—“

Zayne hums. "More? You're going to have to be more specific if you actually want to orgasm."

You whine, shaking your head as his eyes narrow. He’s only halfway through scolding you when his finger smacks against your clit, the sharp twinge of pain enough to make you cry. "Don't be a child. Words. Tell me what's giving you pleasure so I can help you."

"It's," a huff of air leaves you and you can barely manage to form a coherent sentence, your mind fogging over completely as Zayne continues to talk. "Hah, your voice helps.”

“My voice?”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the sound of Zayne’s chuckle. A deep, cruel thing that you now think may be all you need to come as your eyes screwed shut. “Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose I should just keep talking. Keep your eyes open.”

You obey, and Zayne simultaneously pulls your jaw towards him, forcing you face-to-face with him. “Look at me.”

You do. You do and really wish you hadn’t because the smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips and the freckles of light green you now see in his softened gray eyes might really be all you need to send yourself over the edge.

And, as if listening, Zayne forces his fingers deeper inside, the tips of his digits hitting the same spot that has your mind fogging over, vision blurring with a disorienting mix of hazy and dizzy. You can barely hold on, fingers twitching against the sheets as suddenly it becomes too much, your hands shooting up as you press desperately against Zayne’s chest. 

“Wait–” You’re dizzy. The pressure is consuming you, and you’re losing control. “Please, Zayne.”

He stops immediately, pliant under your touch as he lets you push him away. Even so, his free hand comes up to meet yours, coaxing your fingers against his as he holds it up to his chest, letting you ground yourself with his heartbeat.

The rhythm is comforting.

Zayne isn’t speaking anymore, just looking, waiting for you to give him a sign. He doesn’t dare move, letting his fingers sit still, buried inside of you. You don't know if it's the dizziness lingering in your head or the fact that his fingers are insistently rubbing against a spot inside of you that sends sparks up your spine, but either way, you might be going insane.

“Keep your breathing steady, even when you’re close. Deep breaths.” In, out. In, out. Your chest rises as Zayne’s does, bare skin brushing his. “Good.”

Even as your vision clears, Zayne refuses to let go of your hand, this time pinning it beside your head as he begins to move his other hand too, thumb circling your clit as the others curl against your walls. 

When you begin to shake again, his lips ghost by your neck, dangerously soft and hesitant as he kisses down from your jaw, following each whimper and moan you give to him with loyal intent, sucking gently at a spot near your jugular and collarbone.

"Ah, Zayne. I think–" your breathing hitches as Zayne presses another soft kiss against your skin.

"Are you okay?" The softness of his tone nearly breaks you, and you force yourself to ignore it. Focus on the sensations; focus on what you can use for the novel. Nothing more.

You nod.

"What else, darling? Are you close?"

Your breath hitches. The sudden pet name has you reeling, and you feel Zayne keep his steady rhythm, even through your trembling and whining, his thumb mercilessly circling against your clit in ways you swear never feel the same when you’ve done it. 

"Call me that again," you cry, nearly begging.

"Come. Come for me, darling."

And you do.

Your vision blurs as you come around Zayne’s fingers, a silent scream catching in your throat. All you can manage is a broken moan as you arch into him, gripping his forearm and holding it in place. Your thighs quiver around his arm, and Zayne holds you still, coaxing you through it as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.

The sensation is overwhelming. You're not even sure how long it lasts, the only thing grounding you is the weight of Zayne's hand laced against your own.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw his fingers, kissing your knuckles softly.

"How are you feeling?"

The room is quiet, and it feels like all the sound has been sucked out of it. Your head is fuzzy and your whole body is tingling, and all you can focus on is Zayne's soft breathing.

Good, you want to tell him. More than that, your body is still shaking from pleasure and desire, and you can’t stop looking at Zayne’s lips or remembering how hot and needy he felt grinding against your thigh. You can’t stop thinking about him, so instead you say, “Fine.”

Zayne stiffens. “Good.” 

He sits up, still scanning your face for something as you watch the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his chest and stomach, and once again you are overwhelmed by the desire to run your hands down his body, to feel his skin against yours. To see more of him.

“I’m going to get you water and a towel.” He says, not moving just yet. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head no. Zayne nods, leaning in as his hand goes to your jaw before he pauses halfway and steps out of bed, making his way to your bathroom.

You don’t really remember how much of the night goes by after that, a blur of Zayne attentively guiding you through proper aftercare and you throwing in a few quips here and there at his ceaseless worrying. Before long, he’s saying farewell, and you’re back at your computer screen, empty doc staring right back at you. 

But the words never form. Not when your head is still spinning, replaying everything that happened tonight in vivid flashbacks as an overwhelming rush of mortification and desire runs down your spine. 

You can’t help but feel that perhaps you just made an irreversible mistake.

[katsukistofu]

i a-door you

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. fluff. cursing. food. minor unintentional violence. ⭑ bakugo hits on you. literally.

You’re minding your business, book bag slung across your shoulder, and about to walk through the door to 2A’s classroom when something smacks you in the face.

Not only unprompted, but hard.

“Ow!”

It happens so quickly that you don’t remember squeezing your eyes shut as you stumble backwards, both hands flying to clutch your forehead.

Opening your eyes, you swear you can already feel the spot starting to bruise. The previously closed door to the classroom stood ajar and as the cherry on top of the concussion you just received, someone roughly brushes past you.

Fucking asshole.

You whip around, head still throbbing, about to give whoever it is a peace of your mind and finally speak above an inside voice for the first time since a robot almost fell on you during entrance exams semesters ago, when your teary eyes are met with crimson red ones.

He turns his head to give you a once over and your body freezes as his eyes linger a little longer on the darkening mark where the door got you. Something similar to amusement tugs at his lips.

“Pretty cute.”

You blink, dumbfounded as he casually turns on his heel to walk away.

What. The hell.

Did you literally just get hit on by Bakugo freaking Katsuki.

The identical dropped jaws of your classmates that were visible from inside the open doorway confirmed that what just happened was not in fact a post-traumatic induced hallucination, with Midoriya looking the most gobsmacked, his eyes almost comically bulging out of his skull, and upon glancing at Mina, who quickly gets over her initial shock to grin and shoot you a double thumbs up, she excitedly mouths ‘i told you so,’  and you’re not sure whether to laugh or to cry.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀:¨ ·.· ¨: ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . ꔫ

The next day, you’re sporting a fresh, new bandaid on your forehead. It was quite a fashion statement, if you do say so yourself.

It was also the last one at the nurse’s so you were pretty happy to nab it, apparently being the brand that everyone chose when they too got their respective boo-boos.

The latte Mina and the girls brought back from your favorite cafe sat on the wooden coffee table in the common area, still steaming. You refused to go out with a huge bruise marring your appearance, even with the bandaid covering the most of it, and you would take the fullest advantage of the injured person princess treatment while it lasted.

All while awkwardly avoiding a certain blond.

Now that you’re thinking about it, he’s honestly always been kind of nice to you, in his own weird way.

Like when you were forced to ask if you could borrow his eraser, because apparently no one else in the class carried one. Imagine saving Japan your first year of highschool and only writing in pen, even for calculus. Is this what the future generation has come to?

After breathlessly rushing the words out in a hushed voice and wondering if he heard you at all, Bakugo doesn’t even turn around from where he’s resting his chin on his hand listening to Present Mic’s enthusiastic lecture on subject-verb agreement, as he reaches an arm behind him to drop it on your desk.

You’re not sure if you remembered to say “your” before “eraser,” so all he probably heard was “can I borrow eraser?” and it still haunts you to this day.

Shaking the thoughts of him from your mind, you flip your history textbook open to page three hundred and ninety four, ‘A Comprehensive Timeline of Quirk Generations.’ You’re attempting to study for your next upcoming quiz in Midnight’s class.

Key word: attempting.

A delicious smell was starting to waft your way from the kitchen across the room, and now you were kind of hungry. You could feel your attention waning and shook your head, the image of your most recent report card filled with straight As sobering you up. Food could come later, right now you had to focus.

Just twenty more minutes of review, then I'll eat.

Bakugo’s placing the breakfast he easily finished whipping up on the counter. As he uses a spatula to gently coax the fluffy soufflé pancakes out of the pan, he notices the familiar petals of your favorite flower decorating the ceramic he’s putting them on.

It was from a tableware set he picked out when everyone first moved into the dorms. Glasses had assigned everyone groceries among various other things to go shopping for in small groups, and he was paired up with Ponytail to go buy plates.

They were browsing the shelves of a local Daiso store filled with colorful, adorably decorated dishes and rice bowls, when he stopped in front of a price tag, eyes dragging up to study the item it belonged to. The details on it were intricate, and breathtakingly so.

It reminded him of how he felt whenever he looked at you.

Ponytail follows his gaze, and her own eyes brighten.

“Oh, it’s decorated with the favorite flower of–!”

“I know.” He cuts her off, glaring at the floral box set of bowls and plates, before carefully putting it in their cart.

Momo’s eyes widen a bit, before a small, knowing smile spreads across her lips and Bakugo curses at her perceptiveness.

He almost wished he was paired up with that icy-hot bastard instead, who was so oblivious that if you dangled a confession letter in front of him he would have thought you wanted him to proofread it for you.

That was a while ago now, and everyone’s been happily eating meals on the plates they bought ever since.

He tops off the pancakes with a handful of fresh berries and a drizzle of honey, and slides it next to a steaming plate of a kimchi omelette with a zigzag of sriracha sauce already on the counter.

From where he stands, he snorts at your bandaid, noticing the obnoxious amount of Hello Kitty’s plastered all around it. Out of all the bandaids from Recovery Girl’s collection that she kept in her office, of course you would pick the cutest fucking one.

It was undoubtedly something you would like, he thinks, begrudging in his fondness. It was so you.

“Get your ass over here.”

You jump in your spot on the couch at the loud volume of his voice, though it sounded a bit softer than usual. With a finger pointing to yourself, you raise your head in confusion. “Me….?”

Was this about yesterday? Oh my god, was he mad?

You’re not sure why he would be, since he’s not the one that got bitch-slapped in the face by a giant door.

“I don't see anyone else I'd be talking to.” Bakugo scoffs.

He's right, to your increasing dread. The entire common area is completely empty, and you have no choice but to comply with his request.

You’re still nervously fiddling with the edge of your hoodie sleeve, the usual comfort of its softness abandoning you as you approach the kitchen to find him standing at a seat near the counter, arms folded. It hasn’t even been a minute in the same proximity as him and his presence is kind of overwhelming you already.

You’re trying so hard not to stare at his biceps. And just him in general.

“Sit.” he commands, the sound of the metal stool echoing against his hand as he pats it.

You obediently sit down, cursing your lack of a backbone. But his tone didn’t sound like he was planning to take no for an answer, anyway.

“Eat.”

He jabs a thumb at the plate of warm, sweet smelling cloud-like goodness in front of you. You stare at him, wide-eyed.

“This is for me?”

“Huh. You’re slower than I thought you were.” He rolls his eyes and starts to dig into his own plate of omelette in front of him, taking a seat on the stool across from you. It looked good too, as expected. “You’re welcome or whatever.”

With his aggressive blessing and after throwing a quiet but extremely grateful ‘thank you for the meal’ his way, you start to eat.

Your face lights up in joy as the divine taste of spongy goodness and honey spreads across your tongue, and you silently praise his mom for giving birth to the next Gordon Ramsay.

He flicks your forehead as you’re mid-bite in pancake and you yelp in surprise, raising your head to glare at his handsome face. What now? And did he have to be as infuriating as he was good-looking?

That crimson gaze once again stares you down, barely contained amusement dancing in embers of the hot coals of his eyes, and your skin grows warm as you realize you said that last part out loud.

You’re about to give into the urge to run away and take the plate of half-finished pancakes with you when he gruffly speaks up.

“You can’t retain information unless you have something in your stomach, idiot.”

You nod, mouth full, and make a mental note to study on an empty tummy away from him in the future. It’s like he reads your mind because you wince as he scowls, flicking your head again, although a little more gently this time.

Taking care to do it in a spot away from the bandaid covering the injury that he caused, your brain points out.

The both of you continue to eat in comfortable silence.

After a while, your plates are nearly clean.

You smile a little, realizing that you were eating on your favorite plate in the dorm’s kitchen the whole time, and admire the petals of your beloved flowers delicately painted in the center and outer edges of the stark white dish, with the pancakes no longer covering them.

Bakugo notices this, as you softly begin to trace the rim with your finger, and fights the twitch of his lips that threatened to curl upwards.

He’s also noticed those little glances you think you’ve been discreetly throwing his way between the bites of pancake, which you nearly inhaled to his pride.

You could almost be as quiet as that rock-faced animal whisperer of a classmate you both had, but you’ve always sucked at being subtle.

Good thing he hates subtle things.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks as you start to slide off the tall stool, a hint of smirk in his voice. It was cute, how you think you could run away from him so easily. You stop in your tracks, blinking at him as he rises from his own seat.

Strong, toned arms that you totally haven’t been staring at for the past half hour are slowly placed on both sides of you, caging you against the counter. An embarrassing noise escapes from your lips, and the cold granite bites into your back as you lean away, doing anything to avoid his gaze.

“Look at me.”

He rolls his eyes as you continue to look to the side, suddenly finding the chibi magnets of various high ranking heroes on the fridge to be very interesting.

“I said,” he grabs your chin in his hand, which was so big compared to your face that he could squish your cheeks between his ring finger and thumb, “look at me.

You huff, now forcefully held in place to face him against your will. “I’m looking.”

“Good.”

He leans down and his lips graze your ear, seeming to take great pleasure in only further adding to your embarrassment when he mutters:

“And don’t stand so fucking close to the door next time.”

not bakugo pulling the classic asian parent move and giving u food instead of a proper apology LOLL

[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST PT2 | FC43

part one

an: not even gonna leave an an, i always had a part two lol

wc: 5.2k

Franco found out she was dating Angelo via an Instagram story. A fucking Instagram story.

But that was almost three years ago now, and Franco tried to let it go, god did he try. He was getting married now, after all. He had to forget about what could have been.

The engagement ring on his finger felt heavier than it should. Not because he hadn’t once thought it was right—he had. Or maybe he just convinced himself it was right. They’d been together for four years, maybe more, he stopped counting. She was beautiful, poised, easy to love, easy to fit into his world. That’s what he’d told himself, anyway.

But now, standing in the grand suite of the London hotel they’d rented for the weekend, Franco stared out the window at the city below, watching the lights flicker in the distance. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was missing. Not that he had any right to be questioning it. After all, he was about to get married, wasn’t he?

The last three years had been a blur of wins, podiums, and post-race parties. Formula 1 had been a dream realised, his face plastered across billboards in every country, every magazine with his name next to the headlines. He’d travelled the world, earned millions, lived a life many envied. But somewhere along the way, his heart had wandered.

And the truth was, despite the glamour, despite the fame, the money, he couldn’t shake the thought of her. The way she’d looked when she told him she loved him first. The way her eyes had glistened with unshed tears that night in Monza—before she left for good. The way she’d walked away, no longer the girl he took for granted. It was like he could still see her disappearing down the hallway of the hotel, leaving him behind, a shadow in her past.

What if I had chosen her?

He thought about that too often. But it was too late. She was gone. She’d moved on with Angelo, the guy who was everything Franco wasn’t—steady, grounded, someone who could give her a love that wasn’t tied to racing, fame, or endless, mind-numbing travel. And that fucking Instagram story—her laughing, the two of them in a café in Buenos Aires, arms around each other, looking so effortlessly happy—had been the final blow.

That was the last straw.

And now, three years later, here he was—about to get married, with the wrong person. He should have been thrilled, but something about it gnawed at him, like he was suffocating in a life that wasn’t his own. She was everything he thought he wanted. She’d followed him to every race, always the perfect girlfriend, the perfect partner. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure he loved her anymore. He wasn’t sure he ever had.

She had been the easy option. She fit into the world he’d built for himself—the shiny, public life, the world of sponsorships and media appearances. She had the right background, the right education, the right looks. She was what was expected of him. What people saw when they looked at a successful F1 driver: the perfect match, the ideal woman.

But the reality was that whenever he closed his eyes, he saw someone else. He saw her. The girl from that small village in Argentina, the one who’d loved him first and probably would, even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when he hadn’t been able to see it for what it was.

He hadn’t thought about her for a while—not in the sense that would make him ache, not the way he used to. He’d buried that pain under the chaos of the last few years. But it was like a low hum in the back of his mind. Every time he saw Angelo’s name pop up, or when he’d hear a new story about her from people back home, he couldn’t help but wonder how her life had turned out. Was she happy? Was she still with Angelo? Was she finally over him?

He could only imagine the life she’d built without him—the kind of life she deserved.

But now, standing on the edge of a new chapter of his life, Franco wondered if he’d ever be able to move on. Because, no matter how many laps he raced, no matter how many trophies he collected, it always came back to her. And now, with his wedding on the horizon, he couldn’t help but ask himself: What the hell had he been doing this whole time?

His phone buzzed on the table, snapping him back to the moment. His fiancée. A text: “Hey, I made reservations for dinner tonight!”

He sighed and stared at the screen of his phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard. 

He knew he shouldn’t, it was ridiculous. It was stupid. He had no right to send her an invitation, not after everything. He hadn’t heard from her in so long, hadn’t even thought about reaching out beyond those painful Instagram stories and the passing updates from mutual friends.

But, for some reason, there he was—typing out an invitation to his wedding.

It’s the right thing to do, he told himself. She was a part of his past. She had been the first person to love him unconditionally. They’d spent too many years growing up together not to extend an olive branch. Besides, she had a life now, a life without him. Maybe it was selfish to think she would even want to come, but maybe, just maybe, she deserved to know. She deserved to hear it from him, the way things had turned out.

He hit “send” before he could overthink it any more. The words felt hollow as they left his phone, but there was no going back now.

It was a quiet afternoon in Buenos Aires. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a soft, golden light through the windows of their apartment. She and Angelo had just finished dinner—nothing fancy, just pasta and wine—and now she was curled up on the couch with a book in her lap, one of the many cosy rituals they had settled into over the past couple of years.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She glanced at it, seeing a notification from her email app. The subject line made her pause.

Wedding Invitation: Franco Colapinto.

She blinked, feeling her chest tighten before she even opened it. It had been so long since she’d thought about him—since Monza, really. It was a chapter of her life that had closed the moment she walked away. But the sight of his name brought it all rushing back. The summers spent racing bikes down dirt roads, his smile so effortless, so wide. The way he’d looked at her before everything changed.

Slowly, she opened the email, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and disbelief.

I hope this message finds you well. It’s been a while since we last spoke, but I wanted to reach out and invite you to something important. I’m getting married in three months' time, and I wanted to personally invite you to be a part of the day. It wouldn’t feel right without including you.

I understand if you’re unable to come, but I thought it was important to extend the invitation.

I hope everything is going well in your life.

All the best,

Fran

She stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, the words swimming in her mind. There were so many things she could have said, but the only thing she could focus on was the feeling of her heart, beating a little faster than it should. A soft ache settled in her chest.

Three years had passed. She had moved on, found a life she was proud of—one that was stable and calm, filled with love from Angelo, whose steady hand had never wavered, who had been everything Franco couldn’t be. She had built a future, and it was more than she had ever expected for herself.

And yet, the invitation sat there, a reminder of what had been. Of the boy she had loved, the boy who had never truly seen her. Of the boy who she had walked away from.

She set the phone down for a moment, leaning back against the couch. Angelo’s gentle snoring filled the living room from the slightly ajar door, a quiet reminder of the life they had made together—together, with no ghosts of the past lingering between them. But even as she sat there, she could feel the sting of Franco’s message, the painful reminder of how much had been left unsaid.

She thought about the wedding. How strange it felt to be invited to something so intimate, something so final. It was a life she would never be a part of. A life that wasn’t hers to claim, never was. But part of her, deep down, still wondered what had happened. Was he happy? Was this really the life he wanted? Or was this just another easy option for him? Another decision made out of convenience?

Why am I even asking myself this?

She shook her head, her lips curling into a rueful smile. She knew she didn’t want to go. There was no reason to go back to that part of her life, not now. Not when everything she had built with Angelo was exactly where it needed to be.

The following morning, the soft clink of Angelo’s keys echoed through their small kitchen as he got his things ready for work. He was already dressed in his crisp suit, his tie neatly adjusted, preparing for another day at the law firm. She, on the other hand, was in her scrubs, packing her bag for her shift at the hospital.

She was tying her trainers when she saw him glance at her, his eyes focused on his phone.

“Hey,” he said, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity. “You seem a little quiet this morning.”

She shrugged, setting her bag down on the counter. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

It was only a half-lie. She had hardly slept last night after receiving Franco’s invitation. The words had stuck with her, gnawing at her thoughts, replaying in her mind like a loop she couldn’t escape.

“What’s up?” Angelo asked, watching her intently, his brow furrowing slightly.

She hesitated, then sighed and reached for her phone, pulling up the email Franco had sent her. She handed it to him without a word.

Angelo read it in silence, his eyes scanning the screen. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but somehow, she already knew that he would have an opinion on it.

Finally, he set the phone down and looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. “He’s getting married, huh? I didn;’t believe it when I saw it on the news.” he said softly.

“Yeah,” she replied quietly, as if the words themselves felt like an admission. “I guess he thought I should know.”

“You’re not planning on going, are you?” Angelo asked, his voice laced with concern.

She shook her head, biting her lip. “He’s my past now. It doesn’t matter. It’s… it’s not something I need to revisit.”

Angelo nodded, his eyes softening as he stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. He knew how much Franco had meant to her—how he had once been the centre of her world. But that was years ago. And he had never once doubted that she was now his world.

“I haven’t seen Franco since we were sixteen,” Angelo said, his tone thoughtful. “I know things between you and him ended... well, the way they did. But maybe it might be good to go. For closure. For you, if nothing else.”

She met his eyes, her gaze wavering. “Closure?” she repeated, almost incredulously. “I don’t need closure, Angelo. I moved on a long time ago.”

“I know,” Angelo said, his voice gentle but firm. “But I think sometimes it’s easy to say we’ve moved on, that we’re over things. But there are pieces of our past that stick with us, no matter how much time passes. Maybe seeing him—seeing that life—will help you put the final chapter behind you. Don’t you think?”

She was quiet for a long moment, turning the idea over in her head. It made sense, in a way. The past had never quite been put to rest, even if she had buried it deep. Maybe it wasn’t about Franco anymore. Maybe it was about facing what had happened, about finding peace with it, once and for all.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I don’t want it to mess with what we have, Angelo. I don’t want to go and be reminded of something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Angelo smiled softly, taking her hand in his. “It won’t. I promise. You’re the one I want, mi amor You’re the one who matters. Whatever happened back then, whatever Franco was, that’s not us. It’s not our life. But if this is something you think you need to do, then I’ll be there with you. I want you to have the closure you need.”

She felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. Angelo had always been like that—steady, understanding, and so patient with her. He never pushed her to forget, but he also didn’t hold her to the past. He was the one who made her feel safe, who built her the life she was proud of, and the thought of him beside her through whatever this was made her feel like she could take on anything.

With a slow, hesitant breath, she met his eyes. “You’re right. Maybe it would be good to go. I don’t know what I’ll feel when I see him, but I think... I think I can handle it now.”

Angelo smiled, squeezing her hand. “Then we’ll go. Together.”

She nodded, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. The decision was made, and it was time to let go of the last remnants of the past. Franco and his life—whatever that was now—could stay in the past, but she wouldn’t be running from it anymore.

“Thanks,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “For always being here.”

“Always,” Angelo replied, his voice warm. “Now go. You don’t want to be late for your shift.”

She smiled at him one last time before grabbing her bag and heading for the door. The wedding was still months away, but somehow, her world felt just a little bit more at peace now.

Three months later

The morning of the wedding, the soft rays of the sun filtered through the curtains of their hotel suite, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.

She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her dress as Angelo adjusted his cufflinks in the reflection behind her. The air was filled with a quiet sense of anticipation. It had been a few months since she agreed to come to the wedding, and now, standing in this luxurious hotel in the heart of the Mediterranean, she could feel the surrealness of it all.

She was here. With him. With Angelo.

He caught her gaze in the mirror, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice tender.

She smiled back, her heart swelling with a quiet joy. Angelo was always so calm, so steady, and he knew exactly how to make her feel loved without needing to say much. The simple moments like this were the ones that made her certain that their life together, their future, was the right one.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. He was perfect in every way. “You look handsome, as usual,” she added with a smile.

He chuckled softly. “I try,” he teased, adjusting the hem of his suit jacket before stepping forward to take her hand. “Are you ready for this? I know it’s been a long time coming.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. I’m ready. It’s just… it’s strange. You know? We’re not the same people we were three years ago. And I feel like I’m finally letting go of that past. I just need to do it, for me. And for us.”

“Whatever you need, you have it,” Angelo said, his voice unwavering, filled with a quiet strength.

She smiled at him, grateful for his support. They had come so far, and no matter what happened today, she knew she was in the right place.

“I’m going to step outside for a second,” she said, pulling away from him gently. “I’m going to grab a photo of the schedule. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Angelo replied, watching her with those warm, reassuring eyes.

She stepped into the corridor of the hotel, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She pulled out her phone, navigating to the event details to snap a photo of the ceremony’s schedule. The hallway was quiet, save for the distant chatter of guests below and the hum of preparations for the wedding in the distance. The excitement was palpable in the air, but in this moment, everything felt calm.

That was until she heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

She turned around, feeling her heart give a small, unexpected jolt when she saw him.

Franco.

He was standing there, half-dressed in a black tuxedo with his shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, his tie still loose around his neck. He looked just like he did three years ago—handsome, dishevelled in the way that made him seem effortlessly charming.

Her stomach tightened.

“You came,” he said, his voice soft with surprise. 

She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before forcing a calm smile. “I said I would,” she replied evenly. Her heart beat just a little faster, but she kept her expression neutral.

He looked at her, his gaze a little more intense than she remembered, and she couldn’t quite place the mix of emotions flickering in his eyes. There was something unspoken there, something she hadn’t expected.

“I didn’t think you’d follow through,” he added, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

She didn’t know what to make of that. She shrugged. “I thought I’d at least be polite.”

A silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and thick with everything that had been left unsaid over the years. Franco’s gaze drifted toward the floor for a moment before he looked back up at her, his jaw tense, and his voice was almost pleading when he spoke.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his words hesitant.

She hesitated, feeling her pulse quicken. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to go back to the past—didn’t want to open that door again.

“I’d rather not,” she said, her tone firm, though her heart was beating harder than she cared to admit.

Franco’s expression softened. “It’s been three years. Three years overdue, don’t you think?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply, the weight of everything hanging between them. She didn’t owe him anything, and yet, a part of her—perhaps the part that had loved him—knew there was still something lingering. Something that she hadn’t been able to shake off.

She finally gave a soft sigh, one that carried all the weariness of the years that had passed. “Fine,” she said quietly, her shoulders sagging slightly in resignation. “But just for a minute. I don’t have time to rehash everything.”

“Thank you,” Franco murmured, stepping forward as he gestured down the hallway. “My room’s just down here. I won’t keep you long.”

They walked down the corridor in silence, the weight of the moment sinking in. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this conversation, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Not for either of them. When they reached his room, Franco opened the door and stepped aside to let her in.

It was a modest suite, far removed from the lavish ceremony unfolding just downstairs. The quiet of the room seemed to accentuate the tension between them. He closed the door behind them, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, his voice distant as he turned to face her. “Water? A drink?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

There was a long pause. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly nervous. For the first time in a long while, he seemed uncertain.

“So…” Franco began, taking a breath, “I guess this is awkward, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice steady, but her insides were churning. “A little.”

Before she even had a chance to settle with what she was doing, he shot her straight to the heart with the words that came out of his mouth.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice quiet. “I know I did, but that wasn’t ever my intention. You were always there for me, and I should’ve done better. I should’ve realised…”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that was all too familiar. He seemed to be gathering the courage to say something, but when he spoke, his words were not what she expected.

“I should’ve told you,” he started, voice low, almost regretful. “I should have told you that I loved you.”

She blinked, her chest tightening as she took in the weight of his words. “Don’t,” she said quickly, cutting him off. Her voice was sharp, a defence mechanism against the rawness he was trying to expose. “You can’t do that. You can’t come here and say things like that after all this time. It’s... it’s mean.”

Franco’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I should’ve told you,” he repeated, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place—guilt, perhaps? Regret?

She shook her head, unable to stop herself from responding. “Why are you still with her, then?” Her voice trembled slightly, the question feeling more like a challenge than a simple inquiry. She thought of how excited she must be right now getting ready, while he was confessing his love to his childhood best friend. She wondered whether she knew.

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his eyes flickered away, as though he was ashamed of the truth he was about to speak. “It’s easier to pretend to love her,” he admitted, his voice flat. “It’s easier than facing the truth.”

“Than what?” she asked, her words cutting through the air, her eyes locking onto his. “Than admitting you love me?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Franco’s eyes darkened, and he stepped closer, a hesitation lingering between them. He opened his mouth, but instead of speaking, he exhaled deeply, as if trying to gather the strength to continue.

“You don’t understand,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling. I still don’t.”

She looked at him, biting her lip, trying to keep herself from breaking. “You can’t do this,” she said, her voice cracking with frustration. “You don’t get to walk back into my life now and make me feel like I was some... some second choice. You don’t get to say things that undo everything we went through.”

Franco’s gaze darkened, but his next words were even more dangerous. “Say it, and I’ll leave her,” he said, his voice low and intense, as if he were testing her. “Say you want me the same way you wanted me three summers ago, and I’ll do it. I’ll walk away from her. I’ll choose you.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart stuttering in her chest. The temptation was there—familiar, painful, and so very dangerous. She could feel that old longing tug at her, the part of her that had loved him so fiercely, so deeply. But this wasn’t that girl anymore. She wasn’t the girl who would wait around for him to realise what he’d lost.

“I can’t,” she whispered, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I can’t do that anymore. I’m happy now. I’m happy with Angelo.”

The words felt heavy on her tongue, and for a moment, it felt like she had to convince herself of them. But as she looked into Franco’s eyes—still searching, still wanting—she realised that she meant it. She really did.

Franco’s face fell, his expression a mixture of frustration and defeat. “You don’t understand,” he said again, the words sounding more like a plea. “I never stopped loving you.”

She took a step back, shaking her head, trying to clear the emotions that were spiralling inside of her. “No,” she said firmly, her voice resolute. “You don’t get to say that, Franco. Not now. Not when I’ve spent three years getting over all of this. You don’t get to come here and break my heart all over again.”

For a long moment, they stood there, the space between them filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. But it was over. It had to be.

“I can’t undo what happened,” she added softly, her gaze not leaving his. “But I’m not that girl anymore. And I’m not going to be someone’s second choice.”

Franco didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. The weight of everything they’d been through hung heavy between them, and it was clear now that nothing could fix it. Not words. Not promises.

She turned to leave, her hand on the doorknob, but before she could step out of the room, she paused, glancing over her shoulder one last time.

“I’m happy now, Fran,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite everything. “And you need to figure out what makes you happy too. But I can’t be part of that anymore.”

She opened the door and stepped out, not looking back, not giving him the chance to say anything more.

The wedding was beautiful.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the guests who had gathered for the wedding. The ceremony was set to take place on the terrace of the luxurious hotel overlooking the sea, the soft sound of waves lapping against the rocks below barely audible amidst the murmur of excited chatter.

She sat there, a few rows back from the front, Angelo by her side. The venue was beautiful—everything that was supposed to be perfect for a wedding. The guests were in their best attire, the flowers were arranged in pristine perfection, and the atmosphere felt like a dream. But something was off. A low hum of anxiety had been building ever since the music started, and she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Franco was supposed to be standing at the altar now. But he wasn’t.

She stole a glance at Angelo, who was sitting quietly beside her, a reassuring hand on her knee. He could sense her unease.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice almost drowned out by the gentle clinking of glasses and conversations around them.

She nodded, but her eyes drifted nervously toward the aisle. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Something feels wrong.”

The minutes dragged on. The officiant glanced at his watch, confusion spreading across his face as he leaned over to whisper something to the bridesmaids. There was no sign of Franco, and the guests were beginning to exchange worried glances. The tension in the air became palpable, the excitement of the ceremony suddenly replaced by a growing sense of discomfort.

After a few more minutes, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She turned to Angelo, her voice barely above a whisper, but her anxiety was thick in her words. “Do you think he’s going to come?”

Angelo squeezed her hand gently, his gaze soft and understanding. “I don’t know, cariño. Maybe something’s happened. He’s probably just... running late.”

But as they exchanged those quiet words, it became clear that it wasn’t just a delay. The guests were shifting in their seats, some starting to murmur under their breath, the ceremony now holding a sense of surreal anticipation.

And then, just as the whispers reached a crescendo, the sound of footsteps echoed from behind. Everyone turned, their heads swivelling as they saw him—Franco. He was walking down the aisle, his face pale, his expression one of guilt and uncertainty. He wasn’t in a rush, though. It was as if he was taking his time, as though he had already made a decision.

The room fell silent as Franco reached the front. He looked out at the gathering of faces—his family, his friends, all of them waiting for the moment when he would say "I do." But he didn’t speak immediately.

He was struggling with the words, and she could feel the weight of the tension from across the room. Her heart raced, confusion and disbelief washing over her as she watched him take a deep breath, his eyes scanning the crowd before finally locking on the bride’s family sitting in the front row.

“Excuse me,” Franco’s voice broke through the silence, shaky but loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m sorry for the disruption,” he continued, his eyes darting nervously between the bride and the guests. “I... I can’t do this. I can’t marry her.”

The air seemed to stop in that moment. His words hung like an echo, the shock rippling through the crowd. She couldn’t look away, her heart pounding in her chest as Freddie stood there, his face flushed with embarrassment, his hands trembling at his sides.

“I’m sorry, I thought I could,” he went on, his voice quiet but steady, “but I can’t marry her when I love someone else.” His gaze shifted to her, and for a split second, their eyes met. The pain, the regret, the history of everything they had been—it was all there in that single glance. But she didn’t feel anything but exhaustion. It was like watching someone else’s dream unravel.

The guests were murmuring, unsure of how to respond. His bride, stood by the doors he’d just walked in from, ready to walk down the aisle frozen and unmoving. Shelooked like she was about to collapse, her face pale as she took in the words that no one had expected.

“I’m sorry, I just—” Franco continued, his voice breaking, “I can’t do it. I can’t go through with it. I’m sorry. I—I just can’t.”

Without another word, he turned and began to walk away, stepping down from the altar, leaving the bride standing alone, abandoned in front of everyone.

The room was filled with stunned silence.

Angelo reached for her hand, squeezing it gently as the reality of what had just unfolded sank in. She didn’t know how to feel—didn’t know what to think. Her chest ached with a strange mixture of relief and guilt, but most of all, there was a numbness that began to set in.

And then, just as quickly as Franco had walked away, he was gone, disappearing behind the closed doors of the venue, leaving a trail of shock in his wake. The ceremony was over before it had even begun.

She couldn’t help herself.

The guilt she felt in her stomach was strong.

It was her fault.

the end.

an: actual an, im sorry guys! i was feeling sad so i wrote this muahhah

tags: @obxstiles @charlosvibesonly @zestytimbit @taygrls

[hannieween]

lover | heartbreaker drabble | c.sc

You and Seungcheol finally get a chance to get away from finals, homework and your parents.

✧ pairing: choi seungcheol x female reader ✧ genre: fluff, smut (18+) ✧ aus: boyfriend seungcheol, uni student cheol, flashback drabble ✧ word count: 2.7k

✧ warnings under the cut!

✧ warnings: this drabble is connected to my heartbreaker series, so smut with plot, pussy whipped cheol, unprotected sex, pull out method [don't do this i do not recommend], big dick seungcheol, edging, cumming on skin, a little 🤏🏻 bit of breeding kink. pet names: angel, baby (hers) babe, baby, (his)

✧ disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

✧ author's note: this kind of came out of nowhere so please excuse the grammar and spelling errors lmao

four years before

Going on a mini trip together for a weekend was exciting. To you, it implied lying to your parents to get out of town, forgetting about finals, about restless nights of studying but above all, being with your boyfriend, Choi Seungcheol.

You told your parents you were staying with your friends for a sleepover, which somehow worked. But in reality, you were going camping with your boyfriend, whom they still have some reserved opinions about.

Seungcheol and you had been dating for six months at this point. And everything felt like a dream to you. Granted, your parents do not like him, despite their lack of comments about him. But you were young, and you were in love.

He is closer to graduating, so he seems more relaxed about university than you. The idea of going camping was his, seeing that you were about to reach a breaking point due to stress and sleepless nights. His power to convince you to drop everything and go was more efficient than you thought.

The windows were rolled down, letting the hot spring summer air sweep inside. Your boyfriend kept one hand on the steering wheel, and the other was busy grabbing your hand, playing with your fingers. And occasionally, he would slide it on your bare thigh, inching his fingers up and then down.

You were hot on the face and neck, eager to jump on him. You were still exploring a lot about intimacy with him, but God, you wanted him. You wanted him so bad it was nearly embarrassing.

So, when you got to the campsite, it was nearly impossible to yank your gaze from his thick body. The way his biceps flex as he worked setting the tent up. He had refused to let you help him to do the heavy work. But every now and then, he would just point at something and say, "Would you pass me that, baby?" partly because he knew what you were thinking.

It was as though he could read your mind.

The sun set; you had a nice afternoon with him. So, when it is time to get inside the tent, you felt so fucking nervous to be spending the night in the same bed, or sleeping bag, with him.

Few were the nights you both had had the chance to sleep with him. Mostly just naps. But the first time you slept together was some five months ago, when you had your first time with him.

So now, your body was so close to his, to his warmth. You shared the same sleeping bag that could fit the both of you. Arm to arm with him, your knee brushing his. He shifted positions, lying on his side next to you.

"Do you have to sleep shirtless?"

Seungcheol cocked one eyebrow at the sound of your question. "I always sleep shirtless," he replied, a smile tugging at his lips, making its corners twitch. "I sleep with even less, actually," he chuckled, propping his head on his fist to look at your face fully. "Why, baby, do you want me to put something on?"

"No," you mumble quietly, starting to feel hot on the face and this time, it is not because of the hot weather. "It's just distracting," you said with an airy tone, you sighed.

But the reality is, this is your boyfriend, you just have to endure the weight of being so unbearably and embarrassingly attracted to him.

He finds your awkwardness cute. Granted, everything you do is cute to him. So, a smile breaks free on his face, almost knocking the air out of your lungs over his striking beauty. "Distracting, huh?" he mumbled, his eyes scanning the features of your face, as if trying to memorize the way that they look whenever you are flustered.

You only gave him a nod with your head, feeling shy. But you lifted a finger nonetheless, and started tracing a line over his collarbone. "I like you," you whispered, though that much was obvious. You have already told him you were in love with him.

"I know," he chuckled, trying not to shiver under your light touch that was now trailing down the middle of his chest, between his pecs. "I like you too," he said, his voice beginning to strain over the tension he was feeling in his body.

"I know," you said too, breathing out a giggle and the sound of it appeared to have an effect on him.

His gaze went soft and he could no longer try to hide the way your touch made him feel. So he leaned over, placing a hand on your cheek, making your sweet gaze lock with his before slotting his lips between your own.

"I love you," he emphasized, the emotions fluttering inside him making his voice a mere shaky whisper. It is the need he felt for you, to feel you whole and close to him, to make you his.

Seungcheol had never been in love. Not like this. Everything you did, made him a little crazy. "I love you," you mumbled back, the sweetness of your voice was what egged him on.

He dived for another kiss, this time a deeper one, his lips captured yours, moaning in your mouth when you parted your mouth slightly, giving him access to his tongue.

"Baby," you breathed, breaking the kiss only for a second because his lips are pressing on yours repeatedly. His hands slid from your cheek, his fingers now tangled in your hair. "Cheol," you called breathily.

"Yes?" he hummed, peeling away from your lips so he could see your face.

"Did you..." you start your question, but then, "Nevermind," you shook your head lightly.

But Seungcheol is not content with that, obviously. "What?" he mumbled. "Tell me," he insisted when you just shook your head in reply.

You know if there is something that drives him up the wall, is to wind him up and then leave him hanging.

"Tell me," he laughs lightly and your heart jumps at the sound. Then, he climbed on top of you, trying to tickle the answer out of you. "You bratty little thing," he gritted when you tried to fight his hands off.

But he continued poking at your ribs with his fingers, enjoying the sweet sound of your laughter and your squeals.

"Stop, stop," you wheezed, brushing a tear from the corner of your eye.

Seungcheol decided to let his joyful attack die. He placed a hand next to your head, leaning over to trap your lips with his own, giving you a chaste and quick kiss.

He was just about to slump back on his spot next to you when your hand sneaked on his nape, bringing him into a hot, rushed kiss.

Defenseless, he grunted in your mouth, his arm gave in, so his body fell on top of yours with a crash. "Baby," he chuckled, trying to lift his bodyweight off you.

His protests were quickly muddled by your needy lips, kissing him fervently. He was moaning into the kiss already, swept away quickly by the warmth radiating from your body. And when eased the lower half of his body on top of you, you could feel just how hard he had gotten with just teasing you.

Oh god. You thought. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

"Babe," you muttered, emboldened by the fact that he had given up to the make out session amply. And you know that it was very difficult to him to stop once he had started. "Did you bring condoms?" you blurt.

It was as though a bulb ignited over his head. "Is that what you wanted to ask me?" he breathed on your mouth.

"Did you?" you pressed, his chest was squeezing yours.

And you were convinced now that he could feel the frantic beating of your heart.

"No," he admitted, cursing himself silently because that was at the top of the list of things he did not want to forget.

"Baby," you reproached.

"I forgot," he chuckled, continuing to kiss you.

But you could tell that the fiery need is dissipating with each kiss. He kissed you slowly, but then he broke away, and was just about to roll over when, "Please, just a little bit longer?" you asked, holding his bicep to stop him from peeling away from you completely.

He placed his elbows next to your shoulders, so his forearms are framing your head. "You know how this goes, angel," he said softly, his fingers brushing away the hair from your face when you stay silent, so he kept going. "We kiss, we want more..." he sighed heavily, but out of the tight pressure gripping his heart.

You knew the idea was crazy, but goddamn, you want him. And you were unbearably horny. "You could pull out," you suggested, the anxiousness fluttering inside you making your tone waver.

Seungcheol stiffened for a second, and then let out an airy chuckle, thinking you were joking. But when you remained looking at him, nervous, his smile dropped. "Baby, are you serious?"

"I am," you reply, warmth tingling on your cheeks, your eyebrows knitted. "Please? Please, babe. I want to feel you."

Seungcheol scanned your face with his eyes, over and over again and that is how you knew, his mind was reeling.

He leaned over, placing soft and sweet kisses on the corners of your lips. "I could get you pregnant," he muttered gently. "What if pulling out doesn't work?"

"I don't care," you blurt, feeling an ecstatic shudder invade you.

"You don't care if I get you pregnant?" he laughed, amused by the thought that you were so needy that you were starting to be reckless. "Wanna have my babies?" he mused, his voice low again, raspy, and so dangerously sexy.

"Yes" you whispered shakily. "I want you."

And that is everything he needed.

He went all in, truth be told, he used to consider himself strong-willed. But that was before he met you, and fell on his knees for you, basically.

In seconds, he worked on you to tear your clothes off. You were so horny that the cool air of the night did not get to you. He ripped your clothes off, like a mad man about to ravage you whole.

He kissed every single inch of your body, loving the way you called out his name, the sounds of your moans. But it was the way you looked at him that drove him absolutely crazy.

Seungcheol made a trail of kisses from your lips, to your chest, kissing your nipples, cupping your breasts with his large hands while he teased your nipples with his tongue, making you moan salaciously.

Good thing you were in the middle of nowhere and chances were, completely and absolutely alone, you thought.

He laughed breathily against your skin, sneaking a look at your face before continuing to kiss your tummy, trailing down. Then kissed your belly button, making you flinch at the feeling of his wet lips against a very sensitive spot.

His hands gripped your thigh from the upper-front area, so you got a glimpse of his fingertips digging on the plush of your skin before lapping up the juices from your pussy.

You thrashed, crying out in pleasure as his tongue laves at the taste of you. Seungcheol moaned with you in delight, giving your folds broad strokes with his tongue.

In the months you have been his girlfriend, you have had few opportunities to do this, so everything is so very new to you. Every feeling, every touch feels electrifying.

Seungcheol loved it. He loved that you were discovering this world with him. He was your first everything, and he was so eager to explore his deepest, darkest fantasies with you. And he knew that you were eager to do too.

He loved the sound of your voice, the taste of your skin, your pussy. He loved eating you out so fucking much he wanted to do that for hours, to give you orgasm after orgasm. And one day, he would.

"Cheol," you call out breathily, tensing and shaking beneath him. He had started to tease your swollen clit with his tongue pointed against it, swirling around it.

That unfamiliar but needed burning sensation was pooling inside your belly, and Seungcheol knew it was closer because of the sounds of your moans, airy, so very lewd.

You succumbed to your orgasm fast, enjoying the sweet, sweet pleasure consume you in shockwaves. You thrashed, crying out his name loudly, fingers curling in his black, unruly hair.

Seungcheol wasted no time, getting to his knees as you pushed his sweats and boxers down to his mid-thigh, he leaned on top of your body, slotting himself between your shaky thighs.

You could not help it. Your eyes wandered down his frame. Seungcheol has a thick body. Thick thighs, thigh biceps, thick neck. You swallowed hard, spotting his cock, fully hard, his cockhead glossy with precum.

He saw the needy look in your eyes, you want more, he realized. But he decided to stop and tease you a little, grabbing his thick, veiny cock, gliding the tip between your folds, nudging your engorged clit.

You winced and moaned, your hands flying to his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him.

"Look at me, baby," he muttered, his voice raw in need.

And you do. You looked at his eyes, he pressed his chest against yours before pushing his cock inside you. The warmth and wetness made him moan at once, his mouth parting and you saw his self-control dissipating as he started thrusting his cock inside you.

But he rolled his hips tortuously at a slow, calculated pace. Still looking in your eyes, enjoying the way your body trembled beneath him.

"Cheol," you called out breathily.

Seungcheol was going insane, he knows there is no way he could last long like this. "Fuck, you feel so good," he gasps.

"Seungcheol." you insisted, your teary eyes searching his face. "I think–I'm going to come," you gasped, closing your eyes and stirred on the sleeping bag, trying to resist the fiery waves rippling through your body.

Seungcheol moaned, unable to look away as you came on his cock. Your orgasm came fast, and hard. But he kept going, pushing into you desperately now.

"God, fuck," he gasped, dropping his head on your shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. "Fuck!" he gritted, pulling out of you in a split-second.

You were both breathing hard against each other, but Seungcheol is shaking, rigid, trying with all of his might to not come. He decided to force himself to get you to your high at least one more time.

You waited, still shaking with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You felt almost embarrassed for coming five seconds after he went inside you.

But he recuperated quickly, positioning himself between your legs again, determined to keep fucking you raw. He was driven insane by the sounds of your moans, by the way you trembled and looked at him.

He edged himself two more times, overstimming himself. What did it was to think that one day, he might just keep fucking you full of his cum, and get you pregnant. He could no longer contain himself, pulling out of you to pump his throbbing cock with his fist, groaning loudly as spurts of warm cum land on your tummy.

He breathed slowly, trying to get his heart rate down. He looked at the mess on your tummy, the beads of white, sticky cum on your lower abdomen. Then, he looked at your face, thinking of apologizing.

But instead, he spotted the fascination plastered on your face, you were wide eyed, lips glossy, skin dewy in sweat. You like this, he realized. And that might have sent him into a frenzy.

"So," he begins, his breathing still ragged. "You wanna have my babies?" he smiled.

✧ author's note: this is not proofread i'm sorry. if there are some fluctuations between verb tenses, that is because i typed this in a mad state at @cvntrlseecvntrlvee who is the sole culprit of my seungcheol brain rot.

anyway,

✧ STAY TUNED FOR CHAPTER 5 ✧ JOIN MY TAGLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | BUY ME A COFFEE? (●'◡'●)

© TO HANNIEWEEN — I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[starry-bi-sky]

(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)

...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.

She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.

Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.

The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.

Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.

He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.

He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.

But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.

And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.

His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.

Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.

Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.

"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.

"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more

Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"

Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.

On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.

And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.

Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.

Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?

She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.

Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."

She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?

Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."

"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."

Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."

The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.

She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.

But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.

"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.

Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."

Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.

(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)

"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."

"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."

"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"

Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."

Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."

It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.

"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.

Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.

She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.

"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."

(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)

(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)

Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.

Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."

With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING ANGELIC !!! CHARLES L. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: she was so sweet but her ex should've known better than keeping her his dirty little secret. OR it was wrong to lust after her ex's teammate but charles leclerc was willing to give her everything.

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), use of explicit language, tbh there's barely smut in there but charles is nasty as fuck so 🙃, ex!carlos sainz x pr manager!reader, hint of corruption kink (not really), p in v, unprotected sex (plz use protection), lowkey possessive!charles, i barely understand what i wrote tbh

note: i only post a lot of charles when he's a dad to the leclerc boys but god did i have some filthy thoughts about him tonight. enjoy xx

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it was wrong to lust for your ex’s teammate, but charles leclerc was determined to make her his and he made sure that she knew that.

a whole winter break was enough to move on, right? right. charles couldn’t give much shit about the time limit for a person to move on from their ex. 

not when he saw her throughout the first race week as she took long strides while she followed esteban ocon for the french driver’s media duties. charles used to see her in the ferrari area — being carlos’ sweet secret girlfriend and public relations manager. 

how carlos had managed to get away from his crimes of being seen with another woman in public while fucking his manager behind the scenes was something that charles would never understand— but the monégasque pitied the sweet woman for having to see her boyfriend play tonsil hockey with someone else.

she was angelic, having to put up with that kind of thing. and all charles wanted to do was to make her his— to somehow make her realize that she was worth more than what carlos had recognized her for. 

his green eyes nearly darkened when he saw her, sitting alone at the booth that the alpine drivers occupied for the night with a sad expression on her pretty face. four months of break away from carlos and she was still affected by the break up that occurred half a year ago. 

and her sadness was quickly swept aside when she saw charles taking a stride towards her direction, scooting over instinctively as the ferrari driver offered her a grateful smile and sat next to her. 

“i haven’t seen you for a while,” charles told her with a smile, “pierre was incredibly foul for not inviting you to any of our functions during the break.”

“ah- yeah,” she let out an apologetic smile, “i’ve been trying to adjust to my new place in nice. i figured if i was going to be working for alpine, i might as well live in france.”

“oh you moved? trés bonne,” charles nodded, earning a sheepish smile from her. he nearly melted at the sweetness on her reaction. god she was so fucking perfect. 

“it’s such a shame i don’t get to see you in the office anymore, though,” he shrugged. “ferrari lost an asset.” 

she snorted quietly, “hm, fred even said so. but you know— people come and go.” 

“it’s such a pitiful thing, though,” charles said, looking at her while they both drank, “you should’ve been my manager— you’d do more good with me.” 

“you’re right,” she drawled, now staring at his eyes as she playfully said, “you wouldn’t fuck me and i wouldn’t get emotionally attached.”

as if they were both in another universe, charles then chuckled darkly and boldly claimed, “i mean... i still would’ve fucked you— i just wouldn’t be stupid enough to let you go and treat you like a dirty little secret.” 

she saw how his pupils darkened as he spoke, feeling her legs absentmindedly closing and squirming. as if the floodgates had opened and arousal had gotten the best of her. 

“nobody knew about you and sainz but me, right? the amount of times i’ve had to turn a blind eye was insane— i almost thought i’d have to intervene because it was compromising his media duties,” charles admitted, “i wondered what kept you from getting him to move and do his job— it turns out he’s just fucking you in his motorhome. i’ve had to tell the social media manager that he’s just woken up from a nap.”

“he pretended that you’re not even worth the attention after his races because you’ve always been second best to him,” charles tutted.

she huffed, “there’s no need to rub it on my face—“

“—oh no, mon tresor, i’m not being a dickhead about it,” charles shook his head, placing his drink down on the table. 

the lights in the club were nothing but colourful strobes that didn’t even spot them, making it easier for him to get closer without anyone noticing and interrupting them. 

his breath fanned her ear as he whispered huskily, “i wouldn’t allow him to make you see yourself as second best, mon ange.”

“charles—“ she let out a breathless sigh, feeling his mouth leave open mouthed kisses on her skin. “this is so wron—“

“nothing’s wrong with this when we don’t work anymore, mon tresor,” he murmured. “there’s nothing more wrong than allowing your sweetness to get in the way of the things you so deserve.” 

“and you know how to show me the things i deserve?” she asked, almost innocently. god, was he about to cream in his pants if she continued to say shit like this. 

“you can demand the world and i’ll give you the universe,” charles watched her accept his offer as he smiled widely.

it was so wrong to lust after her ex’s teammate, but if charles leclerc was willing to give her everything then who was she to reject the offer? the monégasque was telling her to be greedy, and this was the best way to do it. 

she felt too overwhelmed. whether it was because of how charles treated her body or how he spoke so dirtily— she wasn’t sure. 

her mind was on an overdrive. all she could think about was him. his godlike figure, his prettiest eyes and his thick cock that continued to pound inside her cunt. 

she almost shook at his tone as he groaned delightfully right by her ear, “mon dieu, chéri, tu te sens si divin.” my god, darling, you feel so divine.

charles helped her prop herself up back on her knees as his hand guided her eyes towards the mirror in front of them, watching her eyes glistening as much as her cunt did in pleasure.

he then murmured, “do you see yourself, sweetheart? you look so pretty.”

she couldn’t even find herself to look when all she’s thinking about was the cock that stuffed her from behind, a strangled whine escaping her throat as she urged him to move. 

“i wish carlos was here to see this,” he chuckled deeply, his fingers pinching her hardened nipple before trailing down her clit to stimulate her even more. she let out a loud whimper, now feeling overwhelmed by his words and his actions as he fucked her once more. “so he knows not to treat you like you’re not worth bragging about.” 

“but i guess he had a reason to keep you a secret, hm?” he taunted her, rocking his hips against her as he bottomed out inside her. “because he knew that once you’re out in the world you’d be corrupted by some men. he was so selfish that he thought his sweet innocent girlfriend shouldn’t be corrupted by anyone but him.” 

“oh how wrong he was,” charles moaned, his thrusts turning rough and fast as he growled. “you know you deserve better than being a dirty little secret, no?” he tapped her face lightly with his palm as he said, “answer me, mon ange.”

“o- oh- yes,” she cried out, “yes, yes—“

“i can give you everything, mon tresor,” he murmured, “everything that he couldn’t give you.” 

“fuck, charles! please,” she mewled, looking behind her with pleading eyes as she begged desperately, “want to cum again, charles please~”

“gonna cum in this pussy of yours, mon ange—“

“please, cum inside me,” she moaned aloud, her desperation echoing around the suite as well as the skins slapping against each other. “please pleaseeee~ just wan’ to cum. god! feel so full, fuck!”

“gonna cum inside you, and make you mine,” he growled quietly, nibbling on her skin as she whined and mewled. her walls clenched at the thought as he chuckled, “oh? you want that, hm? you want me to make this pussy mine?” 

“yes! fuck-“ she exclaimed, her body convulsing while she whined, “want you to own me, charles. wanna be stuffed full by you only, charles please~”

“you could’ve asked me a long time ago, mon tresor,” his thrusts turned hard and slower as he came inside her, feeling her clench around his cock as they reached their highs. 

she was too fucked out and full, content at the feeling of his cock inside of her while feeling nothing but happiness being in his arms. 

charles couldn’t help but grin widely at the sight of her limped body and the dazed expression on her face. he couldn’t find himself to think about his teammate when this sweet woman was finally his.

he knew that he could do so much better treating her like a queen that she was than carlos would ever do. 

everything that her ex never gave her— charles would be more than willing to hand it to her on a gold plate.

the next morning, charles found carlos at the hotel lobby as they were both heading to the airport. the two ferrari drivers got to speak to one another before pierre gasly and esteban ocon saw them and talked amongst themselves.

carlos sainz sure was the kind to be confused and puzzled, and he showed this when esteban’s manager — who was once carlos’ girlfriend and manager — approached the group and talked to the drivers before turning to charles with a sweet smile. 

“are you going to go now, mon ange?” charles asked with a smile, watching her blush at the attention she got from him as she nodded meekly. “you could just come with us, you know? we’re heading to the same place, anyway.”

“yeah but,” she gestured to the two alpine drivers, “someone has to control these two before the next race week starts.” 

the alpine drivers protested against her words as she and charles giggled. charles then looked at her and said, “okay well… text me when you get there, okay?” 

she nodded and gave charles a sheepish smile (as if she hadn’t found herself saying the filthiest words to him the night before; not that carlos knew). 

charles wrapped his arms around her before kissing her passionately, humming at the taste of her. pierre let out a whistle and esteban grinned at the two toothily. 

while carlos… carlos was just confused as fuck. 

“see you tomorrow, pretty girl,” charles winked at her, smirk playfully written on his face as she giggled quietly and left with the two alpine drivers. 

charles found carlos staring at him with his mouth slightly agape, making the monegasque chuckle and shake his head. “she’s so sweet and pretty, no?” 

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1 @savrose129

[planetdream]

— seventeen [‘97-‘99 line] and orgasm control !

smut. [d/s dynamics. orgasm control—edging, denial, overstimulation, ruined and forced orgasms. cawk. partially pushing the sub/switch svt agenda. restraints. handjobs. a tear or two. clitplay]

💌 part one. posting this almost two years later lmao my bad

seokmin — edging

it's not like orgasming is his end goal, but the feeling of release is so delightful. yet the feeling of release after being edged for so long and denied of his 'right' to cum is a whole new ballpark. he hates it so much. but he also loves it more than anything. seokmin is always torn whenever you edge him. does he defy your orders and cum (you both know he can easily cum untouched) or does he just let you have your way with him? your hands around his cock, pulling away every time he twitches and cries out—but only for a few seconds, then your hands are back on his cock, working your magic.

mingyu — overstimulation

not sure that mingyu realizes what he's doing to you (he does, in fact, know what he's doing to you). he locks you into his hold, strong arms wrapped around you as he drives his cock into your cunt. you're completely overtaken by the feeling of his strong arms around you, the strong (but still faint) smell of his perfume. mingyu warms you up from both the inside and outside. whispering words of praise into your ear, a kiss on your skin between every sentence. no no, don't close your eyes, mingyu wants you looking into his, let him watch as he fucks you to tears.

minghao — denial

you thought shit was sweet. denying hao of his orgasm; the prettiest smile on your face as you run a thumb over the tip of his cock, squeezing the shaft of his cock in a tight first, unwilling to let his cum spill. you should already know by now, anything you do to minghao; he'll do back tenfold. he'll restrain you; hands clasped together in a prayer, rope wrapped around your forearms to keep your hands together. minghao orders you to keep your hands up, resting your soft cheek against the back of your hand, tears dripping onto your skin. instead of one night without orgasms, try, a couple days maybe.

seungkwan — forced

he's sweating. in the light, the sweat glistens off his body. seungkwan's eyes are squeezed shut as he pants, catching his breath. he tenses once he hears the familiar buzzing of the vibrator click on once again. his cock twitches in your hands, drops of cum still oozing from his tip. you reassure him, telling him to relax—all you need is just one more from him, that after it's all done you'll clean him up and take care of him. seungkwan doesn't need to open his eyes to know that you're lowering the vibrator, he can feel the vibrations getting closer and closer to his cock. he braces for impact—and then he melts right into the palm of your hand.

vernon — edging

you're wet and snug around vernon, squeezing and sucking his cock into your cunt. he's fucking you faster, deeper than he usually does, really concentrating on you. his thumb clings to your clit, working you up faster. you scratch across his back, moaning out. you're close, so close, just one more motion and you'll—vernon pulls out, tapping the tip of his cock against your clit, his hand wrapped around the base, a cute smile displayed on his face. once you're close to cumming, he'll switch to a new method of fucking you, never quite allowing you to cum until he's done playing with you.

chan — ruined

chan came up to you a few days ago, you've never seen him that nervous, telling you there was something sexual he wanted to try. he expressed it might be weird but it's best to talk to your about it. he wants to ruin your orgasm, snatch it away while your in the midst of it. he told you that he wanted to finger you, getting up to three, maybe four of his fingers; then when you're squeezing around him, wetness flowing into his palm, right as you're sent over that edge he'll move his fingers away, settling only for kissing against your neck. chan told you that he wanted to feel you cum on his cock and then he wanted to see you cry as he pulls out and presses his palm flat against your cunt. minutes later those same fantasies became real.

[reiderwriter]

Unhappy Holidays

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're unlucky enough to run into Spencer Reid at holiday celebrations four years in a row. In the New Year, you're resolving to rid him from your mind forever, but you never were one to stick to resolutions 👻🦃🎄🎆

Warnings: SMUT 18+ minors dni, enemies to lovers, low-key work rivals, semi-public sex, car sex, hate sex, fingering, thigh riding, creampie, unprotected sex (no condoms but contraceptive mentioned), slight spoilers for s4 of Criminal Minds (but not really).

Prompt Request: #50"You're so fucking obsessed with me.” #82"Really? Because your pussy is saying something different, sweetheart.” #93"Use my thigh. You've been staring at it all night anyway.”

A/N: This is my first submission for @imagining-in-the-margins November/December Office Party writing challenge! I'm sorry I've been so busy recently, but the holiday season really does take a lot of effort to get through at work lmao. Hopefully, I'll be able to post more over my vacation! For now, enjoy some very unserious smut~♡ (as if I write any other kind).

Here's a link to my masterlist, where you can find all my work!~☆

Working with the FBI was no walk in the park, which, from your desk at the opposite corner of the bullpen, Spencer Reid sure made it look like.

Working on adjacent teams for the last three years had become gradually infuriating. You were forever in the man's orbit, stuck dealing with the other women on your team sat giggling about him and his many stupid haircuts, and wondering just how far you'd fallen to have to stare at his stupid face 5 days a week.

If you were unlucky. His team did happen to be out on cases a lot more, whereas yours handled correspondence and consulting cases, a cushy and safe job.

It annoyed you to no end that you had multiple field-based qualifications, extensive fire arms training and were top of your class at the academy only to be relegated yo desk duty whilst boy wonder with his doctorates was allowed to trip over his own feet catching actual killers.

Other people wondered where your dislike of the man sprang from, and you could only let out a disgruntled squeak and tell them your horror stories.

A few months into your job, your been fresh faced and bushy tailed or however that saying goes, and overly eager to take any assignment that came your way. Even if the assignment was baby-sitting an injured Doctor Spencer Reid. He'd been shot whilst out on a case whilst trying to talk down an unsub, and you'd jumped at the chance to get to know him.

He was an office legend, of course, though those days it was more for his characteristic lack of social graces rather than the beauty he'd grown into. You'd been so eager to get to pick his brains, find out how he'd managed to score the position on the BAU at such an early age.

Reality had hit you square in the face when he'd spent a week ignoring you, making you run around like a headless chicken searching for hard copies of documents the FBI had digitised a millennia ago, and hadn't so much as spared you a glance.

The straw that broke the camel's back came as you were running back to him triumphant with a document he'd requested eight hours before and had let yourself into Penelope Garcia’s office quietly, only to hear him bad mouthing you.

“She makes me uncomfortable. I've had her out searching for useless files all day because I don't know what to do with her.”

“She's trying to help, Spencer, it's her job right now, cut her some slack.”

“Her job is currently getting in the way of mine. I even tried writing my own doctor's note so I could get rid of her, but Hotch wouldn't allow it.”

You'd dropped the file loudly on the table, watched the two spin around with horrified looks and turned silently and left the room.

He hadn't once tried to find you after that, and you let your apprenticeship under Doctor Reid quietly fizzle out as you got back to your regular work.

Your resentment still burned though.

Each time you'd been caught in the same elevator with him, you'd ignored him to an almost insane degree, enjoying the way he squirmed and tried to make small talk.

You'd been in contact with JJ and his Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner as well, through cases you'd recommended, but always maintained your cold shoulder.

The one place you could not ignore him, however, was a Penelope Garcia party.

After you'd slammed the file down on her desk, Penelope had guiltily sent you a gift basket filled with sweet treats and books, and had hounded you for a week to make sure your feelings weren't too damaged by her friend's stupidity.

You actually liked her, and found at least one silver lining to the storm that was Spencer Reid ripping through your life.

In the three years since the “incident,” you'd found yourself at three parties where Penelope in all of her heartwarming ways had tried her best to force a reconciliation between the two of you, to disastrous results.

The first was a Halloween party, and you'd been incredibly proud of your Princess Laia costume when you'd arrived. Only until you'd gone to the kitchen to top up your drink to hear Spencer Reid boring some guest or the other about how Star Trek was more advanced, and had a richer plot line.

Penelope had stepped into the kitchen just as he'd caught a glimpse of your (rather skimpy) outfit - yes, you'd chosen swimsuit Laia, yes, you were going to own it - and had immediately jumped into introductions, as if you weren't already intimately acquainted.

“Spencer! This is Y/N! She loves Halloween, too, she makes all of her costumes. You guys should talk.” She'd led the other guest away and left you there with Spencer as you'd awkwardly looked upon his own costume.

“Are you the Tenth Doctor?” You asked begrudgingly, noting his pin-striped suit and the shorter hairstyle he'd chosen.

“Are you a fan? I prefer the original show run more than the current stuff, but David Tennant has really been doing a wonderful-”

“I'm sorry, let me stop you there. I don't watch Doctor Who. I guess I prefer something with a… How should I say, richer plot?”

He'd snapped his mouth shut and didn't have chance to open it again before you turned dramatically and walked away from him.

The second party you'd been cornered into was just over a year later.

Having been stuck in the office over Halloween, Penelope was determined to get in one last celebration before Christmas steam-rolled every other holiday, and thus you'd been invited to her single-people-only-friendsgiving-potluck, and you'd found yourself having to navigate knocking on her door with a casserole dish in your hands.

Luckily a large hand had appeared from behind you and knocked on the door for you. Unfortunately, the sudden shock from the silent appearance of a man right behind you startled you so much that the dish fell straight from your hands anyway.

Penelope opened her door upon hearing the crash and you whirled on your would-be attacker.

It was Spencer again, eyes round in shock, hand still curled into a fist.

You took a calming breath as you gathered yourself, trying not to bite his head off. You wanted to scream and shout and rip his head out but you didn't, instead letting the fury drip into your voice as you finally opened your eyes again.

“That dish took me four fucking hours to make.” You huffed in anger once more as Penelope guided you into the apartment and poured you a glass of wine before you moved back to the entry hall to clean it up again.

Needless to say he didn't care to converse with you after that.

A few small parties in between had been blissfully Spencer-less and you'd lulled yourself into a false sense of security. That's when you accepted the Christmas party invitation.

As one of the unlucky few members of the FBI who had to stay out over christmas in case of some emergency or the other, you'd been grounded in Virginia, unable to travel home for the holidays. So Penelope Garcia's singles-only-Christmas-fun-time-Party was your last ditch effort to spend the holidays actually resting and eating good food.

Learning from last time, Penelope reassured you that there was no potluck, that she had prepared all the food herself, and all you'd need were a bottle of wine and a willingness to party.

You'd taken those recommendations as law and had immediately let yourself into a glass of mulled wine as you arrived, and - noticing that the party was Reid-free - had allowed it to raise your Christmas spirits slightly more than you usually would.

By hour two of the event, you were full of yuletide joy and swaying freely along to the tune of Silent Night.

Spencer’s late entrance really would have gone unnoticed by you had you not bumped face first into his chest as you spun yourself around in your dance, his hands quickly falling to your hips to steady you.

The few moments it took you to gather yourself were about as long as you needed to realised that he'd caught you in his arms underneath the mistletoe. And with your mind fogged by mulled-whatever-it-was-Penelope-mixed-into-that-punch, the part of your brain that objected to the very existence of Spencer Reid went silent, and the incredibly tiny and somewhat damaged part of your brain that instead saw him as attractive started shouting loud instructions.

Before your common sense could return, you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes to kiss the very warm, very close man holding you upright.

“Mistletoe,” you muttered as you clawed his arms off of you and took yourself straight to Penelope's bathroom to throw up.

So yes, your acquaintance with Spencer Reid had never been good, and you were perfectly fine with resenting him from afar, privately.

With three years of bad experiences under your belt, you weren't excited at completing your yearly tradition of horrendous interaction. Which is perhaps why you immediately and loudly protested Penelope’s New Years Eve party invitation.

“Y/N, it's a party. What's the worst that can happen?” She pleaded as she followed you down the corridors of the office building.

“I could see Spencer Reid. I could be forced to converse with Spencer Reid. I could get absolutely wasted and kiss Spencer Reid. There, three options, please accept my resignation from partying.”

“Y/N we both know you don't drink anymore, so at least one of those is unlikely to happen. And Spencer might not even come, he has tickets for an indie theatre from 6pm onwards, they're playing some Russian movie from the 60s that's like 4 hours long or something. So u retire yourself and tell me you'll come?” She had to take three or four steps for each of your own, not that you were so different in height but because you were practically marching in order to avoid the topic.

But you finally stopped and let out a sigh as you turned back to Penelope who stopped just before she ran into you.

“You're sure he won't be there?”

“I'm sure he RSVP’d no.”

“Fine. But I'm not drinking and I will still be expecting the Penelope Garcia virgin punch experience.”

“Bring the party poppers and you have a deal.”

“Done.”

–X–

Over the week since you'd accepted the invitation, you'd made peace with it. For the most part, you did love a Penelope Garcia production. There was something wonderful about your friend and her ability to brighten anyone's mood, an ability that was only heightened at holidays. She was like a glittered goddess gaining power when worshippers used her altar, except the altar was her house and the worship was a range of hallmark-induced holidays.

You arrived at the party at 10pm, and though that was the start time you'd been given, you weren't surprised to see a full house of Penelope’s team mates already in attendance. Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss sat spread across the sofa in the living room area, and you noticed a few techie friends also grabbing drinks and chatting.

“Y/N, I'm so glad you're here! You remember everyone on the team, right?” She pulled you into a hug and then sat you down in the middle of the group, waiting for you to mingle and become comfortable before she ran off to more hostess duties.

“Of course, nice to see you guys.” You grabbed your promised punch and sat back comfortably, striking up a conversation with Emily about how bleak the dating scene had been recently.

“It seems like all the men around me are jackasses,” Emily muttered and you giggled along.

“I'm wounded,” Morgan shot back, a hand pressed to his chest in faux pain.

“Good. You're like a lion out there in the clubs stalking gazelles, it's like watching a nature documentary when you're out there.”

You almost snorted your entire drink up your nose as Emily finished, needing to compose yourself for a second.

“I guess the men on our team aren't great with romance,” JJ laughed and took a swing. “Hotch and Rossi have four divorces between them, and Derek here is a lost cause.”

“Our only hope is young Spencer. May he grow into a respectful young gentleman and break out curse,” Emily toasted.

“Oh that ship has sailed,” your laugh this time was bitter, your mood immediately growing sour with even the smallest mention of Spencer Reid.

“Ah, Penelope mentioned you had a problem with our boy wonder. Care to share?”

You opened your mouth to give your standard non-answer and move the conversation along, but you were interrupted.

“Yes, Y/N, care to share? I am slightly curious about that as well.” You turned around and there he was, and your stomach turned in disgust.

Just one time, just one party. You'd been having fun, and here he was to ruin it.

“What are you doing here?” you gaped up at him, unsurprised to see him still decked out in sweater vest and slacks even in his down time.

“I was invited.”

“You declined, Penelope said you had movie tickets.”

“Ticket, singular. And it was cancelled so here I am. What's your problem with me, Y/N?” His jaw clenched and he grabbed the back of your chair and leaned down. It was supposed to be intimidating, but you rolled your eyes. When he looked that attractive, veins in his arms popping out of the sleeves he'd pulled up, you couldn't see him as intimidating. His arms were distracting yes, but God that was nothing compared to his thighs. His pants were tight, and you thanked whatever Clueless tailor had sewn them, because you now allowed yourself a momentary lapse to enjoy the appearance of his lower body.

You tried to shake the thought of his attractiveness from your mind, reminding yourself where you were and in what company.

“I don't think I need to answer that. I think I'll enjoy holding it over your head instead,” you said, standing up and beginning to gather your things.

“Wait, Y/N, where are you going? New Year isn't for another 30 minutes.” Penelope scrambled over and grabbed your hand, pleading with you to stay.

“I'm sorry Pen, but there's just this very annoying bug buzzing around me, and I think I need to get away from it.” You said your goodbyes and excused yourself from the party, happy to have walked away relatively undamaged.

Fate had other plans, and as you stepped out of the apartment building ready to walk yourself home, a hand caught yours from behind as a voice chased you.

“Y/N, wait. I'll go. You go back inside.”

“And return with my tail tucked between my legs after making a grand exit? I'll pass, thanks boy genius.” You shook yourself from his grasp and made to walk away again, but he quickly matched your pace and stepped into your path, cutting you off.

“I can't let you walk home. It's like 40° out here, and your coat is more style than substance.”

“Get into a car with a stranger? I'm sure you of all people know how stupid that sounds.” You stuck a finger out and poked his chest, but he grabbed your hand and held it in place as he spat out his next words.

“I'm not a stranger, I'm the man you're obsessed with, Y/N. Big difference.” You laughed, mostly in shock at his indignance, but he stared at your face as serious as could be.

“Me? Obsessed with you? I'm not the one who followed a woman they're barely acquainted with out of a party filled with all of my friends. Sounds like you're projecting, Spencer.”

“Am I?” He questioned, stepping closer and grabbing your hip as he continued his questioning. “I wasn't the one who was sat there talking about me with all of my colleagues.”

“Well, I wasn't the one who turned up to a party I'd declined an invitation to.”

He was imperceptibly close now, hand gripping your hip so tight you wondered if it'd leave you with a mark.

“I certainly was not the one who initiated a kiss last year, Y/N. You need to face the facts, you're so fucking obsessed with me.” If his hands had you feeling dizzy, his words were completely knocking the sense out of you. Suddenly you returned to the person you'd been under that Mistletoe, and everything from his closeness to the rough edge to his voice begged you to do it once again.

“Go fuck yourself,” was about all the words you could manage as he finally let his lips fall down and crush into your own.

You should've pushed him away, but instead your traitorous body wanted to prove his point, opening up for him faster than you'd opened up to anyone else before.

His tongue flicked against your lips and you gladly let him explore your mouth, opening up to tangle your tongue with his.

He tasted sweet, like the punch Penelope had handed you earlier, only now you wondered if someone had accidentally laced it with how free you were being with your affections.

He resurfaced for air, but you didn't care if there was nothing in your lungs at all if it meant that his lips would engage your own in battle once again.

“Look how much you want me,” he smirked. “Look how needy you are after a single kiss, chasing my lips like that.”

“You and your big fucking mouth. I wish you'd shut up once in a while.”

“I'll make it my new year’s resolution.” His lips joined your own again, and you clashed hard, exploring as much as you could muster as he pulled you in the direction of his car.

“I'm not driving… home… with you,” you growled between kisses, trying not to put your teeth to his neck and bite down hard. You're not sure if that impulse was a murderous one or a kinky one.

“I'm not putting you in the front seat, Y/N, I'm putting you in the back. You should be familiar with the idea.”

Heat sparked between your legs, and you allowed yourself to be manhandled into the beat-up trash heap of a car.

He'd not taken his hands off you as he got you in, pushing himself in first and then pulling you by the hand that you'd unconsciously gripped hard. You immediately straddled his hips, skirt naturally riding up in the process. He noticed and looked curiously down at you, growling as you pressed your lips against his neck and grabbed you instead by the hair gathered in a ponytail at the back of your head.

“See, you're obsessed with me. Just admit it.” Without breaking eye contact, he dug his fingers into the material of your tights and pulled in opposite directions, leaving your underwear exposed to his wandering eyes.

“I'm not obsessed with you,” your voice needed conviction to land, but it came out as a lusty whisper, especially as he slipped his fingers inside your underwear and finally touched your aching cunt.

“Really? Because your pussy is saying something else, Princess.” He found your clit faster than you'd ever expected, rubbing slow circles into your skin as you began rocking your hips back and forth.

It was becoming hard to disagree with him, with each flick of wrist growing the heat between your legs. You attacked his neck again, hands practically ripping at his top buttons so you could muffle the sounds of your arousal against his neck, collarbone, chest, any stretch of that pale skin available to you.

He forced your hips to a stop with one hand as he slipped a single digit inside of your hole, gathering your arousal as he set a steady pace, thumb keeping your bundle of nerves occupied.

“Listen, Y/N, can you hear that?”

“I can't h-hear anything.” You had to grind your teeth together to get the words out with minimal interruptions of moans bursting from the pit of your stomach.

He leaned in close to your ear, nuzzling your neck and placing chaste kisses up towards your ear, finally pulling away just enough to whisper a single word in your ear.

“Liar.”

His hand stilled and pulled off you quickly and your eyes broke open, hands unconsciously fitting into his shirt as if you were worried he was going to leave you there like this, on the edge of pleasure but still so far away.

“Use my thigh. You've been staring at it all night anyway.”

“Jackass. You've only been here for like 20 minutes.”

“You can climb right out of this car if you want to, Y/N.” He tried to keep his tone light, but the death grip he had on your thighs, the very obvious tent pitched in his pants and the way his eyes couldn't go five seconds without undressing you told you you had more power in this interaction than he wanted to give you.

There was no way either of you were letting the other go unused tonight.

You relaxed your grip on his shirt and shifted your weight to one of his thighs. Lithe he may be, but lowering yourself down there was an unexpected strength there. He watched on curiously as you rocked experimentally against him. Back and forth you rocked, trying desperately to keep up his momentum or tempt him to help you out again.

It was time to let your voice back out, and you did, moaning without a care as you hummed his leg like a bitch in heat.

“You're enjoying this lot, huh, Y/N,” he muttered, and you watched as his hand worked his pants zip open, removing one of the barriers in the way between the two of you, as he began palming himself.

“What's that saying? Anything you can do, I can do better?” He growled at that response but didn't stop you. Instead he bought a hand down on your ass as you moved, so hard you jolted at the sudden pain. Your eyes shot open as your hips stilled, but you felt warmth grow between your legs.

“Yes, you definitely enjoyed that. Should I do that again, or do you think we should hurry this up and go back up for the countdown?”

You hesitated only a second before you pushed his hand off his lap, shifting your hips further towards his knees before letting your hand reach for where his had just been.

You didn't let yourself think about how big he was as you pulled his cock free, didn't let yourself wonder how he measured up against anyone you'd been with before. You didn't let yourself waste time thinking about how various office rumours were true, and definitely not a second was wasted feeling jealous about how those rumours were spread in the first place.

Instead you simply slammed your lips back against his, mouth opening to let your tongue engage his as you lifted your hips with his help and lowered yourself down on him.

You didn't have to rid yourself of sinful thoughts after that as he purged every single brain cell from your head, filling you so contently that there was simply no space for anything but him.

You locked up on top of him, clawing at his shoulders as you whimpered at the stretched, falling so he was balls deep inside you. You wanted to move, to use him for your pleasure, but your walls tightened every time you even thought about it as he stroked your hair through it all.

It had been some time since you'd last had a sexual partner, and you needed the few minutes to overcome the first uncomfortable bliss of it all.

“That good?” he whispered, but the harsh tone of earlier was gone, replaced only by unsure humour to break the silence.

“Been a while.” He nodded, kissing you again to distraction as he shifted your positions.

Cradling your neck and securing your legs comfortably around him, he lowered you against the backseat, pulling out slightly as you adjusted to the new angle.

“Better?” You nodded quickly, because it was. There was no more pressure on your legs, and despite the cramped space in the car, you had enough space to lie almost flat.

“Yes… thank you.” Just as his cutting tone had escaped him, you also heard your own tone softening, the sigh of contentment slipping past your lips almost sweet. Almost.

“Are you going to fuck me now, or what?”

He let out a shocked laugh, but lent down to shut you up with a kiss nonetheless. Bracing himself against the car door, his hips softly rocked into you, pace increasing until you were back to the edge of cumming, nails pressed hard into his skin until you were sure he was going to complain.

He didn't though, but kept up his thrusts, until your vision suddenly darkened and stars exploded in them, rolled back in your head as they were.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, where should I…?” He panicked, but you wrapped your legs around him, grabbing him by the tie and pulling him down to swallow his moan as he shot his load inside of you.

“Birth control.” You whispered when you finally let him go, gasping for air. “Contraceptive pill. No need to get the car dirty.”

He collapsed on top of you then, forehead resting against your own as you both caught your breaths.

The moment was silent, and you found the synchronicity of your breaths almost calming. Eventually you had to break apart, and he helped you up to a sitting position, but didn't break eye contact as fell back into his lap.

His hands stroked your back, dipping to your ass at times, but he didn't talk. Neither of you did.

The eye contact between the two of you was possibly the most pleasant conversation you'd ever had.

“I'm sorry.” He blurted, just as fireworks erupted into the night sky. Your heart shook, and you weren't sure of it was the shock of the sound, or the way the rainbow of lights illuminated his sincere expression.

“You don't have to apologise for cumming in me, Spencer.”

“Not that. Before. The casserole and the mistletoe, and the Halloween costume.”

“Wow. Um, okay. Apology accepted, I guess, though I'm not entirely sure why you're apologising now.”

He took a deep breath just as another set of fireworks went up.

“I pulled you under the mistletoe. It was Penelope’s idea, she knew how stupid I was being around you and sent me over. I saw it and took the chance.”

“Fuck. Why?”

“Because I was pretty useless at being chivalrous the year before.”

You climbed off his lap in a scramble and sat on the seat beside him, mind racing, trying to figure out where the hell he was going with this.

He turned to you, trying to keep your attention as he stumbled over the words.

“You couldn't knock on the door, so I wanted to help you, but I didn't think I'd scare you so much you'd drop it.”

“You didn't scare me it was a momentary lapse in my observational skills.”

“You shrieked,” a smile threatened to pull his lips up, they twitched as you flushed red.

“And Halloween?” You looked at him again now, trying to figure out what the hell was going on between the two of you.

“You refused to look at me for a year after we stopped working together,” he shrugged quickly running a hand through his hair and expelling a breath. “I don’t really know how to talk to women.”

“You just know how to piss them off?”

“Morgan says it comes naturally.”

“Yeah, well, Morgan is very wise.”

A brief silence stretched between you, or as silent as a night full of cracks, pops, whizzes and bangs could be.

“I don't get it. You tried your best to get rid of me when I was there to help you. I wanted to impress you, and you kept sending me on meaningless errands, and now you're saying what? You wanted my attention?” There was a quiet anger to your voice, but you were surprised to find it diminished and tired.

“I wanted you gone because you were distracting me, Y/N, not because I hated you.”

“Well, what's the difference, Doctor Reid? Please indulge me.” You huffed a little but kept your eyes on him, trying not to seem too desperate for his answer.

“I have an IQ of 187. Emily says when I'm around a pretty girl it's more like 52,” he fidgeted with his pants, forcing the words out.

“You're a pretty girl. We had a case to work and all I could think about was how to get you to like me. Hotch chewed me out like three separate times for being absent minded.”

He was looking anywhere but you, trying his best not to appear like a fool but you were locked onto him.

“Oh my god you're an idiot.”

“When you're around, yes.”

“And that means I'm equally stupid.”

“No, you just jump to conclusions and hold grudges. There wasn't anything really that stupid about your actions, though it could be suggested that not thoroughly thinking through the wording of the conversation you overheard-”

You cut him off with a kiss, pulling him down again mlby his tie.

“Oh my god, shut up,” you whispered as you broke apart.

“Does that mean we can do this again? Because I'd like to do this again?”

“Stop talking, start kissing jackass.”

He finally didn't argue with that, pulling you back into him as you sat under the stars in his car welcoming the new year.

[steddieas-shegoes]

bad idea right

for @steddiesongfics July prompt using song lyrics from ‘bad idea right’ by olivia rodrigo

rated e | 1569 words | cw: alcohol, super mildly dubious consent because of the alcohol | tags: angst with a happy ending, post break up, exes to lovers, getting back together, sex

📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱

Eddie isn’t afraid to admit that he makes mistakes. Sometimes, he makes big ones.

Answering the call from Steve is the first big one.

“Steve?” It’s been almost a year since he’s heard from him, their breakup being the finite end to any and all communication. “You okay?”

“Eddie! Oh my god. So I’m out right now, and I’m all fucked up, and I was thinkin’ ‘bout that time I got so drunk you had to carry me to my bed.” Eddie’s listening to Steve, but he feels like his soul is leaving his body. “You remember how gentle you were? You were so worried about tripping up the stairs and you kept cussing when you lost your grip. You kissed my head when you thought I was asleep.”

Steve’s words are slurred, but Eddie can make them out fine. He was good at understanding Steve all the time, even inebriated.

“I knew you were awake,” he gulps. Robin’s gonna kill him for even entertaining Steve like this. Actually, speaking of her- “Is Robbie with you?”

“No.” Eddie can hear the pout on his lips. “She’s on a date with her girlfriend.”

Right. She’d mentioned that to Eddie yesterday when they were texting about plans for next weekend.

Robin had refused to be split between her two best friends when they broke up, and rightfully so. She may have been Steve’s platonic soulmate, but she knew that what happened between them wasn’t Eddie’s fault. She made sure to spend time with Eddie when Steve was otherwise busy.

“Are you good to get home? I can send an Uber for you.” Eddie offers even though he’s sure Steve thought of that already. Even drunk, he would know how to get home.

“I can get my own Uber.”

“I know.”

“I missed your voice.”

Eddie is doing his fuckin’ best not to make his second big mistake tonight, but it’s not going well. He knows what’s gonna happen. He knows because he’s weak and loves Steve more than anything even after having his heart torn to pieces by him. Even knowing it’ll only lead to more heartbreak.

“You should get home, Stevie.”

“Missed that, too.”

It’s quieter on Steve’s end now, like he’s stepped away from whatever club or bar he’s holed up in, maybe outside to get some much needed fresh air. Eddie hopes it sobers him enough to realize what he’s done so he hangs up.

“Steve…”

“Can I come over?”

Eddie makes the second big mistake of the night and says yes.

-

When Steve arrives, he’s a beautiful mess.

He’s drunk, but the ride must’ve helped a little. His eyes are clear, his cheeks not as flush as they probably were before.

Eddie’s waiting at the door when he gets there, standing with a smile that doesn’t belong. He’s trying to be welcoming to a man who did everything to make sure he felt like he didn’t belong.

Steve is in his arms as soon as he makes it to the front door. Eddie’s third big mistake of the night is wrapping his arms around him as if he’d never stopped, as if this last year wasn’t the worst of his life and he’s barely made it through.

“Sorry I called. I didn’t know where to go.”

And now Eddie’s confused. He’s confused because Steve has an apartment of his own, one that he definitely knew how to get to even when drunk. Even if he didn’t, he would’ve been able to call Robin to help. Or Max. Or Lucas.

And he’s sure that Steve’s been drunk in the last year and not called him.

“Why couldn’t you go home?”

“Too quiet.”

11 months ago, almost to the day, Steve Harrington told Eddie Munson that he was too loud, too hyper, too messy.

11 months ago, Eddie Munson gathered whatever he could find in four minutes and left Steve’s apartment for the last time.

11 months ago, Steve ruined a three year relationship because he’d been feeling overwhelmed and didn’t tell Eddie until it was too late.

Now, Eddie Munson is sure that Steve Harrington is about to be his fourth big mistake tonight.

“You wanna come in?” He asks, already knowing Steve’s answer.

“Please.”

-

Steve is tucked into Eddie’s bed, curled around a pillow, mouth open as he snores quietly. Eddie watches him for a moment before tip-toeing from the room.

Robin’s livid when she answers her phone.

“This better be good. I was two fingers-“

“Steve’s here.” Eddie interrupts what was sure to be too much information about what Robin was getting up to on her date. “Drunk.”

“He just showed up at your house?” Robin sounds less mad now, more concerned, though he’s not sure who she’s more concerned about.

“He called first.”

“And you answered.”

“Yeah. Well.” Eddie sighs. “I’m gonna sleep on the couch, but just wanted you to know he’s safe and I’ll make sure he gets home tomorrow.”

“Eddie, I’m so sorry. He said he was just gonna watch a movie tonight or else I would’ve suggested he go hang with Dustin or something.”

“It’s not your job to babysit him.” Eddie doesn’t like the way she said that, but he’s probably reading too much into it. “He’s an adult.”

“Yeah, no. He’s. I mean, he’s fine. It’s just that we all try to keep his mind busy since…ya know.” Robin explains, though Eddie feels even more confused.

“Since he specifically told me I was too much for him?”

Robin’s silence speaks volumes.

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice is behind him and he’s quick to turn and make sure he’s okay. “Sleep?”

“I’ll text you,” he whispers to Robin before hanging up and turning to Steve. “You should go lay down. I’ll bring you some water.”

“You too?” Steve was blinking slowly, barely awake as he stood in Eddie’s living room.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Stevie.”

“Is it because of what I said?”

It’s not the time for them to have this conversation, and it’s not the time for Eddie to wish he could forget it ever happened so he can hop into bed with Steve. But he thinks Steve is probably sobering up little by little, and if he expects Steve to sleep, he may have to do this.

“You made it very clear how you felt. I’m just trying to respect your space until I can get you home tomorrow.” Robin would be proud of how he’s handling this, he thinks. He’s at least keeping things civil even though his head is screaming at him.

“I didn’t mean what I said.”

Eddie stares at him, tries to find the telltale signs of Steve lying. He doesn’t see any.

Steve’s too tired and too buzzed to hide it.

“Then why did you say any of it?” Eddie feels his chest constricting, his heartbeat racing the longer he looks at him. “Why did you make me think I was too much?”

“My dad came by that day,” Steve’s head falls, his hands wringing in front of him. “My dad had spent two hours telling me I wasn’t enough and that I’d done nothing but disappoint him and I’d never be what he wanted. And it wasn’t the first time, but it was after my boss gave a promotion to someone else even though I was more qualified and my head was killing me and Robin and I had gotten into a stupid argument that morning and it was a bad day.”

Eddie’s staring at him, mouth wide open, watching as the man he loves falls apart.

“It’s no excuse. I shouldn’t’ve said any of it no matter what. Not when it’s not even true. I’ve never felt like you’re too much or too loud.” Steve’s stepping closer now. “I’ve always just wanted to soak up whatever energy you have. And I didn’t know how to tell you that you’re more than I deserve without saying you’re too much for what I can offer.”

Damn Steve Harrington and his charm, even when buzzed, even when exhaustion is causing him to curl into himself.

Damn Eddie’s inability to avoid his fifth mistake of the night.

He doesn’t know if he is the catalyst or if they both are, but suddenly his mouth is on Steve’s and teeth knock together, and there’s a slight taste of blood on Eddie’s tongue.

There’s moans and hands against skin and in hair and hard cocks rubbing against thighs and bruises on hips.

There’s Steve’s head hitting the pillow and Eddie’s mouth sucking marks into his stomach and inner thigh and the blanket falling off the bed as they try to strip out of their clothes too fast.

There’s laughter and soft touches and nails biting into skin and check-ins.

There’s love when Eddie holds his face in his hands as he slides into Steve for the first time in too long, and there’s hope when Steve cries out for more, and there’s passion that Eddie knows he’d never find with anyone else.

After, when there’s sweat and tears and cum and an unfortunate wet spot in the middle of the bed, there’s whispers of tomorrow and the next day and apologies and promises.

It may have been a bad idea answering Steve’s call, but Eddie’s happy to make more mistakes if it means keeping Steve in his arms and being enough for each other.

[jensettermandu]

birthday wish - jennie kim

genre; smut, slight angst, fluff, smut with some plot

pairing; jennie x g!p reader

content; breeding kink, oral (reader giving), spanking, rough sex, degrading, humiliation, creampie (?), brattiness, probably missed something

synopsis; it's her birthday and she only has one wish

wc; 17k+

masterlist

a/n: this was written in two days, sorry if it is not up to standard with my usual writing. i forgot about the bday since i don't usually write for anything special for them

Loud music, drinks (many free ones), dancing, and partying in a way she hadn’t been able to do in a couple of months. She was finally able to party like a teen which had been hard. Jennie had turned 28 and was reaching her peak yet at some point everything had turned sour and bitter in her life. It wasn’t unusual, things would always go up and down and she was old enough to accept it.

What was a lot harder to accept was the break-up she had with her ex-girlfriend about four months ago. The concept of not being good for each other, that loving wasn’t enough if they brought out these bad sides of jealousy, possessiveness, and the fights it would cause. It was a tough fall to break up with someone who she had started seeing when she was in her early 20s–22 to be exact and broken up with later on. That was someone she had spent half of her tweenies with.

That person who she had been at a peak with, who always made her feel like a teen in love. Who flew her through the sky, into a new universe and now had her crash back down to earth after a high that lasted for five years. Five years had been bumpy, but it didn’t matter if they had been trying all the time. There was only so long they could go off of feeling like teens when they were adults. At some point the fun had to be limited, or did it have to be? Did she have to grow up? 

It was her Birthday.

Jennie and her friends had pre-gamed before they went bar hopping.

The idea?

They couldn’t wait for Jennie to get laid now that she was over her ex-girlfriend who they liked to call an asshole. Jennie would argue about that because she wasn’t an asshole. She just loved too hard and so did Jennie. An asshole wouldn’t be able to give Jennie the best years of her life despite having many more to come, nor would an asshole be able to give her mind-blowing sex.

The sex.

Jennie had found herself horny for the past month.

Jennie had found herself pathetically wasting money on sex toys that sufficed for the moment, but not long term.

All that, but she hadn’t been able to go out and meet someone to hook up with.

She was scared she would get disappointed and feel like only one person could satisfy her truly.

The woman wasn’t supposed to be running back to her ex after crying for two months straight, and then managing to slowly start functioning normally on the third and now was the fourth and she was out partying–looking to get laid and fully forget her ex by finding someone who could fuck her good enough.

Fuck it out of her mind, leave her memories a blur.

It was the third place they had been to.

“Anyone hot yet? We’re not leaving until you leave first because you’re going to drop your panties for a stranger.” Lisa was right by her ear as she spoke, shot still in her hand as the dozen girlfriends that Jennie was with had just been served another round.

“You have to lose your post-breakup virginity, babe.” Jisoo came from the other side and spoke into her ear, making Jennie giggle at the slurred words of the drunk woman.

“I’m literally on it, I’ve been standing and looking pretty the whole night,” Jennie argued as she wasn’t the one to walk up to someone.

“To sex!” Lisa’s words earned squeals and shouts from the other girls, Jennie drowned herself in yet another shot. Her world was slowly starting to spin, knowing that in three more shots, she would be perfectly drunk. That type that left her euphoric and not blackout drunk.

“I will be back.” Jennie found herself making it to the bathrooms, there was no line fortunately for her as she walked in. The music was still making her body vibrate despite being muffled in the bathroom that was filled with the chatter of girls in the cubicles and by the sink.

She was trying her best, but it was difficult to just throw herself back out there. There were plenty of fish in the sea, but the deep waters would always be scary and she had just managed to dip herself in it.

She reached into her purse after finishing her quick business as her phone had started to buzz. Her eyes squinted to read the texts that were a tinge blurry, all she could tell was that they were from her friends who had spammed the group chat and made it hard to understand what the topic was or why they were texting incoherent words to begin with.

“Jesus!” Jennie exclaimed at the bang that came on her door, making her shut her phone off right away. Her heart jumped at how scared she got and she planted her hand against the door for safety even if there were other people in the bathroom.

“Knock knock.” Her heart jumped much higher now.

“Y/n?” She questioned the voice that was all too familiar and made her whole body feel like jelly from the second she heard it.

“Hey, sexy.”

“No, definitely not, Y/n–get the fuck away from me.” It was like a disease if Y/n touched her. She would get infected right away.

Fun fact: Jennie lied to her friends when she said that she was over Y/n.

“Happy Birthday, Jen–”

“Please, we’re over, I do not want to see you and you know it, Y/n.” Jennie was desperate for the girl to leave. Her night had been perfect and now that Y/n had appeared from nowhere, she knew what mistakes she would make and how the night would get better because she missed Y/n. The easiest fish to catch for Y/n was Jennie, she reeled her in with ease.

It never was a messy breakup as they agreed on it, but it still took a toll because despite knowing that they at times were no good for each other, they still loved strongly. They loved each other stronger than anyone else, even their families didn't get that kind of love and Jennie loved her mother dearly. Which also made it an easy decision that was hard to go through with.

“Do I? I know that I want to see you, Jennie. I am quite sure you want to see me too.” Jennie heaved a sigh, staring at the stall door while fighting all these urges. She wanted to convince herself that she would stand in this cubicle until her death just to avoid Y/n. That if she walked out of it she would walk right past her and not look back because they were supposed to be looking at their future.

This was the woman Jennie had planned a future with.

She would let Y/n spit that addicting poison right back into her mouth, there were still remnants of it left as she hadn’t moved on.

She unlocked the cubicle.

God, Jennie was weak, as in literally and metaphorically.

Y/n blocked the way as she stepped inside the cubicle and closed it before locking it too. She leaned back against the door and her eyes took in Jennie to the fullest.

The brunette widened her eyes and looked up at the girl who was younger by a few months as she had that usual enigmatic smile that always made Jennie curious about what she was thinking. That always drew Jennie in and made her cling to her and ask about it all, the answers were always the best. Her face was still as perfect as when they met, those eyes that would always gaze with adoration, perfectly plump lips, upturned nose, her slim figure, and all that Jennie always was attracted to when it came to her looks. Although, it had always been far more than just her looks that Jennie was attracted to.

“Sexy was no joke–” Y/n stopped talking, realising that she hadn’t seen her in four months after seeing each other every day for the past five years and living together for the past three and a half. The cubicle was getting Jennie’s scent trapped, the one that made it possible to sleep at night and Y/n had to spray her sheets with it unless she wanted more sleepless nights. The woman was dressed simply yet she made it look complicated with her beauty, a backless top, and black cargos, her figure shown off. Black had always been her colour and Y/n had always loved her in black, from clothes to lingerie.

Neither of them was over the other.

“Y/n.” Jennie said and her hands came up to plant themselves against Y/n's stomach when she stepped closer. Y/n smiled, her hand brushing over Jennie’s bare arm and it was enough to send shocks of familiarity and longing through the kitten's whole body. It was like it was shaking her from how electric it was, it was as if her body was charged right back up and coming back to life.

She sighed and suddenly took the few steps back that were needed for her back to touch the stall and make her somewhat squirm at how cold it was against her shoulder blades. It was overwhelming to have Y/n so close to her, their eyes stuck right together, those emotions of longing, and sadness, yet so much happiness at the back of it all of seeing one another again.

“It was so different waking up today with an empty bed and no Jennie to spoil from morning to night—it was more than an empty bed.” Y/n’s tone fell, one that was loud enough just for Jennie to hear. The slender fingers reached up to the face that held home on it, fingers running along Jennie’s jaw. It was still the same woman, the one Y/n fell in love with.

This was so bad for the Jennie who had lied about moving on.

This was so good for the Jennie who never wanted to move on.

Jennie grabbed hold of Y/n’s hand and removed it from her face, although she didn’t let go of it. It felt too good to hold her again. “How did you know I would be here? You weren’t looking for me, were you?” A sly and cheeky smile graced Y/n’s lips at the question. Out of the whole nightlife of Seoul she still somehow managed to run into her. It was the popular area in Gangnam, one they used to head to all the time, but still.

“No, not much better to do on weekends than to go out with friends now that I don’t have you. I knew it was your birthday, so all I did was hope that you would show up at this club at some point.” She had hoped she would at least catch a glimpse of her. It was shot in the dark as Seoul was big and it had been hours since they went out, but all she did was hope that Jennie would head out for her birthday–hopefully without anyone new.

“I’ve missed you–a lot.” Y/n was the first to admit it, her fingers intertwined with Jennie’s as she had never let go of her hand. She raised it before pinning it beside her head, taking that small step that left them dangerously close to each other. Jennie gripped Y/n’s black sweatshirt, unsure if she wanted to push her away or drag her closer.

“I’ve missed you too.” There wasn’t a single nerve in her body that could make her hold back on those words. Jennie looked down at Y/n’s lips as she had licked them. God knew how much she had missed her. It couldn't have been healthy. It made Jennie act out in way she hadn't done before. It made her feel crazy. 

“Are you here with someone?” Y/n knew the question could have many answers, she was praying for one that didn’t involve someone who had replaced her. Could anyone replace her?

“With–” The answer came before Jennie could utter it herself.

“Jennie?” It was Jisoo.

Followed by Lisa. “Are you here?”

“You think she just left?” Chaeyoung questioned.

“Check the stalls?”

The two looked at each other. It would be bad news for Jennie if she was seen with Y/n in the same cubicle right now. There was no way she would be able to explain herself and even if she would be able to–was it bad that she didn’t want to leave just yet? Maybe the best gift she could have received on her birthday was to fill that hole that had been left after an important part of her life had left. Even for one night.

Their silent communication worked wonders still after being away for four months. Y/n stepped back, grabbing hold of the top of the stall as she got on top of the toilet seat while helping Jennie up by pulling her by her hand. The two somehow managed to squeeze on that seat, holding onto one another to not fall.

Even if it was just for a night, it would still make it another memorable birthday.

Jennie didn’t have to tell her friends about it.

“I swear to God if she left with her.” The two looked at each other at what Chaeyoung said.

“Are you sure it was Y/n?”

“Yes, I could recognise that little shithead from miles away.”

“What did you tell them–” Jennie covered Y/n’s mouth so they wouldn’t be heard by accident. It was baffling to the girl to hear Chaeyoung talk about her like that. Had they both agreed to a breakup if Jennie had talked bad about Y/n to relieve her gloom and anger?

“She’s over her.”

“Who knows anymore? It’s like she’s someone completely different without her and it’s not even in a good way.” Y/n’s eyes softened at the words that left Jisoo and Jennie hid her face in her arm as she was still covering Y/n’s mouth.

“Maybe she found a hookup and forgot to text–just send another message because she’s not here.”

The two waited for a good minute before they climbed down the toilet seat and Jennie opened her phone to see the text in the group chat. This time she scrolled up to see that they were all saying how Y/n was at the bar and they were waiting for Jennie so they could leave for a new one. She decided to text them about finding a hookup.

“What did you tell them to hate me so much?” Y/n questioned again and Jennie put her phone away.

“I was pissed okay–cut me some slack if you were the one to walk out the door,” Jennie grumbled and opened the stall as she walked out of it at last. Y/n followed right after her, picking up in her pace as the shorter girl took quick steps until she got to the countertop with the sinks.

“Hey, hey, I thought it was a mutual agreement to break up.” Now Y/n was confused because despite it feeling almost impossible to leave they agreed on it. She thought they both left with the same intentions and the same mindset. They loved each other, but at times it felt like they did love too much and it held them back.

“Yeah, it felt like I had no other choice but to agree when you suggested that we break up.” Jennie had tried to force that mindset on herself, to be on the same page because she knew what the problem was of being together and still living in the past. They needed to grow up. It was stupid, she did want to grow up, but she didn’t want to grow apart. It caused her temporary depression, anger, and frustrations which she took out by bad-mouthing Y/n to her friends. It hurt her to see the woman she had spent five years with just walk out the door as if Jennie hadn’t been a major part of her life.

“Are you angry at me because you didn’t tell me how you felt?”

“Yes, I am because what would it change if I said no? I thought you knew me well enough to understand that I didn’t want any of this, Y/n.” The latter was in disbelief at the words as she stood behind Jennie who was furiously washing her hands. It went quiet between the two of them, the only thing filling the silence was the muffled music and chatter of people around them. No one around them mattered though, they never did when they were together. It was like they were in a different world with each other.

Jennie stopped and held onto the counter, a frown on her face as she looked at Y/n through the mirror. She felt like a fool for being the only one, for thinking that Y/n would be able to read her mind. She knew that it was her fault too because it had been a suggestion and she agreed when she felt like there was no other choice. There was a reason why she had suggested it and Jennie knew that it was valid. She just didn’t want to go through with it and stupidly expected for Y/n to read her mind like some idiot. 

“Come on.” Y/n didn’t answer the question. She couldn’t answer it because she didn’t want to hurt Jennie by making her realise the time they wasted away from each other. Y/n would have stayed. She only suggested what she thought would benefit them both, it did in one way as it let them realise what they truly needed. 

They needed each other.

She grabbed her hand and Jennie was led through the club. She just let her steal her away. It was how they met and she would always let Y/n drag her anywhere like the first time they met at a party where Y/n dragged her away from it only to give her the most memorable night of her life by showing her how to let go.

“Jacket, why do you not have a jacket?” Y/n questioned as they stepped out of the bar and were met by the cold night of January with snow lying around.

“I left it in the car we came in.” Y/n shook her head while exhaling through her nose and removing the oversized leather jacket she had on.

“You’re being stupid–What’re you even planning to do?” Jennie questioned, Y/n was now left in the black loose sweatshirt as she moved behind Jennie. The girl looked back while putting her arms through the sleeves. She was confused, but she couldn’t just walk away. She had no idea what Y/n was planning on doing. They weren’t together, they were supposed to live their own lives, and she had no clue why she had stayed. What was the plan if they were broken up?

“It would feel wrong to run into you and not give you a gift on your birthday,” Y/n argued, coming back around and bending her knees slightly to grab the ends of the jacket to zip it up. Jennie was drowning in the warmth that Y/n had left after her together with the scent that she wanted to bury her face in. It felt like she would maybe regret it afterwards because she was quite sure they would go back to their new lives right after parting ways again. It would feel like the break-up all over again.

“I do not expect anything from you if we aren’t toge–” Y/n didn’t seem to listen to Jennie when she grabbed her hand and made her walk beside her. She didn’t hold her hand like they always used to do, but her palm rested against Jennie’s lower back to make sure that she wasn’t getting lost anywhere.

It was crowded with people, they were flooding from everywhere and Y/n kept walking without a stop. She was stuck with her gaze on Y/n who looked down at her with a small smile. It was enough to make Jennie’s world blind and her heart bounce in a familiar beat. Had she just broken Jennie’s walls down once again, but even quicker than she did the first time? It was frustrating. She let Y/n in so easily when she should lock her out, put up millions of walls, higher than the sky, with no way in or out. 

“Y/n?”

There was so much she could tell her right now and she couldn’t tell how Y/n would respond to any of it.

“I know it’s a lot to ask for after everything, but could you do one thing for me, Jennie? To just forget everything for two hours, three tops.” Y/n interrupted all the questions Jennie would like to ask. She felt horrible to know the truth that they both agreed to something they thought the other wanted. Y/n never wanted to break up with her, but neither did she want to be an obstacle in Jennie’s life. The stupid little fights they had still hurt them both, the last thing Y/n ever wanted was to hurt Jennie, but she still somehow did. 

She knew that she should have known, and maybe she did at the back of her head since she had known Jennie for over five years. Things sometimes just didn’t go as planned.

It wasn’t hard to forget when she was with her again. Y/n made everything bad go away.

“Fine, Y/n,” she still trusted her with her life. She'd jump right back into those deep waters where her only safety was Y/n. 

“Okay, sit down right here and do not run away,” Y/n said after they had entered a convenience store. She pulled the stool out and guided Jennie to sit on it who was still busy figuring out what the girl was doing and why they had to pass so many other stores and stop at this one. With no other choice, Jennie sat and only glanced back at Y/n who disappeared between the shelves. There was slight anticipation growing in her the whole time, she stayed fiddling with her fingers as she rested her hands atop the table.

She stopped for a moment, grabbed the collar of the jacket that was oversized and pulled it up to her nose. The scent had washed off of her clothes at home, the clothes Y/n had left behind had been worn to where the scent no longer lingered on them and she had to wash them. It made Jennie curious how Y/n went through it.

Had she also been pathetically looking through endless photos in her gallery?

Drowned herself in Jennie’s scent?

Had Y/n finished the season finale of the series they had been watching together, but broke up right when the finale came out. Jennie had been waiting even if they weren’t together and would never get to know the end.

Had she been dwelling in all their plans for the future that now only was a past?

Had she been hurting just as much?

Jennie heaved a sigh and let go of the collar, reaching her hands up to her eyes as she knew that she wasn’t over Y/n. She was holding on, she was even out with Y/n even if it would feel like the break up all over again once Y/n would leave. Her fingers gently patted away the wetness that had warmed in her eyes. How did she let go of something that was securing her from falling off the ride?

It was time to stop dwelling when Y/n sat down right beside her on the vacant stool.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” The girl sucked air through her teeth and quickly put the noodle bowl down that was steaming. Jennie looked at what more she somehow managed to carry when she leaned over and dropped the things on the table.

“Since I am no chef, this is the best I could do and the ramen is how you like it.” She started while taking the ice cup and opening it. Jennie slid it over to herself and peeled off the lid fully. It was just ramen with Y/n making it fancier and better by adding more toppings; Jennie was desperate as she could never get it right since Y/n always made it for her the way Jennie loved it. It was just instant ramen, but it was her comfort food which hadn’t been the comfort she had been looking for. It would somehow suffice for now.

“Thanks.” She was a bit more than thankful, but she wasn’t sure how else she should thank her.

“Don’t thank me, it’s your birthday.” Jennie chuckled at that as she grabbed the chopsticks and looked at Y/n who poured the mango-flavoured iced tea into the cup with ice.

“Very thoughtful to drag me to a convenience store.” Y/n shook her head and picked up the cup, taking two big gulps before placing it back down.

“Yeah, God forbid I drag you to a fancy restaurant–don’t worry though…” Y/n trailed off and Jennie moved back slightly when she reached over to her. She smiled at Jennie, her face just a few inches away from Jennie’s as she reached over to the other side. Y/n’s hand reached into the right pocket of her jacket that Jennie had on while sitting on her left.

Jennie wasn’t sure what she wanted when Y/n was so close to her. One thing she was certain of was that she missed all of Y/n’s loving and caring touches, the ones that always touched her soul. Jennie missed being held in her arms, falling asleep with them around her. She missed the safety, the security that came from being in them, and the feeling of not having to be afraid to be herself because she trusted Y/n so much.

She grabbed what she was looking for with a sly grin as she pulled away. “If you celebrate, you have to celebrate right, don’t you?” Y/n let out in a more hushed tone that was still honeyed and Jennie could listen to her talking all day. That was something she had done because Y/n always had something to talk about.

The kitten parted her lips at the flask Y/n had taken out of her pocket, taking the cup down and placing it between her thighs. “Since when do you carry a flask around?” Jennie questioned, the last time she had seen Y/n with one was when they were still in college. It kind of worried her that maybe the girl had started drinking. Y/n let out a breathless chuckle, unscrewing the steel flask before filling the iced tea back up to the brim, but this time with tequila.

“Only today.” She reassured Jennie and lolled her head to the side to look at Jennie. That smile did not leave as she put the lock on, the flask back in the left pocket instead and she put the straw through the lock before mixing it up. 

Jennie rolled her eyes as she, at last, started to eat the instant ramen that tasted better than most things she had ever eaten simply because it was made by Y/n. It also was something that killed all her cravings that were caused by the alcohol and food had simply never tasted better. Y/n always knew just what Jennie needed by looking at her. Yet she had somehow missed how Jennie never truly wanted to part ways.

“Just don’t inhale everything, I want a bite before you do.” Y/n laughed when Jennie elbowed her, making Y/n squirm away. “God, you’re rude.”

“Stop being a little piece of shit, Y/n.” Jennie seriously said and looked at Y/n who was already looking at her through her lashes with the straw in her mouth. “Not cute.”

“I tried.” Y/n said in defeat and handed the large plastic cup to Jennie who slid the ramen over to her with the chopsticks. “Oh, my bite is gonna come with extra flavours since there are Jennie germs in it.” Jennie hurt her throat when she swallowed the lump of iced tea with tequila before she could spit it out because she felt that huff before she giggled.

“Stop acting imbecilic.”

“Imbecilic, big words for a 28-year-old. I can say that I’m proud of you.” Jennie rolled her eyes and watched Y/n slurp up a bite of noodles with a hum after. “So good–”

“Don’t.” Jennie stopped her before she could say something stupid again and pulled the ramen back to herself. It was all coming right back, just being with Y/n for a few minutes, starting a conversation, and she was reminded all again why she loved her so much. How she made her feel so good about herself, how she cut Jennie slack by being herself which let Jennie drop all her guards down right away and be herself too. How she was back to feeling ten years younger and like she could just be herself for the night or whenever she got back home to Y/n–used to.

“Here, the monster is coming for your mouth, Jennie.”

“You did not just say that out loud Y/n.” Jennie giggled, the younger girl holding the gimbap and guiding it towards her mouth as it was still in one piece. Y/n gasped and looked at Jennie in disbelief. “Ew, why are you being dirty-minded, Jen.” She slapped Y/n’s shoulder, her cheeks hurting from how much she had been smiling and giggling. It didn’t matter if Y/n had asked her to forget everything for a few hours, Y/n automatically made her forget everything.

“You are, I didn’t say that I had something dirty in mind.” She defended herself. The two did not care about the rest of the people who went in and out of the store, or the people passing by the window. The radio played the most recent K-pop songs to fill the store, but all they could focus on were each other's words, giggles, and stares which were numbing all the pain.

Y/n grinned and shot her eyebrows up in a manner that suggested that the next words to leave her mouth would be far from appropriate as she still held the gimbap up ready to feed the feline. “Well, you can surely open wide enough for it to fit–” Y/n squeaked at the pain when Jennie this time hit her thigh, hitting a nerve because the pain made her hunch over.

“Not fitting at all.” Y/n chuckled at the words that came from Jennie and she looked up at her as she was still hunched over. “Is the joke not fitting or the gimbap?” Jennie groaned at that and Y/n sat up straight.

“Okay, here comes the train–Better?” Y/n asked.

Jennie hummed and opened her mouth as Y/n went back to trying to feed her a bite after they both devoured the noodles together. She grabbed hold of Y/n’s writs to make sure she aimed right and at last managed to bite off a piece. The latter reached over to Jennie’s face whose cheeks were fluffed out from having her mouth full.

Her finger brushed the corner of Jennie’s lips who only turned her head more to Y/n as she was used to it. The girl always fed her, always wiped her mouth, always knew what to order, what was needed in which mood. She scooped up the grain of rice and licked it off her thumb before poking Jennie’s cheek who whined.

“You’re still as cute when you eat, God I could squish the literal life out of you until there’s a bloody explosion.”

“That raises many warnings, Y/n,” Jennie mumbled as she swallowed the food at last and watched Y/n take a bite herself while Jennie took a sip of the iced tea that they had drunk a third off. It had made Jennie more than just a bit tipsy now, the drunk slowly incoming, but she didn’t mind as she could tell that Y/n was in the same state.

“It should because if I were to use enough pressure to squeeze you, you’d die.”

Jennie widened her eyes and slowly turned her head to the side to glance at Y/n.

“Why are you saying these things?” She questioned and Y/n fed her another bite.

“I don’t know, they are just these impulsive things that leave my mouth so be careful if they become actual gestures.” Jennie shoved Y/n who was laughing yet again.

The girl always did the most random gestures of affection towards Jennie. Say these words that were somewhere between cute and concerning, but Jennie loved it all. The way she would do more than just buy her flowers, all these small things Jennie had always taken notice of. She’d go as far as to perfectly place Jennie’s slippers beside the bed so she could slip them on right away when she woke up. Now Jennie’s slippers were mostly discarded messily because she always kicked them off when getting into bed with no Y/n to fix them.

“Hold on, or we will get there next week.” Y/n stopped and let go of Jennie’s hand that was clasped with hers, the older one swaying them back and forth as she was walking in a mix of steps, skips, and whatever else she was doing with her feet, dancing her way to the next destination which was slowing them down. Y/n needed to be there on time. 

“You got me drunk.” Jennie sang out, shuffling in place with her feet.

“We’re in the same boat, Miss Kim.” The said girl giggled as she had been slowing them down by doing everything but walking. Y/n pulled Jennie to her by the jacket and she crashed into her.

“Where are you taking me?” Jennie questioned and Y/n turned around.

“Get on my back first.” She ushered and bent her knees.

“Want me to mount you like a stallion?” Y/n snorted at that.

“Who is dirty-minded now?”

“It’s a disease carried by you,” Jennie replied and grabbed hold of Y/n’s shoulders with her hands. She huffed and Y/n stumbled a step before managing to stabilise herself with her arms wrapping around Jennie’s thighs. 

“Now I’m carrying a parasite–ouch.” Y/n winced when she got gently bonked at the top of her head before she looked to her side. Jennie peeked in with a smile on her lips, her arms loosely wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders whose eyes were creasing from her smile. 

“Well? Walk, horsie.” Jennie ordered and gently nudged Y/n with her heel as if she were an actual horse.

She did start walking, making it out of the Gangnam district much quicker despite her legs needing some stabilising to not fall as her coordination was slightly off and she was carrying Jennie. The girl on her back rested her cheek against the side of her head, snuggling closer to Y/n to keep her warm as she still had her jacket on. She had already planned how to end up with the jacket at home because she knew that Y/n would walk her to the entrance of her apartment building at the end of the night. She never let Jennie walk alone at night, she’d always pick her up with the car if Jennie didn’t drive, or she’d walk with her. It didn't matter if Jennie was with friends or if Y/n was busy, she would always get there. 

“Y/n…” Jennie mumbled, looking ahead as they continued to walk, Y/n adjusted the girl on her back as they were close to the destination. She hummed, glancing down at Jennie’s fingers to see the girl tugging on them and she could tell that whatever it was it was something that made Jennie worried or uneasy. “Did you–did you try seeing anyone during these four months?” She asked, dreading the answer because she had no clue how Y/n had spent these past four months. If she had spent two whole months crying, a month trying to leave the house without bags under her eyes or if she skipped all of it.

Y/n chuckled, giving her thigh a squeeze that made Jennie whine at the ticklish sensation. “God no, I’ve been staying with my mum at this big age and working from home. I didn’t leave the house and just stayed with mum even if she continuously scolded me.” She admitted. She hadn’t even thought about another woman aside from Jennie. Y/n couldn’t tell how many hours she spent in bed crying while listening to the 'Disintegration album by The Cure'.

Jennie felt relief wash over her to know that she hadn’t been the only one. It made her feel less of a fool and made her feel better. It was confirmation that they both took it hard because they both loved each other.

“What was she scolding you for?” She curiously asked.

“Not obvious for your little pea brain?” Y/n questioned.

“Never mind then,” Jennie grumbled, rolling her eyes and Y/n stopped walking.

“Get off me now–” Y/n wiggled Jennie off of her, the girl sliding back down onto her feet, her hands letting go of Y/n’s shoulders when she was fully off. It felt cold and if they were both honest neither of them wanted to pull away. “She scolded me for leaving you and said that I would never get the family ring to propose to the next girl I would meet because you were the only right one and worthy of having it.” It made Jennie’s heart drop as Y/n grabbed her hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. It hurt, it hurt them both badly to know that the planned future was in the past.

They had both agreed to wait for marriage and a family until they were at a perfect place in their lives. There was no such thing as a perfect place in their lives when it had been perfect ever since they met. The only thing they had to wait for was to finish studying and have stable enough jobs to start a family. Nothing could have been more perfect and they had waited long enough for a perfect moment to never come now.

Jennie sighed and looked down at her feet as she walked in sync with Y/n. The realisation of actually being 28 now hit her, and if she would ever move on, she’d be too old to start that family of two kids. Unless she would rush into it all. The anxiety started to eat at her as she had never processed what being 28 meant. What did it matter if she was working her dream job if she was earning money that let her live comfortably, if she was in a stable place in her life? When she wasn’t even close to stable in her love life that was dead.

“We’re here.” Jennie looked up from the void under her that was ready to swallow her as it had started to drag her down and had invited her to suffer with endless anticipatory fear. Over the five years she had spent her birthdays with Y/n, she had managed to forget how depressing they were. How anxious they had always made her. Another year had just passed by and there were things Jennie had yet to do. She had forgotten how much she hated birthdays.

Y/n took out her phone and looked at the time it was 11:09 P.M. and Jennie gasped when Y/n tugged on her. “Quick before it’s too late.” Jennie found herself running towards the Banpodaegyo bridge whose neon lights were glowing. People were walking along the bridge, but Jennie and Y/n were running like their lives depended on it.

“I’m gonna fall,” Jennie whined as her legs were barely keeping up with Y/n’s longer ones, to add she was still under the influence and her running felt bumpy and very unsteady. They made it onto the bridge, Jennie tried to slow down, but Y/n did not let her and continued to run. “Y/n!” The girl let out in panic, making Y/n look over her shoulder at Jennie who was doing her best to keep up. The two were too occupied to care about anyone who would glance their way. Her shorter legs were messily trying to run and she was sure she'd run into something if Y/n wasn't guiding her as she felt herself leaning to one side more. 

It soon turned into giggles and Y/n finally stopped, letting Jennie crash into her when she turned around and yanked her into her. Her arms wrapped around the panting girl as they made it to the middle of the bridge. “I could have died.” She tiredly complained, heaving for breath as she was not the best athlete after drinking. Y/n chuckled and grabbed hold of Jennie’s waist, gently pulling her away and looking down at her as she looked up.

“You’re being dramatic–” Y/n said and turned Jennie to face the Han River, the kitten leaned against the railing and looked over the dark river where the moon was being illuminated. She let out a sigh, taking in the scenery while fog left her mouth from the small pants of air. 

The younger one busied herself with digging through the pocket of her loose jeans. She got nothing and put her hand into the left one and finally stumbled upon what she was looking for. “Okay, here–you have to throw the coin into the water and make a wish, it’s about to be 11:11 and it’s your birthday so whatever you wish for has to come true.” Jennie turned her head and looked at Y/n with some confusion before letting her eyes fall onto the coin in Y/n’s palm.

“Y/n, I’m not five–” She was cut off by Y/n who took Jennie’s hand and put the cold coin in her hold.

“You are never too old for wishes, I have never heard of that law.” The younger seriously said and Jennie sighed as she turned back to the river. She looked down at the coin in her palm before she clutched it in her hand while Y/n leaned beside her and waited patiently. “Make sure to close your eyes, it’s 11 now.” She reminded her and watched how Jennie closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. Despite trying to protest at first she seemed to be in deep thought as her brows creased slightly and she was focusing hard.

Jennie threw the coin and opened her eyes as she stood on her toes to follow it with her eyes, but lost sight after a second as it got swallowed by the darkness. “When will it come true?” She asked and looked to her side at Y/n who was also looking over the railing too.

“You have to wait and it will come, could be in the next hour, day, week, or years, but at some point, it will come true.” Y/n reassured her before she pulled away from the railing. This time she took out her earphones, putting one in her ear.

Jennie frowned as she now was invested in the whole ordeal and wanted to see if it really would come true. Would she have to wait years?

“Come on,” Y/n grabbed hold of Jennie’s hand and the girl was somewhat hesitant to leave now that she had made a wish. Scared it wouldn’t come true if she left.

“But it will come true, right?” She asked to make sure while taking the one earphone that was handed to her.

“It’s the best day to make a wish since it’s your birthday, so obviously yes.” Jennie took one last glance before she clung to Y/n’s arm.

‘L$D - A$AP Rocky’

The two walked in silence through the rest of the bridge, rather admiring the moment in silence than filling it with chatter while listening to the music. The peace still managed to create memories as Jennie felt nostalgic and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was walking with Y/n again or not. Her side leaned into Y/n who put her arm around her shoulders as they walked instead. By the time they made it to the end of the bridge, the next song started playing and Jennie was so familiar with them that it confused her.

‘As Long as You Follow - Fleetwood Mac’

“You won’t mind if I take you to one more place?” Y/n questioned and Jennie looked up at her with docile eyes. She blinked them as they had glossed over and there was a lump in her throat for whatever reason. God, she did not want it to end. Jennie wanted this night to last forever. If she could somehow make it last forever she would do just that. Everything to not have Y/n leave her by the end of the night. Jennie shook her head as Y/n could take her to the edge of the world and she wouldn’t mind, she could drag her across all continents and she would be content.

The song was warming Jennie's soul, the lump pushing itself in her throat and she couldn't get over it. She almost wanted to curse Y/n out for playing Fleetwood Mac as they always listened to the band together. Y/n especially loved them. It was as if Y/n wanted to make her cry by playing this song and Jennie was forcing the tears back despite a few strays falling only to what she thought was her knowledge, forgetting that Y/n noticed everything about her. Her lips quivered and her heart thudded heavily. 

Y/n hauled a cab and opened the door for Jennie who was citing all the songs.

‘Wot’s…Uh the Deal - Pink Floyd’

All of them weren’t necessarily songs Jennie listened to, but what Y/n listened to as she had a wide range of music tastes. She could still remember how excited Y/n would get to play them to Jennie on the guitar, acoustic or electric, it didn’t matter. She would sit down with Jennie and teach her how to play certain songs and help the girl get better at the string instrument. Sit right behind her and teach her each fret, tab, and chord that had to be played. She would always be so patient. 

‘10:37 - Beach House’

Her eyes gazed through the window as she held onto Y/n’s hand who had her arm around her shoulders. The night slowly passed, people still roamed the streets, and lights turned red before turning green, Jennie only watched how the time passed while the car moved through the streets of Seoul.

‘Five String Serenade - Mazzy Star’

If she couldn’t make this night last forever, she would like time the time to pass by slowly. To make it last as long as possible, or for the road to never end and sit in Y/n’s arms her whole life. That way all her worries about her uncertain future would disappear. She would disappear in these songs while loving whatever simple things came to her as long as they were from Y/n. 

‘What kind of love - Childish Gambino’

“Where are we going?” Jennie asked at last as she hadn’t heard where Y/n was taking them. She just followed. Y/n gave her a cheeky smile as she looked down at Jennie. Her hand untangled itself from Jennie’s two and she used it to brush away some of the hair that was falling in her face before letting her hand fall back down as it was resting around Jennie. The girl clung back onto it, playing with Y/n’s fingers. “You will see in a second ‘cause we’re almost there.” Jennie pouted at that and rested her head on Y/n’s shoulder.

‘Teenager - Deftones’

She started to feel like she had been thrown in a time capsule as the view of the Seoul tower was much more clear now. Jennie moved from Y/n’s hold and looked closer at where exactly they were heading. Her sight was somewhat blurry from the alcohol that she had consumed, but she knew that she wasn’t drunk enough to be this delusional.

‘Bel Air - Lana Del Rey’

“Why are we stopping by the cable cars?” She questioned and looked back at Y/n who paid the man who had driven them from the bridge to the cable cars that went up to the tower. Jennie wouldn’t be questioning it all too much if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was closed.

“I rather take a cable car than walk a dark trail at night, Jen,” Y/n said with a chuckle and opened the door before getting out. She held it open and Jennie got out with the girl’s help, bidding one last goodbye to the driver before closing the door to the car. With that she led the way, still dragging a confused Jennie with her.

“It’s closed though.” She deadpanned. It closed at 11 P.M. and it was 11:45 P.M. and Jennie’s birthday was almost over. She was starting to feel like Cinderella and soon enough she’d leave and leave everything behind her. Maybe this would be her last time with Y/n. It didn’t add up in her head and she didn’t want it. Although she felt like she wasn’t the one to make this decision, she was too scared to do it. What if she would get rejected?

“I helped a client invest and win a lot of money. He’s connected to the news Channel who owns it and since he was going to give me a bonus I asked if he could instead fix this for me.” Y/n explained and the girl frowned.

‘When the Sun Hits - Slowdive’

“Okay, and how did you time it all so well that it happened to be now that you ran into me?” Jennie questioned with some suspicion. Y/n chuckled, the kitten looking at her to see the dimples showing and she squeezed her smaller hand.

“Hey, I told you that I hoped I would run into you earlier and so with that hope, I picked this date and if I hadn’t run into you, I would have gone with one of my friends or alone.” Y/n shrugged it off as she knew that Jennie would realise soon enough as the strongest effects of the alcohol had slowly started to subside. They were approached by a guard and Y/n confirmed her identity as Jennie was digging in her blurry brain for what it exactly was.

It wasn’t long until they had made it up the stairs and the cable car was open and waiting. Y/n let Jennie get on first before getting on after the door closed. It was in queue when the next song started playing and Y/n laughed.

‘How You Remind Me - Nickelback’

“It doesn’t count if you aren’t screaming the lyrics Jennie—And this is how you remind me.”

“Y/n…”Jennie shied away like she always did.

“Come on, it’s just us—” Jennie looked unconvinced for a second as they sat in the cable car that was riding up over the dark forest, over the empty road. She giggled as Y/n pulled out the invincible guitar as the pre-chorus started. It was somewhat between childish, but also freeing as Y/n turned up the volume. “Sing or you are flying out.” Y/n threatened.

There truly never were any reasons to hold back when she was with Y/n and they always screamed songs until they lost their voices.

“It’s not like you to say sorry!”

Maybe it was because she was still under the influence, but it could be Y/n’s influence or the alcohol. She found herself singing the whole song with Y/n, knowing every word of it while sharing the invincible microphone with Y/n. The second Y/n laid her eyes on Jennie the girl had that big gummy smile that she adored so much. It was a smile she always wanted to be the cause of and she knew that it wouldn’t be possible if they were away. Unless Jennie still smiled this big whenever she looked back at the memories they had made together.

It was that feeling of being back in college, of being back together with Y/n. Screaming songs, wandering nights, getting lost in what love was for them. It was overwhelmingly good and it was sentimental whenever she looked back at those times. They had never been lost as she knew that Y/n let her live it all over and over again, but that was when they were together. Love was something only Y/n could make her feel on this type of level. The one that healed all the time, surely forgetting all the suffering she had done the past four months. 

“All we need to do now is start a band together,” she found herself giggling at Y/n’s words, burying her face in her shoulder as they took out the earphones. She wrapped her arm around Jennie, rubbing her back and unable to even try to let the smile fall. Compared to the Jennie she first cornered in the bathroom, it was like seeing the Jennie she left, being able to bring her right back to life. The Jennie she never should have left even if they both agreed that it would be better. At times there is no such thing as the right thing to do, but possibly people could forgive the mistake when all she had in mind was the best for the girl.

Jennie heaved a sigh and suddenly, as if lightning struck her and woke her up, she realised what it was. Her lips parted, but before she could say anything they had reached the top and their fingers intertwined as they walked out. With a man from staff, they were led to the tower and then to the elevator.

Y/n looked down at Jennie, she kind of figured that the woman had figured it out by now. She looked almost devastated as her gaze was on the floor.

She felt like crying, she wanted to hate Y/n for doing something like this to her, but she couldn’t. This was probably the best gift she could have received, but the biggest problem was that she didn’t have Y/n. They walked out of the elevator, it was silent with just the two of them and Jennie let go of Y/n’s hand as she walked over to the windows. The whole thing was overwhelming as she was keeping her tears at bay and bit her lower lip, taking in a shaky breath as she looked over the view of Seoul at night in the tower that was closed to everyone but them…again.

Y/n put her hands in her pockets to warm them and stood just a step behind Jennie, being able to catch the woman’s reflection in the window. She had realised and Y/n had been expecting Jennie to get emotional because she was always a soft and emotional kitten.

“Those were all the songs we listened to that night in the exact order.” Jennie pointed out as she realised why the songs brought her so much nostalgia and why the order of them rang so many bells in her head. She wouldn’t have noticed otherwise, but the order was just right and now they had screamed the lyrics in that cable car once again while reaching the top. It all came rushing to Jennie.

“I know,” the taller girl simply replied, but she had hoped the whole night that Jennie would realise.

Now it made sense why they walked past so many convenience stores before they at last walked into that specific one.

“But you said that you put on shuffle with over 5k songs in your liked ones,” Jennie mumbled and lifted her head to catch Y/n’s reflection. The view was mesmerising, but what Y/n had done, what she had given her as a birthday present was much more meaningful and mesmerising than the view. It made Jennie turn around to look at her, a pout resting on her lips as her cheeks were stained with a few tear streaks.

“I made sure to put them all in a playlist until we stopped listening, which was when we left the cable car back in 2018, January 16th when we first met and I stole you from a club.”

Jennie jutted out her lower lip as Y/n had always been thoughtful, had always done small gestures that meant the world to her, and had been loving and caring. She hated that she had to be all those things when they weren’t together. It wasn’t fair. “Why?” Her voice cracked and her nose pricked before the tears won and spilled over her eyes.

Y/n gave her a soft and gentle smile, taking her hands out of her pockets. Her hands came up to Jennie’s face as she cupped her cheeks which were cold and soft in her hold, wet with tears that were warm on her cold skin that was tinted a light pink like her nose. She leaned into her hold with a sniffle, the ice on her skin melting at how good it felt to be in the warmth that was home.

“I kind of figured out that night that I would marry you and you seemed to be in bliss because of the night—so I thought that if I were to mess up big along the way I could replay the night for you and make it good again by doing exactly what I did the first time we met and then got together shortly after.” The girl admitted. She had regretted every moment away from Jennie because what she thought was right truly wasn’t. Her last hope was to show Jennie what they were together and hope that even if she suggested it, Jennie would want her right back. It was a stupid mistake, but everyone made them. Y/n just hoped that it wasn’t too late to fix what was broken.

She at least didn't want Jennie to hate her, hoping all she could leave were good memories after her. 

Nothing was broken though. They were only broken away from each other, but it was like kintsugi the second they were right by each other again.

“I regret even suggesting it but I was thinking of you—” Jennie didn’t want to hear it, she didn’t blame Y/n. She had seen it from Y/n’s point of view and she knew how she always put Jennie first.

“I know that you were. I think we needed to be away from each other to truly realise how much we need one another to never take the other for granted or do anything to lose each other. To remember how much good we brought each other.” Jennie mumbled and Y/n huffed in relief through her nose as Jennie had always been understanding of her thinking and how she didn’t mean to make things more complicated than needed. It was enough for Jennie to forget the bad and only remember how much good they had brought, how much that had changed their lives in only good ways and she would forever cherish that.

She let go of Jennie and pulled her in for a hug, the shorter girl wrapped her arms around Y/n’s waist. She shed her last tears into her shoulder while Y/n soothed her, kissing the side of her head, and rubbing her back while holding her firmly. Jennie couldn’t tell what she was crying over anymore, but the relief made it impossible not to cry. She was still trying to comprehend how they after six years did everything they did the first time they met on Jennie’s birthday.

How Y/n somehow convinced Jennie to leave the club with her (she forgot safety the second she saw the girl).

She had dragged Jennie to that exact convenience store where they ate the same things, and Y/n mixed mango iced tea with tequila that they shared.

When they left and got to the bridge where Jennie made the wish and threw a coin in. A wish that came true because her drunk self wished for Y/n to ask her out despite meeting just an hour prior. 

How they listened to music after (those exact tracks) and took a cab.

The only difference was that Y/n had managed to lie their way into letting them take the cable car and be in the tower for just a few minutes.

After that, Y/n walked Jennie to her college dorm and got her number before they parted ways.

They had taken a cab back to the place they used to share where Jennie stayed alone now. Y/n took the elevator up with Jennie who was now opening the door and as she did– “My baby boy.” Y/n cooed as Kuma ran out barking and jumping at her legs as she hadn’t seen him in four whole months. She picked him up, moving her face away as he tried to lick at her.

“I feel bad for even saying this, but he stayed every day whining by the door and waiting for you,” Jennie admitted as she stood in the door frame, removing her sneakers and pushing them aside. She looked at Y/n who was crouched on the floor with the dog going crazy in her arms. The little puppy they had gotten together because they had still been young and wanted some kind of family together. 

“I am so sorry, Kuma.” She apologised, feeling almost just as bad for leaving him as she did with Jennie.

Jennie bit her lower lip, watching the two as Y/n put him down, but he started to run around her and barked some more. Kuma wasn’t letting Y/n go, just like Jennie didn’t want to let go. “You could come in, Y/n…” She suggested and Y/n looked from the floor, a glint in her eyes as they trailed from Jennie’s legs, over her whole body before they got to her eyes.

“Nightcap?”

“Yes, just get inside.” Y/n chuckled and picked up the dog before stepping inside the familiar apartment. It was a home, it used to be at least, but what made it a home was Jennie. She slid off her shoes as Jennie walked further inside. Her feet led her to the living room that still looked the same and the other woman wasn’t there yet as she trailed to another part of the apartment. She slumped down onto the couch and put Kuma in her lap.

Her eyes landed on the marble coffee table and she leaned closer while petting the dog. She chuckled at the thought that came to her mind. “Jennie?” She called for the woman, and the sound of her light footsteps came from behind as she left the kitchen. She hummed and Y/n turned to her, taking the whiskey on the rocks that Jennie handed her. “Did you manifest this?” She questioned and looked back down at the Polaroid photo of her right by the candles.

Jennie groaned at that as she saw how it looked. “No! I did not. I like candles and it just happened that I left it there before leaving the apartment.” She explained in her defence. The photo had been behind her phone case for all those months until she left today with the plan to hook up with someone. God forbid one of her friends would see her still carrying that picture after she purposely made Y/n look like she was a jerk behind closed doors—she wasn’t. Now it was lying by the candles and looked like she had been sitting and manifesting all of this.

“So, I’m the only one?” Y/n questioned as she took out her phone and placed it upside down on the coffee table. A polaroid of Jennie in the case and she took a sip of the cold hard liquor while glancing at Jennie who walked around to sit on the couch. The jacket she got to borrow was discarded as she left it in the kitchen just to make sure that Y/n would forget it.

She rolled her eyes and pulled her knees up to her chest before taking a sip of the golden brown liquid that hit her taste buds. It made her somewhat wince as she was always between liking and hating whiskey depending on the brand. “First of all, I took it out today, second, I'm not obliged to carry it around,” Y/n gave her a look as she knew that Jennie was trying to get on her nerves. She loved playing those little games where Y/n would piss her off and she’d do it back. Part of why she told her friends things that weren’t true.

Jennie loved being petty like that and was getting back at Y/n right now.

“So, you’re not going to put it back?” She questioned, taking sips from the crystal whiskey glass, the ice clanked around in their glasses while they looked at each other.

“Nope, it would get in the way, wouldn’t it?” Y/n helped Kuma down on the floor before she reached back for her phone. Jennie watched the girl with intensity and felt something boil in her when she saw Y/n open her case. “What’re you doing?” She seriously asked. Through the months just the thoughts of Y/n seeing someone else made Jennie kick and scream in emotions that were green and red. She was ready to pay people to stay away from her and hire people to pull every person Y/n would try to be with apart. 

“Your picture will get in the way.” She shrugged, quickly taking yet another sip of the whiskey and putting the glass down. It let her use both her hands and Jennie found herself placing her glass down too. It was boiling inside Jennie and she wanted to strangle Y/n for even uttering those words.

“No, you don’t get to do that.” Her tone went into that angry one that Y/n knew. Not angry even, emotions she only felt when it came to Y/n who she couldn’t stand thinking about being with anyone but her. She would be jealous, she’d die in jealousy, she lost it when she saw Y/n being approached by women who had clear intentions of flirting–she knew that Y/n at times gave in to the flirting just to see Jennie jealous and angry.

“I think I do if I want to find someone to hook up with–” Jennie clenched her jaw and moved onto her knees as she faced Y/n. She tried to reach for her phone but the girl held it away from her, making Jennie crawl to get closer and try to reach for it. “Weren’t those your intentions tonight when you went out and took out my picture? Oh, I clearly remember what Lisa said in that bathroom.”

“Stop that.” Jennie snapped as Y/n was reaching to remove the polaroid. It made Jennie grab hold of her arm with both hands and tackle it down onto the couch.

“You little bitch.” Y/n grumbled as Jennie snatched the phone out of her hold, lying across her lap. She tried to reach for it with her right hand since Jennie was lying with her upper body on her left one. The kitten bit Y/n’s hand when she tried to take it, busy adjusting the picture so it would be back in place. She hissed and pulled away to see a bite mark on her skin right under the knuckle of her thumb.

“Hey!” Y/n exclaimed.

“Hey.” Jennie mocked and tried to open Y/n’s phone only for her face ID to not work. She gasped as her face ID had been removed, she tried the pin, but it wasn’t working either.

“Jennie.”

“Jennie.”

“Give me my phone before you block it.”

“Give me my phone before you block it. Who do you have on here that you changed your PIN and removed my face ID?” Jennie continued to push Y/n’s buttons who had been pushing hers. That brattiness came right out as she was ready to give her attitude because she couldn’t phantom that Y/n had done these things. Furiously, she continued to guess the pin with all the important dates and numbers Y/n liked.

“I told you something.” Y/n tried to reach for it again while trying to wiggle out her other hand that Jennie had in a death grip. It only got smacked away.

“I told you something. How ‘bout you do something about it?” Jennie pushed and looked over her shoulder with a frown to ask about the pincode. “What’s–Ahh, Y/n.” She whined when the palm collided against her ass making her squirm at the pain. Jennie had almost forgotten about how horny she had been until that pain shot to her clit instead. She felt somewhat embarrassed and her head fell as she kicked her feet with another whine. It was so unexpected that she had no clue how to react or feel. 

“Stop being a pain in the ass.”

It went silent and Y/n waited for what Jennie would say or do. That smack just came naturally and she hadn’t controlled it. Whether Jennie was pissed or not, that spanking wasn’t something she could take responsibility for when Jennie worked her nerves so well.

“Stop being a pain in the ass.” She mocked once again, imitating Y/n who groaned. The little giggle that came from Jennie who lifted her head didn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you laughing?”

“Are you laughing?” Jennie knew exactly how much Y/n hated it when she would imitate her without an end. The thoughts made her lift her ass slightly, wriggling in Y/n’s lap as she pushed it out. There was a tension between her legs and she wanted it gone.

“You’re so annoying.”

“You’re so annoying. Cry about it, Y/n.” She hissed at the girl. It was soon followed by something that was between a groan and a moan as Y/n spanked her ass once more which made Jennie raise her hips and writhe into the couch cushion. That sensation made her cunt throb and slowly start leaking as she clenched her thighs for some relief. It was hard to control as her ass purposely tried to invite Y/n for more as it was turning her on.

“Tell me what it is, Jennie. Why do you need this?” Y/n questioned and looked at Jennie who was still clutching the phone. She huffed and lifted her head, looking over her shoulder and at Y/n. A little smile on her lips, one that was mischievous.

“I did some things you wouldn’t be happy about–been a very bad girl.”

Y/n gripped at the underside of her thigh just under her ass, squeezing it and making Jennie squirm at how ticklish it was on her sensitive thighs.

“You have?” Jennie bit her lower lip and nodded her head.

“What did you do?”

Jennie purposely lifted her hips and arched her back, being on her knees with her hands stretched out in front of her, chest pressing into the couch. She let go of the phone, Y/n’s eyes on the ass that was in the air and she moved her hand up to it. The kitten jutted her lower lip out in feigned despair. “I’ve been out the whole night looking for someone who would fuck my needy little pussy because the toys haven’t been able to satisfy me…” She looked even sadder now as if she's been having the hardest time of her life because of these things and what she said after seemed to be even more devastating for her. “There hasn’t been any cum in me for so long, no one to fill me, breed me, no cum for me to clean up–I’ve been feeling so useless and empty.” She mumbled, with tears brimming in her eyes.

“So, it’s not my fault for looking for someone to do it,” Jennie added in her defence. The heat shot right to her clit again, her ass burned in the best way possible as she could only moan when Y/n spanked her again.

“Y/n, it’s not fair!” She cried out despite enjoying it. The latter was growing hard, thinking about Jennie’s snug and pink pussy that she’s missed being inside of. The one she missed abusing, filling with cum, if not her other holes. Jennie loved it all, she especially loved cleaning up the cum that leaked out of her after.

“How is it not fair? I’m not the one who's been walking around like I’m in heat and looking for strangers to fuck me.” Her hand ran over Jennie’s inner thighs before she made it to the girl’s pussy which was covered by the black cargo pants. It was enough to make Jennie whine and try to rub her throbbing cunt against the hand that cupped her heat. Y/n’s other hand stroked along Jennie’s bare spine which was warm and arched to show off her ridges.

“It’s my birthday.” Jennie slyly pointed out.

“I’m supposed to give in because of that? Give you a free pass?” Y/n asked, gently rubbing Jennie’s clothed cunt. The girl desperately tried to push her hips more into the hand that removed pressure every time she tried. It was keeping her on the edge as she pathetically continued to try and hump at Y/n's hand.

“Yes. Please creampie my pink and tight little pussy and make me a mommy tonight.” The erection was now straining against Y/n’s jeans as the offer was one she did not want to pass on despite it giving Jennie a free pass. Her brain cells reasoned with each other, agreeing on it being Jennie’s birthday even if it was past 12, but it didn’t count until they went to sleep and woke up. Her eyes gazed into Y/n’s, practically daring her to do it.

“Get up,” never in her life had Y/n seen Jennie get up so fast. The girl always liked to take her time simply because she wanted to or because she wanted to annoy Y/n. The giggly and horny Jennie ran towards the bedroom with Y/n taking long strides right after her.

The bedroom was also the same with Jennie on the bed unzipping her pants. “Hey, hey, slow down,” Y/n complained and the feline pouted when her hands were pushed away from the fly of her cargo pants.

“I’m so horny though.”

“I can tell that much,” Y/n commented with her hands pulling Jennie up to sit. Her arms wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders and she pulled her down, hands gripped at her waist and she got her breath taken away. Jennie melted and healed when she finally had Y/n’s lips against hers again. She didn’t want to wait when she tilted her head and opened her mouth for the tongue to push against her. It tasted of whiskey, it was just as intoxicating and was washing over her body, injecting itself deep within her veins.

One person could only satisfy the other.

Jennie couldn’t even satisfy herself when she was horny. Y/n knew just how to eat her out, stuff her with cock, fuck her, make her orgasm and beg for more.

She swallowed Y/n’s tongue, sucking on it and the girl groaned when Jennie’s hand came down from her shoulder and rubbed at her cock through the pants. It was making Jennie’s clit throb painfully, just feeling Y/n’s cock was making her try to clench her thighs that Y/n stood between. Both her hands went to the bulge, rubbing at the outline while undoing the zipper with her other while Y/n threaded her fingers through Jennie’s hair.

“Please, please–” Y/n cut Jennie off who pulled away and was about to plead for her to start fucking her.

“I will, but you have to show off for me first.” She pried Jennie’s hands away from the hem of her jeans and pulled her up onto her feet. “I know it’s your birthday, but you said yourself that you were a bad girl, so this is the least you can do.” Y/n ushered and smiled at Jennie as the girl squinted her eyes.

The girl was determined to show Y/n exactly what she walked out from. Her eyes were laced with seductiveness even if the girl was stalling her orgasm. The girl reached into the pocket of her pants and took out her phone, Y/n smiled bigger and leaned back against her palms as the smart home speakers started to play Champagne by The Weeknd . Jennie turned around and tossed her phone onto the dresser.

Her eyes watched Jennie’s every move and her fingers grabbed hold of the small piece that was tied at her side to hold the shirt against her body. She pulled it, slowly, Y/n’s eyes stuck on the slim back and just watching her was enough to make Y/n’s chest heave even more. Jennie undid it, her hands running over her body, tugging up the open-back shirt with her before letting go as it fell back down. Y/n waited in anticipation, almost regretting it as she couldn’t wait for Jennie to remove the shirt and turn so she could see her chest.

Her body gently moved to the music, her fingers ran over her arm and over to the one strap before she gently tugged it down. The other hand ran under her shirt towards the other strap. She made sure to let out a light hum to let Y/n know that she ran over her breast before she reached the strap. Jennie slid them down her shoulders, the shirt fell with a soft thud to the floor.

She had yet to turn around though.

Instead, she finished undoing her pants and proceeded to bend over with her fingers hooked around the hem. It couldn’t have gone slower, the way she slowly started to pull them down her ass, revealing more and more of the flesh and lacy material of her black cheeky underwear. They went up her ass as she got the pants under her cheeks. Her ass was plump and pushed right out with her puffy pussy, the woman’s back arched and her eyes coming to peek over her shoulder. Her feline eyes were clouded by lust and she looked back in front of her as Y/n looked hypnotised.

She pulled them further down, revealing her creamy thighs inch by inch while making sure to show off how agile she was by slowly bending herself in half. It wasn’t until they were resting by her calves that Jennie started to get down on her knees to the music. The girl was holding back from dragging Jennie to bed now. She got on her knees, her back straight and showing off her perfect posture as she slid into a side-sitting position with her legs on one side (left), the pants fully discarded now. Her hand came over behind her and dragged her hair to one side of her shoulder, looking to the side while doing so. The movements were soft.

She moved her legs further, taking them in front of her and spreading them open. Her palms planted behind her and slowly slid against the rug, reclining herself back. It was hypnotising, her chest at last coming into view, more and more until she was lying on her back. Jennie loved showing off her body, especially to Y/n and no one else. Her body was just for Y/n and whether it was her birthday or not, a striptease was just as satisfying to her as it was to Y/n. (She was also aware that she had to pay for what she did when trying to look for someone else.)

She couldn’t begin to explain how much her clit started to throb when she caught the look on Y/n’s face. The wetness was gushing as she loved being admired by Y/n. It was almost enough to get off for Jennie. Her hand came between her legs, her hips moved in a fluid wave like motion when she whined them into the fingers that brushed over the slick material, fingers threading into the rug as her eyes closed. She continued to run her hand up her body, fingers feather-likely running over her skin which made her chest heave and body move. A soft moan slipped past her lips when she brushed over her nipple until she reached her throat.

Jennie was quick and agile in the way she smoothly turned from her back and onto her stomach. Her eyes were almost predatory the way she looked up at Y/n while slowly pushing herself up, ass coming up first with hands stretched out in front of her until she pushed herself forward and was standing on all fours.

Slowly she crawled the small distance like a cat over to Y/n, her hips moving, her back still arched. Jennie reached the girl and got on her knees while looking at her through her lashes, her hands grabbed hold of Y/n’s knees, pulling her legs apart to get between them. In one smooth motion, like waves, she slid up, getting on her feet and coming face to face with Y/n, her hands holding onto Y/n’s shoulders.

“Am I excused for being bad?” Jennie questioned, her chest heaving, as if she ran a marathon, but the arousal was just getting overwhelming. She could feel how sticky it was between her legs, everything spilling and smearing on her inner thighs. The underwear piece was ruined. Y/n licked her lips and grabbed her hips, looking down at Jennie’s chest, her nipples perky, her breasts plump.

“More than excused—you deserve to not only get your pussy stuffed but also eaten.” There was that vocal fry in Y/n’s voice that Jennie knew so well. It meant that she would get her pussy messily devoured. She squealed when Y/n got up and put Jennie on the bed, she pushed her back and leaned down. Fingers threaded into her hair when she attached her lips to Jennie’s chest first.

It was eliciting small whines and gasps, the tongue swirling her nipple, teeth gently tugging, the other being roughly groped the way she liked it. Y/n wrapped her mouth around as much soft flesh as possible and sucked before licking. Jennie’s hips were pathetically bucking at the heat that was bubbling in her stomach because of it. “Y/n!” She cried out at the way her nipple was pinched between Y/n’s fingers, the girl tugged on the bud after and started to kiss down to Jennie’s cleavage.

“Please, I promise, I taste so good,” Jennie begged as Y/n was kissing down her stomach. The kitten squirmed when her nipple got flicked, the bud more swollen and red now as Y/n had abused the sensitive nub that was stiff.

“Have you been cleaning up your messes lately?” Y/n asked with a smirk, glancing up at Jennie who had her head thrown back with her back arching, hips desperately pushing into Y/n. She whined, not wanting to answer the embarrassing question as she had been feral trying to fuck herself right only to make a mess but not orgasm hard enough. This time she cried, slightly kicking her feet when Y/n twisted the same nipple again.

“Answer, Jen.”

“I lick my fingers clean because they get so messy.” She admitted in a whine, her cheeks even more flushed as it was now just flowing out of her. Jennie always got so wet, and someone had to clean it after. Y/n was well aware of how Jennie would always leak with juices. The videos she’d send of playing with her pink pussy when Y/n wasn’t there to eat her out, making sure to show how she would lick up the sticky mess of her fingers after getting as much as possible on them. She loved sucking Y/n’s cock, especially to have cum shoot into her mouth that she’d swallow.

“You want me to taste you?” Y/n continued to tease as she was on her knees and Jennie pushed herself up. A look of desperation on her face, tears welling in her eyes as it was hurting now. “Yes.” She watched Y/n who hooked her fingers around her underwear and she started to tug them down. They clung to her wet cunt, pulling a sticky mess with them as Y/n peeled them off and dropped the ruined material on the floor.

“All for you.” Jennie surely invited the girl who was on her knees in front of her by spreading her legs, her hand coming in between her legs. She bit her lower lip as Y/n watched her use her fingers to spread her glistening and puffy folds. Her hole was clenching in greediness as her arousal was slowly leaking out of it, running down her ass and onto the sheets. She ran them over to her clit, showing the swollen bud by pulling back the hood. Y/n smiled and gently removed Jennie’s fingers as she had shown off her cunt enough.

The girl waiting, finally in the only suitable outfit on a day like this, in her birthday suit.

“I will make sure to take it all.” Y/n reassured her and Jennie’s hand gripped onto her hair while Y/n moved Jennie’s leg to wrap it around her shoulder. The girl groaned as Jennie forcefully pulled on her hair and shoved her face fully into her cunt. She gasped, squirming and grinding her hips into Y/n’s face when she licked right up along her slit, tongue spreading her lips. The taste washed over Y/n’s tongue, it was addicting and she moved back down, her tongue flat against the heat as she licked up from the sopping hole, bringing it all up to her clit.

Jennie’s lips stayed apart, breaths desperate and the sounds falling from between them as she couldn’t control it neither could she control the squirming into Y/n’s face. “Fuck, Y/n–more, I want more,” she whined, her eyes falling closed and her back hit the mattress as she couldn’t hold herself up.

Y/n sucked onto her outer lips, sucking them in and teasing with her tongue, dipping down and nudging the grasping hole with her tongue, swirling it which made Jennie gasp and writhe for more. However, she would feel bad if she teased Jennie for too long as the girl had been all ready since they entered the bedroom. Her hand gripped Jennie’s hip to ground them and control their whining as they weren’t controlled by the nymphomaniac that Jennie was.

“Oh God, I’ve missed you so much, the way you fuck me.” Jennie cried out when lips wrapped around her clit, the tongue firmly flicking at it at a perfect angle. Y/n ran her other hand over to Jennie’s hole, her one finger teasing around the hole while she continued to flick at her clit. Her tongue moved quickly, harshly flicking back and forth as it always made Jennie’s thighs quiver, trying to close around her head and leave the girl unsure of what to grip onto or how to act.

Her juices were smearing over her chin, running down and creating a mess and Y/n couldn’t help but dip down for more. The pleasure didn’t stop for Jennie who gyrated her hips into Y/n’s nose while the girl lapped at her hole, gathering the stickiness on her tongue before bringing it back up. She swirled around her clit before she wrapped her lips around it and suckled hard enough for Jennie to moan louder and arch her back off of the mattress. The birthday girl had always been vocal and sensitive to all touch when it came to Y/n. She was quite sure it was because of how many chemicals her body released around her, the oxytocin overflowing.

With ease, Y/n pushed two fingers into Jennie who sucked them in right away. Her walls were warm and throbbing, continuously clenching around the two slender fingers that started to push into her. “So close, I want it,” Jennie mumbled, a few coherent words coming from her now and then as she was lost in the firm and slick muscle that worked her swollen and pulsating clit while fingers pressed against her g-spot. She could feel it coming, the way her stomach started to drop and heat up.

“How bad do you want it?” Y/n gruffly questioned by pulling away for a split second before going right back.

“So bad, I will cry if I don’t get it–play with my pussy until it hurts. All yours.” The words flew out of her blabbering mouth, gasping and falling out of breath. She had been longing for more than Y/n and her love, but this type of love too.

“I love it, you fuck me so good with your tongue. Oh God–” Her chest heaved, her fingers tangling themselves in Y/n’s hair who groaned at the pain while eating at Jennie’s cunt. The mess ran down her chin, down Jennie’s ass, staining the sheets. The sounds were lewd, Jennie moaning, gasping, and whining, and the way Y/n was eating her pussy was making the wet sounds bounce off the walls in the room from the licking and sucking. The younger let out her moans and groans at how much she enjoyed having Jennie squirm while eating her out.

Her thighs shook while clenching around Y/n, her voice strained, her body spasming as she arched off the bed with her hips bucking into Y/n. Jennie lost control of her voice, cries flying out as everything disappeared, her ears ringing and her vision dying out. Her hand flew to her breast, grabbing hold of it as she had no clue where else to grasp. Her walls clasped around Y/n’s fingers, thudding around them as the orgasm crashed through her. It went on for a good few seconds as Y/n didn’t stop and continued to flick at her bud.

It wasn’t until Jennie was panting for breath and instead of pulling her into her pussy she was pulling her away that Y/n stopped. She slowed down, gently cleaning up the mess that Jennie’s cunt was, the girl wriggling under her from the kittenish licks lapping up the juices. Her body relaxed at last, slumping into the mattress and closing her eyes, her pussy palpitating from aftershocks.

“No…” She whined, convulsing and closing her legs with her hands flying between them as Y/n was no longer between them. A heat ran over her at the painful slap that landed against her swollen pussy, the sound wet and harsh.

“Don’t you want my cock too?” Y/n questioned and the girl opened her eyes, looking at Y/n who was using her black sweatshirt to wipe at her chin and mouth. It made her pussy clench at how it was missing Y/n.

“I do.” She dragged out and pulled herself up, her hands grasping at Y/n’s sweatshirt and pulling it up. The latter helped her by fully pulling it over her head and discarding it to the floor with kittenish hands pawing at her slim stomach before they dropped to her pants. Although Jennie didn’t pull them down, she instead moved onto her knees. “Hurry up, my pussy is waiting for your cum, baby.” She purred out while turning around and getting on all fours, showing off her ass and dripping pussy while looking over her shoulder at Y/n. Her ass pushed out for Y/n as she arched her back to further the invite.

“You’re so bad.” Y/n groaned and fully undid her pants, letting them pool around her ankles before she kicked them to the side with her boxers. Jennie bit her lower lip, eyeing the thick and long member, the tip bulbous and red, leaking with precum, the long vein dragged on the underside and Y/n’s slim and veiny hand came over to it. She stroked herself, her other hand caressing the plump outline of Jennie’s ass who only pushed more into her.

“Such a bad girl after not getting my attitude fucked out of me…I get so mean when I don’t have your cum stuffing my pussy.” Jennie agreed, drawing her words out while lowering herself until her chest pressed against the mattress.

“I need–” Jennie stopped Y/n who was about to get to the bedside drawer where she knew condoms were. They always hit it raw, but she wasn’t sure if Jennie had continued with her birth control after four months of being alone.

“No condom,” it wasn’t an ask, but more so a demand. Y/n didn’t mind condoms while Jennie hated them.

“You’re on birth control,” Y/n concluded and went right back to place, guiding her tip between Jennie’s folds who let her head drop at the feeling that sent shivers through her spine.

She bit her lower lip, forcing the smile to not get too big as she couldn’t wait longer as she confirmed Y/n’s conclusion. “Yes.” A sigh followed when the stretch came, Y/n’s tip pushing inside her, spreading her open, splitting her folds and disappearing into her sopping and snug heat. It was squeezing her cock as a moan slipped from her mouth. The warmth of Jennie was so familiar, it was leaving her cock to throb the further she slipped inside the confines of her pink cunt.

The brunette whined, her insides twisting at how good it felt, the cock too big for her smaller body as it was always a tight fit and a big stretch for her to take the girl behind her. Y/n stopped as her pelvis met Jennie’s ass, filling her to the hilt with her hands gripping Jennie’s hips. Her lips parted at the feeling as she stalled any movement and got lost for a second in just the feeling of having Jennie around her.

However, Jennie wasn’t nearly as patient. “Are you going to fuck me or act like a virgin who wet their dick for the first time?” It brought Y/n right out of her drowning thoughts at the rude tone of Jennie who sounded annoyed.

“What?” She breathed out.

“Fuck me or I will find someone else to do it.” Jennie loved digging her own grave. At least she got buried with her back being blown.

“Who else will fuck you this good?” Y/n didn’t wait for an answer as she pulled out almost fully before Jennie was sent flying forward when she slammed her hips back against hers. It drew gasps and moans from Jennie as Y/n proceeded with the deep and hard thrusts. The thick cock dragged along her tight walls, and the wet and squelching noises got louder as Jennie's pussy was a mess. Y/n’s pelvis slapped against Jennie’s ass and started to fill in with moans, groans, whimpers, and gasps. All occupying the room.

Jennie bunched up the sheets in her fists, her face buried in them. She could feel the curved tip abusing her g-spot as it continuously dragged along the soft and spongy spot in her. The cock was hitting deep in her, filling her and hitting the right spots that she wasn’t even able to hit when fucking herself with all kinds of toys.

Her moans were erotic, they fueled Y/n on who was going carnal as Jennie’s pussy, body, voice, and everything else always had that effect. The brunette's hips started to meet Y/n’s thrust, clenching and helping her drag her cock in her pussy.

“Fuck, your cock is so big, it hurts so good.” Jennie moaned as the pain always mixed with the pleasure.

Y/n huffed, biting her lower lip as she moved one hand and landed its palm against Jennie’s ass since the girl was pushing it out for her so much. It was followed by a mewl from the birthday girl.

“Are you going to take all my cum?” Y/n groaned out, the answer taking a second too long and earning Jennie’s bright red ass cheek another spank. The heat only shot right to her clit and she couldn’t feel embarrassed about it as she loved every second of it. “Everything, I’m going to keep it all inside and be a mommy,” Jennie whined, the words only made her clench more as her own words fueled her.

“You look so good with cock in you, your slutty pussy takes it so well.” Y/n complimented, her eyes falling on where her hard cock was disappearing. The wetness was running down Jennie’s thighs, and her pink folds spread because of the cock that was drilling into her cunt which was growing sore. She was sucking Y/n in, doing everything to milk her and get her cum as she forgot about wanting to orgasm. All she wanted was to be creampied and keep it all inside for as long as possible because it made her feel full.

“Only you can play with it so well, fuck it until it hurts–your cocksleeve, for you to warm in and empty into.”

“You love being used.” Y/n threw her head back, her fingers digging into the flesh of Jennie’s ass and hips. The thrusts were hard, the bed squeaking with every stroke inside the snug sleeve that Jennie was for her cock. The smaller girl moved with each thrust that was throwing her forward, making her grip harder to stay in place. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” Jennie spewed out, the tension in her stomach started to grow and Y/n could feel how much tighter her walls started to get around her. Her hand dropped from Jennie’s ass and went right under her, pushing onto her lower belly, able to feel herself bulge the small brunette's stomach. It was making Jennie dizzy, the pressure grew and she was getting sent right back into floating.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come so hard around your cock, Y/n.” Jennie cried out, writhing in the sheets as she pulled on them with her hands. Her jaw fell slack, the moans going up in pitch and the heat flashed over her, the cries slowly coming in breathless as the control was lost and she couldn’t tell what was going on.

Y/n continued to pound her, the tension slowly easing from Jennie, although her mind remained clouded. Her body was warm and covered in a sheet of sweat. “I’m so close.” Y/n groaned, her tip twitching.

Jennie could feel the cock grow harder in her. “Fuck, breed my cunt, Y/n–shoot it into my womb.” She intentionally clenched her walls and Y/n’s hips stuttered, Jennie, pushing her ass flush against her to get it all shot deep in her. It filled her even more, Y/n and Jennie both moaning. Rope after rope of thick and creamy cum painted her walls white, making her hum at how good it felt to be filled so well again.

“So good,” Y/n mumbled, her body collapsing onto Jennie’s who slumped down on her stomach. Her chest heaved as she peppered kisses along Jennie’s warm shoulder. The kitten hid her face in the sheets, the cock growing limp in her throbbing cunt as she tried to get back on a normal breathing pattern.

“Happy birthday, Jennie.” She let out a breathless chuckle and Y/n slowly pushed herself up.

“It’s not my birthday anymore.” The brunette mumbled, turning onto her back and raising her knees, trying her best to keep the cum within her walls. Her soft eyes fell onto Y/n, dreading it as she was scared that she would leave. The night was over, and so was her birthday.

“It’s the 16th until you go to sleep.” Y/n reminded her and she smiled, biting her lower lip while Y/n reached for her boxers, pulling them back on.

“Y/n…” The latter looked up at Jennie who was already looking at her. She looked like she was on the verge of tears. “Please don’t leave.” She mumbled.

“Jennie–” She cut Y/n off right away.

“Please, even if it’s just for the night.” She begged and Y/n chuckled

“Why on earth would I leave?” She questioned, baffled that Jennie thought she would just leave her, especially after having sex. Maybe they said it during sex, but she would never just use Jennie and leave her behind after.

Jennie felt a weight fall off of her, there was a lightness in her chest. She at times hated how sensitive she was as her lower lip jutted out and her breathing picked up to hold her tears back. Y/n heaved a sigh and got on the bed, with ease she pulled Jennie’s limp body with her as she kicked the duvet down before pulling it over them. The girl hugged around Y/n’s slim waist, burying her face in her shoulder as she couldn’t help but cry.

“Will you leave tomorrow?” She asked through her tears. The younger clicked her tongue and ran her fingers through Jennie’s hair. The both of them drowned in the warmth they shared. 

“Do you want me to?” She had a good feeling that Jennie did not want her to leave. She wouldn’t be crying otherwise. Y/n was right as Jennie shook her head, tightening her grip around her to make sure that she would stay. It made her pull her small body closer to her and she kissed the top of her head.

“If you want…” Y/n trailed off and Jennie lifted her head, her eyes exhausted and filled with tears. Y/n wiped her cheeks with the pad of her palm before she leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I could stay forever.” She suggested and Jennie closed the little gap between them. This time the kiss was soft, neither of them wanting it to rush into anything else than the adoration and love they still and always would have for each other.

“Yes, please.” She mumbled and Y/n smiled against her lips, pecking them.

“I love you, Jennie.” To hear those words again healed all those empty and torn parts in her. They were eager to say them again and wanted to say them a million times more to make up for all the four months that they hadn't said them.

“I love you, Y/n…” She cleared her throat and looked down a little guiltily and Y/n hummed confused. Jennie mumbled something under her breath, her eyes avoiding Y/n’s as she lay in her arms.

“You have to stop mumbling.” Y/n seriously said as the guilty look on Jennie’s face was starting to worry her. She sighed at that and lastly spoke up.

“I’m not actually on any birth control,” Jennie admitted as she had lied. She didn’t care when she hadn’t been sure if Y/n would have stayed. If she had to force Y/n to get back together then she would do so by trapping her. It only made sense to try and get pregnant if she was ovulating and wanted nothing more than Y/n to stay and to have a baby with her.

“You’re evil,” Y/n whispered and Jennie gave her a haughty little smile, showing that she wasn’t as guilty as she pretended to be.

“I don’t care, I only want you.” She pecked Y/n’s lips before she laid her head on her shoulder, nuzzling her face in her neck, drowning in the comforting scent of home that Y/n was to her.

“I only want you too, Jen.” She couldn’t find it in herself to be angry with the kitten. Y/n loved her too much and neither would she mind having kids with her. All she did was pull her closer and hug her, holding her in a way that would lull Jennie right to sleep and at last let her wake up well-rested after so many bad nights of sleep and crying.

“Start preparing to be a parent and do not forget the ring before I get pregnant.” Jennie pointed out and lifted her left hand, showing the empty fingers to Y/n who leaned in and pecked her ring finger. She giggled when Y/n gently bit it and she quickly hid it after.

“Don’t worry about any of it, I still want to marry you and have a family.”

Jennie’s wish did come true once again.

[shellshocklove]

brat four: everything is romantic | joel miller

pairing/au: joel miller x brat!female!reader – no outbreak

summary: joel's brat summer has come to an end.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap, enemies to lovers vibes? swearing, drinking of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes, use of pet names, angst, fluff, smut, brat tamed? reader, dom!joel, a hint of sub!joel? manhandling, oral sex (69-ing), cock worship, pussy pronouns, a little dacryphilia, degradation (whore, slut), multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, some sub space territory, unprotected sex (don’t do it!), one (1) use of the word 'daddy', no use of y/n

a/n: here is the final chapter! thank you as always to @dustydaddyyy! 💚 without her i don't think would've been able to finish this.

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

He was used to being listened to, your father, his voice weighty although every word he spewed was superfluous. You watched how his jaw moved, up and down, up and down, almost like he moved in slow motion, the spit splattering in big drops.

"–I need you to smile with your eyes this time– the social media intern told me a lot of people on twitter said you looked like you didn't want to be there… are you even listening?" he spat.

Never in your life had you wanted to roll your eyes as much as you wanted to now. Something ripped deep inside your heart, at a wound that had never really closed. You were used to the feeling; a quiet rage simmering under your skin at yourself for feeling it still.

"Dad, I already told your secretary weeks ago that I can't be there–"

"I don't fucking care–" he cut you off, "I tell you to be somewhere and you'll be there, understood? Don't forget your place, now."

The threat didn't sting as much as it had a few years ago. What used to scare you in the past, now only managed to make you angry. You had packed your bags already. The summer was over, your last year of post grad was waiting, along with your new internship, you couldn't just miss the first few days because your father needed you to stand behind him and smile (with your eyes) at a fundraiser.

It was ridiculous.

Oh, how stupid you'd felt when he'd arrived at the house, thinking he was there to say goodbye, to be a father for once.

Turns out you were ridiculous.

"Or else?" you spat out so quickly you didn't have time to regret it.

His eyes hardened, eyes growing cold as he dug them deep into you. The words you'd spat out had hung over your conversations with your father for years, but never had you spoken them aloud. He made you feel so small, he'd always made you feel small, and you were done with it.

He stepped closer, the kitchen island the only thing separating you now, and raised a finger at you. "What did you just say?"

Behind your ribcage your heart beat out of your chest, pumping your rage throughout your body. Images flashed before your eyes, a supercut of your childhood, of the countless times he'd stood over you with poisoned words.

"I said: or else? You need a hearing aid or something?"

Your father stepped around the island, and a fear gripped around your throat, your legs backed off on their own accord. He froze then, a pleased smile tugging at his face, ripping it apart. You felt sick to your stomach.

"Or else…" he started, "I'll cut you off. If you're gonna be an ungrateful bitch like this, I ain't giving you a penny– I'll have you removed from my will, I'll disinherit you, you understand?"

"You wouldn't dare," you tried to argue back, but your voice lacked bite and your anger.

"Oh, sweetie, I'll do it with a smile."

Looking at your father, how pleased with himself he looked, you felt your whole body deflate. How could the man who gave you life, who put you on this earth have so much hatred in his heart for you? What was it about you that was so hard to love?

"It would be a relief," he continued, but his voice sounded far away, "to finally be rid of you."

"'m sorry to interrupt y'all talkin'," Joel's drawl cut through the room, "we're finishin' up out here 'nd we need your final approval."

Joel was looking straight at you, but it was hard to interpret his face. Something dragged across it, like he fought to keep himself in check, but softening at the edges as he looked at you.

How dared he? How dared he look at you like that?

“I’m paying for this nonsense so I’ll be the judge of that,” your father huffed, pushing past you to slip out into the backyard, leaving you alone with Joel.

Suddenly, the room felt awfully stuffy, something heavy growing between you and Joel. He must've caught the end of you and your father's conversation. A mix of anger and embarrassment simmered at the bottom of your stomach at the thought.

You'd done exactly as he'd wished; you'd slipped quietly out the door at the wedding and left your dignity behind. The summer never wanted to end, and seeing him day in and day out, working away in the backyard stung more than you'd ever admit out loud.

So you'd kept your distance, leaving early to mill about downtown, trying to fill your days with anything to keep you from thinking of him. Joel wasn't worth the energy. Joel was a bug under your shoe to crush.

(Joel was all you ever thought about.)

At night a childish desires would plague you. The dark conjured them forth, made your mind lenient with hope, hope that he'd storm into the house like some love interest in a romcom to beg for your forgiveness, or he'd kiss you, or fuck you, or everything all at once.

When morning came, and you caught his eyes as you slipped out the house, you were reminded of the coldness in his voice, and not the warmth of his touch. What was the real Joel? Maybe it didn't matter? Joel had been fun until it wasn't anymore, a fling for the summer, nothing more– never anything more, because you didn't fall in love.

Love.

What even was love? Was it the way Joel looked at you right now as he stepped closer?

No.

You hated him.

Tears pushed at the back of your eyes, a lump building in your throat as you held them back. How could you ever love someone who'd treat you like that? You needed to leave; you'd rather die than Joel see you cry. Your father you could handle, that old wound would never close and the pain was numbed long ago, but Joel was like a wound to the gut that wouldn't stop bleeding.

"Hey," Joel's hand wrapped around your wrist, holding you back from leaving, "You okay?"

This motherfucker.

"Why do you care?" you bit back through your tears, because why did he? Why did he care? He'd been pretty clear he wanted nothing to do with you. "You didn't sign up for my antics, don't you remember?" you tore at your hand, and you slipped between his fingers.

Pushing through the door, you ran up the stairs to your room. Joel didn't bother with a reply, and you hated how it stung in your chest. The door slung shut behind you, and you collapsed on the bed. Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you wouldn't let your tears fall. Instead, your curled your knees to your chest, and focused on your breath.

Breathe in, slowly, steady, and then out again.

Again, and again.

Breathe in, and out.

Again, and again.

A knock at the door startled you, and you couldn't tell if you'd fallen asleep or lulled yourself into a false sense of peace. Sitting up, you wiped at your eyes, before jostling to your feet when the door opened.

There he stood, Joel, in the doorway of your childhood bedroom, rough jeans clasped in by a tool belt. He didn't belong in here, you didn't belong in here – not anymore. He didn't say anything, only looked around the room, like he was looking for you. Maybe he was? This was where you'd been born – the girl who felt like a complete mess – the disguise masquerading like a brat.

"What do you want?" you spat.

A frown pulled at Joel's face, and his eyes tried to catch your gaze, which you desperately avoided.

“We’re all finished up out there,” he told you, fingers twitching at his side, “We’ll be out of your hair in a couple of minutes.”

Why was he even in your room? Your dad had been out there, he’d talked to him, probably gotten the okay from him. Everything was taken care of… so why was he here?

“Okay, that’s fine,” you nodded, keeping your voice cold and devoid of any emotion. Joel cleared his throat uneasily.

“... your dad, uh, left.”

His tone was difficult to read, something akin to pity legible between the lines. You gave him a dry, sardonic smile.

“Of course.”

You scoffed, wrapping your arms around yourself as you turned your back on him, looking out the window. Of course you weren’t even worth a goodbye. You wanted it to hurt, but you’d been rejected by him your whole life. Never ever did you want it to happen again, but now you braced yourself for Joel’s rejection, of the sound of his footsteps getting quieter and quieter as he walked out of your life.

“Goin’ somewhere?” Joel said quietly, and you couldn’t hold back your head from looking past your shoulder. His eyes had found your packed bags left by the door, the bags now fuller than when you’d arrived at the start of the summer.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” you countered. You wished your voice was harder, more accusing, but it just sounded meek.

“Looks like you’re leavin’ for good.”

“I am.”

A frown pulled at Joel’s face. Confusion and sadness? You couldn’t tell what it meant, couldn’t understand him– and maybe you never had. Maybe you’d just gotten ahead of yourself, put meaning where there wasn’t any. Confused attention with adoration.

“Then it’s my business,” Joel said, almost angry. “If you're goin' away for good then I’d like to know 'bout it.”

“Why?” you snapped, your voice biting, “So now you don’t like it when I disappear quietly? You should make up your damn mind, Joel.”

Your words seemed to stun Joel into a surprised silence. If he wasn't going to leave you alone, you'd be the one to walk out instead. You didn’t have to stay here any longer and listen to him pretend to care, not when he’d made it so clear he didn’t.

The thought gnawed at you, simmering down your anger and draining you of any substantial fight. You didn’t need to re-hash this. Tonight you were going home, to your real home, and you'd never see him again. What was the point in making this harder than it had to be? You’d always thought you were tough, you are tough, and maybe all this pain had its benefits; you'd built up a bit of a callus. You were tough skin where nothing could pierce through to the core. 

“Look, I don’t need to go over this again, okay?” you let out, your voice a strange mixture of anger and defeat, “I got the message, loud and clear, now can you fuck off?”

This was the first time you’d sworn at Joel like this. You wished your voice was angrier, or cold and calculated, like how his own voice had sounded when he kicked you out the door at the wedding. Instead, there was a raw undertone in your voice, a hurt you hadn’t intended for Joel to hear.

Joel's silence rubbed at you, rubbed your skin raw. You wanted him to scream at you, raise his voice and say something entirely too hurtful. At least then it would feel okay, you could leave with a good conscience. It just didn't work out. When Joel didn’t move, your jaw clenched, nose drawing an irritated breath.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

You turned towards the door, managing two or three furious steps before Joel spoke.

“Red,” he said suddenly.

It was just one word, but it was that word. Your word, our word. It stopped you in your tracks, turning to look at him with shock on your face.

“What did you say?” you asked him, and for the first time today, Joel gave you a look you could entirely decipher: he looked sad, almost in a desperate way.

“Red... “ he repeated, and you watched how his fist clenched by his side, “‘means stop, right? Can we just take a second and stop this, please?”

When you said nothing, he continued, “This ain't how I want us to be leavin’ things.”

“Us?” you echoed incredulously, “I’m pretty sure you made it very clear there was no us.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Joel let out in an exasperated breath, "Look… I should've never said those things to you, especially when–"

“Don’t,” you said, your tone and gaze full of warning.

Don’t bring him up.

This was not a topic of conversation you were open to having with Joel.

"No, listen to me," he commanded, "D'you realize the situation you've put me in? You're the governor's daughter–  d'you think I haven't seen him on TV? Seen his ads, and the pamphlets, and all his 'family values' politics? But I had you all wrong… How was I s'posed to know this was how he treated his daughter?"

Joel shook his head in anger, gathering a stuttering breath, "You don't deserve that shit, no one does. You're good, I can tell– even when you put on that little act that makes me want to fuck the daylights outta ya."

You fought it with every fiber of your being, but you felt something inside you soften as your eyes moved to meet Joel’s, the corners of his mouth twitching into the beginnings of a smile.

“You were an asshole to me,” you told him, trying to save any of the resolve and anger you had left.

“I was, and ‘m sorry 'bout it, 'nd I wish I could take it all back,” he told you earnestly, “But your behavior wasn’t perfect either... next time you want to be my date to somethin', at least give me a chance to ask you first, princess.”

“Next time?” you questioned, and you couldn't help the raise of your eyebrows.

"Well, at the risk of soundin' like a kid still in high school– I like you, okay?" Joel confessed, and you felt a heat coat your cheeks.

Joel was right – this felt like high school.

"Are you asking me to go steady with you?"

You couldn't help it, you had to push at him, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth made it worth it. His laugh sounded like home, and you felt yourself slip under.

Again, and again.

"Not yet," he answered, taking a step in your direction. "I wanna get to know you first, take you on a date. There’s something special ‘bout ya, I’ve seen it.” He took another step.

"You do know me," you told him.

Joel shook his head, closing the distance, "I know a brat with your name, but I know she ain't the real you." A large palm cupped your cheek, making your eyelids flutter at the touch.

"Stop hidin' from me," he whispered.

Inside, you felt something crumble as a tear made a river down your cheek. You felt yourself frown at the feeling, surprised by your own reaction. Joel's thumb rubbed over it, catching it, catching you.

"I don't know how," you confessed. The words tasted acrid on your tongue, and as you let them settle another tear ran down your cheek. Once a tear had broken free, you couldn't stop them.

"Oh, sweetheart," he cooed, your tears wetting Joel's hand as he wiped at your cheeks.

"Please don't, Joel," you begged through a shuddering breath, "I don't want your sympathy."

"It ain't sympathy. I fuckin' care ‘bout you– there's a difference."

His words hit you in the chest, knocking the breath out of you. I fuckin' care 'bout you. No one had told you something like that before; no one had cared for you or about you before. More tears streamed down your face, and this time you couldn't hold back your sob. Joel's arms were around you in a second, pressing you tightly to his chest, as a comforting palm held the back of your head.

"I didn't know," you whispered into his chest, staining his t-shirt with your tears.

"I know," he whispered back, pressing a kiss to your temple, "It's okay, princess."

His lips were so soft against your skin, so gentle, and warm. Tilting your head back, you caught his eyes, watched the deep whiskey color seeping with warmth. Without thinking you leaned forward, brushing your lips over Joel's in a kiss, a first kiss.

What his lips would taste like, you'd daydreamed about before; mint-y, sugary sweet or deep like embers? Joel didn't taste like either, he tasted like Joel, like a comforting hug, like the ecstasy of an orgasm, like a home. When you pulled away, you kept your eyes shut, not wanting to let go of the feeling of him just yet.

"Listen…"

The deep bass of Joel's voice soothed your eyes open where they stared right into Joel's. His voice had sounded steady, but his eyes gave his worry away.

"At the wedding–" Joel's voice stalled.

His eyes rested at something behind you, dancing back and forth as he searched for his words. With a shake off his head he let go of your body, taking with him the soothing safety he exuded. Looking around your room for a moment his eyes settled on your bed. He looked so out of place in your room, your mattress giving way for him where he sat at the edge.

Joel let your words sit between you, as his teeth caught on his lip, chewing. "Do you…" Joel trailed off, before he drew a deep breath. "I need ya to be honest with me now, no more games–"

"Okay…" you breathed out, your heart drumming in your chest.

Joel chewed on his lip again, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown as he searched for his words. "What was all this to you? That night at the club I thought you were pullin' my leg– why in the hell did you approach me?"

This time your face scrunched in a frown, "Why are you asking me this?"

"Just humor me, please."

Taking a deep breath you grabbed the back of your vanity chair, turning it to face Joel before you sat down. "Well, if I'm gonna be honest…" you started, "I was just looking for someone to buy me a drink. You were sitting there all alone so I thought why not. I liked that you made me work for it, it was fun, and hot, and I really wanted you to fuck me."

It was hard to interpret Joel where he sat, nodding his head with his eyes glued to the floor as he listened to you speak. "Why?" he said, looking up and finding your gaze.

"Why?" you couldn't help but chuckle, "Are you serious right now? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror– looked at your dick?"

A shy smile coated his face, and you swore you saw the apples of his cheeks flush pink. "I've looked at myself in the mirror, princess, and I ain't as young as I used to be."

"Is this why you're asking? Because you're older than me?" you wanted to know.

"I'm askin' because I'm old enough to be your daddy." In his eyes you could see a glimmer of something like shame. It was contagious, snaking its way into your chest where it squeezed around your heart.

"Are you ashamed of me?" This time you needed him to be honest, but still, you couldn't help but feel a nervousness trickle through your body as you awaited his answer.

"No," he said quickly, "It ain't that…"

"What is it then?" You almost didn't want to ask, your head swimming with answers before he could utter them.

"I'm ashamed of myself," he confessed, you felt the words run ice cold down your back. "I get that everythin' is different now– with datin' 'nd all. Nothin' wrong with a one night stand… but I'm too old to be someone's fuckbuddy. I can't be that guy for you."

"I d-don't want you to," you rushed, surprising yourself as you stumbled over the words.

The corner of his mouth twitched, a small smile telling you he didn't believe you.

"Well, you tell me nothin'. The little persona you put on is fun for sex, but it ain't fun when it has repercussions in real life. When you showed up at the wedding… I panicked, okay? For you it's all fun 'n games, but for me that's my family. What was I s'posed to say if they saw you, huh? Tell 'em that's the girl I'm fuckin'? Pretty sure my daughter would have a fuckin' aneurysm."

Joel shook his head as a shaky breath sifted through him.

"I shouldn't have said all that shit to you– I shouldn't have used that tone, but I couldn't let it continue like that… I don't want casual with you– I ain't got the energy for that sorta thing. I wanna know where I stand, I don't wanna keep guessin' what you're thinkin'… I can take your attitude, but at least be forthright with me." Joel's eyes found his hands folded in his lap.

"Okay…” you hesitated for a moment, “I think I might be falling in love with you," you confessed. The words fell out of your mouth before you could think them through, and you let them. Somehow, you weren't afraid anymore. You'd already lost the people who were supposed to be closest to you, supposed to be your family. There was nothing else to lose, just Joel, just a love.

He looked up from his lap, "You think or you are?"

Your teeth came down on your lip, chewing at a loose piece of skin as your eyebrows pulled together in a frown. "I am… I think–" you tried, your finger pinching the bridge of your nose, "I've never been in love… I don't know."

The heat rising in your cheeks had you look away from him. Across from you Joel rose to his feet and closed the small distance between you. A heavy palm found your cheek, turning your face slowly.

"D'you wanna find out?" he smiled, the rough pad of his thumb skating softly over your cheek. Joel towered over you, but you didn't feel small… you felt protected. The realization had tears press behind your eyes.

"Heyheyhey," Joel cooed, while his other hand found your cheek, "It's okay."

Drawing a shaky breath, you told him, "It's not, Joel, I'm leaving– tonight." A tear broke loose as the words left your lips.

Joel's thumbs wiped at your tears before he crouched down between your legs with a groan, his knees popping loudly. "You don't need to do anythin', princess. Y'can stay at my place until you figure things out–"

You shook your head as more tears ran down your cheeks. "I'm moving back to California, I was only supposed to stay here for the summer," you told him, "I have one year left of my engineering degree at Berkeley, and I'm starting a new internship job on Monday."

"Oh," Joel let out. If he tried to hide his surprise, he did an awful job at it; it almost made a smile crack between your tears.

"You should check your face Joel,” you told him, your tone as light as you could manage it right now, “I know you're old, but in this millennia, girls can be engineers too," you tried to jest.

He let out an incredulous breath, before he let go of your face, "I know that– but California… it ain't exactly a short drive."

In your chest, you felt a twinge, "And you don't exactly text."

Joel fell silent at your words, head dipping forward, and you swore you could hear the cogs turning in his head. With a groan he stood to his feet, backing up to sit at your bed again.

"Look," he started, his eyes catching yours, "I wanna give this a go, if you wanna give this a go."

"I do," you hurried, and Joel nodded.

"You leavin' makes this a hell of a lot more complicated…" he sighed, "If we're gonna do this thing, I wanna do it right… take you on a date– treat you right."

"I'd like that," you smiled, and you knew it was the truth.

Dating had been a means to an end; free meals in the exchange for mediocre sex for a month or three (or however long it took you to die of boredom). Dating Joel would be different; it would be real. At the start of the summer, you hadn't realized how starved you'd been for something like this, how you'd filled up on emptiness all your life and mistaken it for love.

"I got 'nother job lined up startin' next week, but I should be able to take the weekend off in a month or so," Joel told you.

Inside your chest, you felt like you'd swallowed a bag of butterflies. "You wanna come visit me?" you asked, a genuine smile tugging at your lips.

"'f you'll have me, princess."

Rising from your chair, you crossed the space between you on eager feet, slotting between his spread legs. Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you let your thumb run over his beard, the thick bristles tickling your skin. His face softened in your hands, and inside you felt the wound torn open by Joel, start to close up.

There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d give up the opportunity of being with Joel, but there was one condition…

"Only if you promise to never treat me like that ever again. I'll stomp on your fucking balls– is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Joel said, a grin tugging at the side of his mouth.

Pleased, you climbed into his lap, locking your arms around his neck as you felt his large palms settle at your hips.

With your face only inches from his own, you commanded, "Say that again."

"Yes…" he grinned, his hands sliding lower to grip your ass, "Ma'am."

Pressing your lips against his, you felt something heavy fall off your heart. A weight so heavy if Joel's hands weren't on you, you'd float away. Joel licked into your mouth, deepening the kiss and exploring your mouth. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pressing him closer and closer to your body. You wished you could meld with him, become one, something strong and resilient.

When your hips started to grind against the hardening bulge in his pants, you mumbled against his lips. "One last time for the road?"

His laugh tasted sweet like honey, and you tried to lick up every sugary breath of it. His hands on your ass tightened as you rolled your hips again, his fingers making dents through the rough fabric of your jeans.

Pulling away, the sound of your wet lips smacked against the walls. Joel's grin looked infuriatingly cocky as he took in the state of you; your lips rawed and sticky with spit, and your eyes filled to the brim with lust.

"I ain't fuckin' you again until I've taken you on a date," he told you with a light smack against your ass.

"You can't be serious," you whined, head tilting as you pushed your lip out in a pout.

"Oh, I'm dead serious, princess. I'm gonna do this right, 'n that means you gotta be a good girl f'me 'n behave." Joel's voice dropped an octave as he whispered the last words in your ear, and a shiver ran down your back at the promise.

"But not too good," you told him, a smile coating your lips.

"No, I like you a little bratty."

"When does you flight land again?"

Propped up in bed, fluffy pillows soft against your back, you pressed your phone to your ear. A month had never passed as slowly as these past weeks. The new internship and settling into your new classes might've had something to do with it – you'd been overwhelmed with work – but the promise of Joel at the end of it had you longing.

"Five thirty– I already told ya yesterday, princess."

He did, right after he'd guided you towards a shaking orgasm just from his words. Joel had promised to text, but he was awful at it. You know he'd tried, replying to your texts sporadically throughout the day, but you'd quickly given up on anything substantial from him in that department. When he'd suggested a phone call before bed you'd grimaced at the thought, but hearing the deep bass through his drawl every night had you convinced without a fight – especially when you'd managed to tease him into spilling filth down the line.

"I know… but in my defense I was a little out of it," you reminded him.

Joel's chuckled, a deep rumbling laugh that dripped like honey in your ears. "Really? I couldn't tell," he teased.

"Shut up," you laughed.

"I don't think you want that," you could hear the grin coating his face.

He was right, you didn't want that. What you wanted was to talk to him all night, hear the static bass of his voice in your ear. It didn't matter what he said, what language he spoke, if the lilt was high or low, you just wanted to talk to him. But more importantly you wanted him in your bed – so you told him just that.

"What I want is: you here, in my bed, right now with your cock inside me," you pouted.

Your words pulled another laugh from Joel. "Well, then, you ought to be patient, princess."

"I'm very unfamiliar with that concept," you told him, a teasing lilt covering your words, "I'm used to getting what I want."

"Oh I know… but we ain't doin' this again, princess…" he told you, his voice dropping with sternness, "As a matter of fact, I don't want you touching yourself at all until I can get my hands on you. 's that clear?"

"Do you promise to punish me if I do?" you wondered, your teeth coming down to nibble on your bottom lip through a smile.

"I promise to keep my hands to myself and my pants buttoned for the whole weekend– does that sound like a nice punishment, brat?"

"Jesus christ," you sighed, "I guess I gotta be good until tomorrow, then."

"I'll make it up to you," he promised through a laugh.

"You better," you teased.

Pulling into the parking lot next to your apartment building, his words skipped around your brain. I'll make it up to you.

Now well into September, the days close to knocking on October's door, Joel had been a constant presence in your head ever since you’d left Austin. Your thoughts of him wandered away in your classes, conjuring him forth when you slipped a hand into your panties, and even filled up your dreams.

But the flimsy fantasy version of him was nothing compared to the solid form next to you. In the parking lot the sun slipped beneath the skyline and the golden orange light coming through your car windows kissed Joel's cheek, and bathed him in the last drops of the sun.

He was here, finally, his hand brushing against yours as you led him inside.

"It ain't how I pictured it," he spoke; the leather strap of his bag slipped from his shoulder.

You hadn't realized that you'd held your breath before it released at his words. It was like you'd been waiting for your bubble to burst, that he wasn't really here, forever a static voice speaking down your phone. But his voice was clear, and deep, and real; and Joel was flesh and blood standing beside you in your apartment. You didn't need to hold your breath anymore.

"How did you picture it?" you asked, genuinely curious as you led him deeper inside your apartment.

"I don't know…" he trailed off, his eyes darting through your space, "Bigger, maybe?"

You hummed, following his eyes as he took in your space – the furniture you'd picked out special, and the art you hadn't had time to hang yet – it was a one-bedroom, but it was enough for you. The previous year you'd lived with roommates in a fancier apartment closer to campus. Socially it was great living with your classmates, but they were all boys, and at one point when the apartment looked especially dirty, you'd considered hiring a housekeeper. But the downsides weighed lightly against the upsides, and you’d never felt lonely, not like you'd done home in Austin.

"I don't want that anymore… there's nothing lonelier than a big house." The words settled between you, a comfortable silence while you tried not to think about what Joel was thinking, as you felt his gaze burn at your cheek.

“Come here,” he said, slipping an arm over your shoulders, tucking you close to his chest. “Let’me look at ya.”

The rough pads of his fingers pushed at your jaw, tilting your head to look at him. A soft smile blossomed over his face, his eyes deepening with a soothing warmth.

"You see something?" you asked, your eyes flicking to his lips.

"You ain't lonely anymore," he told you before he leaned closer in a kiss.

The brush of his lips had your eyes fluttering shut, and the press of his lips against yours awakened a burning pit in your tummy – the flames licking at your insides and igniting your want. The words he’d promised you over the phone played like a broken record in the back of your mind.

I'll make it up to you.

Clawing at the hair at the nape of his neck, your desperate hand pulled him closer, eager to fill your tank up on Joel.

“Bedroom,” you mumbled, the word fanned against his lips, "It's been so long and I deserve it– I've worked all fucking week."

"Deserve it, huh?" he hummed, pulling away to catch your blown out and moony eyes.

"Yes, Joel," you whined, pressing your lips against his again. But Joel wouldn't have it, letting you get one good kiss in before he pulled away again, eliciting a pouty whine from your throat.

"Patience," he told you, teasing smile hanging off his mouth while the hand splayed across the side of your face tightened. "I already told ya, I ain't fuckin' you until you've taken me out."

Letting out an petulant huff, you stepped away, crossing your arms over your chest. "So, now I'm taking you on a date?" you asked with the raise of an eyebrow.

A smile tugged at his lips as he regarded you, a teasing glint in his eye. Hooking an arm around your waist, he pulled you closer, "Yes, you ought to wine and dine this old man after a long day of travel."

"Well you could've told me earlier," you moaned, leaning back in his embrace with drama, your arms still wrapped around yourself as you looked at him through your lashes. "All the good restaurants are probably full at this hour…" you trailed off, "let's just get take-out," you said, pleased at your work-around.

His other hand joined the other on your waist, "Nah-uh, princess, ain't a real date until we're eatin' out."

Raising an eyebrow at him, the innuendo wasn't lost on you. With a knowing shake of your head, you told him, "No, you just want me to beg."

Joel's eyes narrowed playfully at you, his head tilting in a playful scrutinized way, "Well, you beg so pretty f'me."

This time you were the one to narrow your eyes at him, your face scrunched together in the slightest frown. Staring at him like that, you tried to break him down, but Joel was used to your antics, and he didn't break.

Letting out another fussy huff, you said, "So… if I take you out to eat, you'll fuck me after?"

"If the foods good," he teased, one hand sliding down to squeeze your ass.

He was insufferable, you thought through a sigh, rolling your eyes at him as you slipped from his grip.

"Come on then, old man."

After a change of clothes and a visit to the bathroom to freshen up, you pondered over your usual 'rule': You didn't fuck on the first date. Sure, you weren't a stranger to a one night stand after a night out, but if a man were to take you out, you wanted to at least give it a shot before you gave it all up.

"Usually, I never fuck on the first date," you told him as the elevator hummed around you. Joel's hand rested comfortably at your lower back, and you found that you liked it– liked his casual show of affection. You didn't know why you said it. Maybe as a last resort to convince him to click the button to your floor and take you back up to your bed?

Joel didn't look at you as a smile that gave nothing away spread across his face. His response was cut off by the elevator dinging, and with his hand at your back he guided you out the elevator.

"Well, too bad for you then, princess," he hummed teasingly in your ear, which earned him a playful shove before you led him down the street.

Blitzes of red, green, and blue danced over Joel's face, the bright neon light tugging at his features in playful shadows. Overhead, the sky had darkened with night over the parking lot. It was empty, safe for the food truck parked by the entrance.

Before you'd moved back home to Austin for the summer, you'd been apartment hunting in this area. It was by sheer luck you'd found it, so close to your internship job with only a couple of blocks away. And when the sun hung high in the sky, this parking lot filled with hungry office workers eager for a well made burrito or taco. You knew because you liked to watch them from up high, the building where you did your internship giving you the perfect view of the small ants. Sometimes one of those ants was you.

The tired wood of the picnic table felt rough against your skin and it wobbled slightly if either of you put too much weight on it. In the background the truck generator hummed away between your bites, but somehow this felt perfect.

"How's your taco?" you asked, a smile hanging off your lips as you broke the comfortable silence that had settled between you and Joel.

"God damn good," Joel nodded, taking another bite.

"Right?" you smiled, a proud warmth settled in your chest. "Looks like I'm getting my dick wet later," you teased.

The laugh that rumbled out of Joel's chest, bubbled up inside you, feeding you more than the tacos. It almost took you by surprise, the feelings he'd conjured forth inside you, stronger now in his presence. Maybe all those #1 hits, and romcoms were right after all?

"We'll see," he winked.

Gulping down his second taco, Joel wiped his hand on a napkin before he wrapped a hand around his beer bottle. He watched you with a smile, how you tried your best to bite into your own taco without everything falling out.

"Too big f'you, princess?" he teased, "Shouldn't be a problem f'you, huh? You've taken bigger than that."

"Ah!" you exclaimed, mouth too full to say anything else. Kicking your foot under the table, you hit his shin lightly in a reprimand.

Joel only laughed it off, before taking a swig of his beer.

“That’s it,” he said, his eyes falling on you playfully, “Good girl.”

You couldn't hold back from letting out something between a snort and a sound. It resulted in an unceremonious amount of salsa to drip out of your mouth and onto the plate, which only made Joel laugh harder as you struggled to swallow down the huge bite of taco.

When you finally managed, you gave Joel a half-pointed, half-amused look, “Asshole.”

“You love it, sweetheart,” he said through a chuckle, and somehow the light words hit a little harder than you'd thought. Could you love Joel? Maybe you already did.

Shaking your head, you tried to rid yourself of your new discovery. “Don't be a brat Joel,” you said in a sing-songy voice, trying to hide your growing smile behind another bite out of your taco.

Joel chuckled again at the inside joke, and a sense of pride grew in your chest. “That a threat, baby?” he returned, raising a single eyebrow as he regarded you.

You gave him a nonchalant shrug as you swallowed down your taco. “Just a warning,” you told him simply, and now Joel’s lips curved into a smirk.

“A warning, huh?” he repeated as his eyes ran down the length of you and back up. He took his time, making sure you felt his gaze over your skin before he uncrossed his arms and leaned towards you over the table, “Thought I was the only one handin' out warnings ‘round here.”

“Roles can change,” you replied simply, your own smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. Joel crossed his arms under himself this time, still leaning on the table as he considered you, twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah?" he tsk-ed, "Y'gonna give me a run for my money, princess?” he asked after a second, his voice a fraction deeper than it was before.

“Shouldn't be too hard,” you told him with your sweetest smile.

Joel only looked at you as a smile tugged at the side of his mouth. The dark brown of his eyes coaxed you deeper, drew you in, like a magnetic force pulled you across the table.

God, you wanted him.

It was an almost overwhelming thought, Joel was too overwhelming. To settle your brain, your cleared your throat, looking away first.

“You, uh–… you want any dessert?” you asked, trying not to act flustered, "Their churros are really good."

“Y’haven’t even finished your taco, princess,” he pointed out with an amused lilt to his voice.

Right.

Continuing your act, you snorted as you picked up your last taco. “I meant after, obviously.” The smile on Joel's face had a hot flush of warmth climb up your neck to your cheeks.

“‘m alright f’now I think,” he said with a nod towards his plate, where he had one last taco left.

As you and Joel ate your last tacos, he told you about the lady he'd been sat next to on the flight. A real southern lady, he told you, "like sittin' next to the mouth of the south." The genuine tiredness in his voice as he talked about it, had a cooing laugh escape you, and you reached out your arm across the table to slot it in his.

When both of you were full and satisfied with tacos, Joel cleaned up your plates while you fished a cigarette from your purse. You offered one to him as he sat down, to which he shook his head, "You know those'll kill ya."

Tilting your head, you rolled your eyes at him with a smile, "I know."

Joel watched you light your cigarette, the flame brightening your face for a split second, before he spoke up, "I've been meaning to ask ya…"

"Hm?" you looked at him, inhaling the first tar-y breath and exhaling away from him through the side of your mouth.

"How'd everythin' go with your…" he hesitated, "Uh, your father."

Joel watched how your face changed at the mention of him, how you looked away from him like the words had stung you.

"I ain't gonna say I wasn't eavesdroppin' on y'all's conversation," he confessed.

Drawing a deep breath, you flicked the ash into your empty beer bottle. "It went like it always does," you shrugged, "He threatened me some more, and then I threatened him back. He's more concerned about his reputation than me, so I told him I'd post the truth about him if he disinherited me… shut him up real quick."

"I'm sorry, baby," Joel said with a shake of his head, "That ain't how you're s'posed to treat your kids."

"Well," you shrugged, taking another drag. "I'm used to it," you exhaled.

A silence settled between you, the only sound the sizzling burn of your cigarette as you took another drag, and the quiet humming of the truck generator. His words settled in your chest, and a curiosity you'd previously strangled resurfaced. Joel had a daughter.

"Was it hard, um…" you struggled to find the right words, pinching your eyebrows together as you searched. Joel leaned his elbows on the table, tipping it towards him, listening intently. "For your, uh, daughter when you got divorced?"

"Divorced?" he questioned, bushy brows pulling together in a confused frown. A second passed as he searched your face for answers. "Oh, right," he chuckled, his face smoothing out as he sat back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I was never married to Sarah's mom– I've never been married, baby."

"What?" Now you were confused, sporting the same frown he had, "But you said–"

"Yeah, I know," he cut you off, "But technically you put the words in my mouth, 'nd I didn't know where all this–" he pointed between you, "–was headin' so I… I just let you believe it."

"Oh."  

“Sorry,” Joel said after a second as he processed your answer, “Probably should've said somethin' but–”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, “I didn’t really ask, did I? Just assumed.”

Another silence fell over the two of you while you inhaled another breath of smoke. Joel watched you, studied you as he gulped down the last of his beer. Placing the bottle gently down against the wood, Joel continued.

“So no… Never got married, and never got divorced.”

“What happened?” you asked him gently, not sure if he wanted you to ask or not, “With Sarah’s mom?”

Joel looked down at his lap for a second, like the answer laid in his lap before he looked up with a shrug. “There ain’t much to tell, honestly… high school sweethearts, just a couple of stupid kids who made a stupid mistake.”

“But you kept the baby?”

“Yeah,” Joel said through a sigh, “We live in Texas darlin’, and back then it… it just wasn't an option for us.”

Joel shook his head, before he cleared his throat. “Anyway, we convinced ourselves we’d set up our own little family, neither of us would go off to college and we’d just work… I got a carpenter job, she waited tables– it was a total fantasy in hindsight, of course, but we didn’t know it then.”

You listened intently as Joel opened up, and noticed how he avoided your eyes. He played it cool, but you could clearly see from his body language, that this wasn't a topic he spoke about often. The realization felt disjointed, a happiness inside you at being trusted by Joel dulled by the pain hidden behind his words.

“Pregnancy was fine, even the job was goin' okay, but as soon as Sarah was born it all went to shit… we had no idea what we were in for and it was hard. We were overworked, broke, exhausted and covered in poop and puke, it wasn’t pretty.”

“Wow, you make parenthood seem like such a joy,” you told him sarcastically, trying to draw a smile across his face, but Joel only snorted.

“Whoever sells that lie should go to jail,” he said with a scoff, “Let me tell you– there ain’t nothin' harder in this world than raisin’ a child.”

This time you had to look away from Joel, the words tugging at something in your own heart; that wound that never closed. Was that why he hated you so badly? Why she didn’t want to see you? That couldn't be right, they never even tried. But you remembered those who did, the revolving doors of all the nannies who'd held you when you'd cried, blew on your knees when you scraped them, played with you in the tree house, and tucked you into bed. You were half-way through your twenties now, it was time to grow your old wounds – it was time to finally let go.

“It was too hard for her, I guess… one afternoon I came home from work and she’d packed all her bags, left Sarah in her high chair with a note– 'I'm sorry' it said. I never heard from her again, but her parents told me she’s livin’ up in Seattle now. They didn’t hear from her for a while either– almost had the police involved…”

Stumping out your cigarette, you reached across the table for his hand, “What did you do?”

“I was angry first, called her 'bout a million times 'nd got an out-of-service message, which meant she’d dumped her phone already… when it sunk in I wasn’t going to see her again I was scared shitless… here I was, barely twenty years old with a six-month old baby and no freaking idea what I was doin', and the one person I was s’posed to be doing it with had just disappeared into thin air,” Joel explained, before he let out a sigh, “Poor girl probably had some kind of postpartum depression, but we were so overwhelmed with the baby we could barely keep our lives together– 'nd I was so preoccupied with Sarah I never really addressed it… in hindsight, I feel like I failed her, y’know? I should’ve noticed, paid more attention to what she needed… I never wanted to fail my family ever again.”

"So you raised your kid.”

Joel gave you a nod, as he pursed his lips together. “I raised my kid… 'nd Tommy helped me a lot. He was just a kid, 'nd he didn't have to do it, but he moved in– watched Sarah while I was at work up until he joined the army 'nd I could afford a sitter…" Joel trailed off, his eyebrows knitting together as his breath stalled in his throat.

"I remember one night…" he started, "Sarah screamed so loud, kept on cryin' 'n cryin', and I couldn't figure out what she wanted. I'd walked around the whole house, carried her for hours until it felt like my arms were gonna fall off. It would be so easy to just give up right then 'nd there… but as I looked at her, at my perfect little baby I promised myself that I'd never make the same mistake again as I had with her mother– I'd always put my babygirl first no matter what…”

Joel let out a sigh as his eyes finally caught yours.

“I guess that’s why I was so mean with you, when you showed up at the wedding. This is my family, y’know? They mean the world to me, always been my priority, always will be… I didn’t want the decisions that I had made to affect them,” he sat up a little straighter, squeezing your hand before he looked at you intently, “I realize now that wasn’t fair to you either, so ’m sorry ‘bout that–”

You shook your head, biting down on the underside of your lip as you fought the tears that pressed at the back of your eyes. Never in your life had something so rudimentary as family mattered in your life. Family to you was something to escape, a randomized lottery that assigned you to people you had nothing in common with. Not once had it occurred to you that your actions could have had consequences for Joel's relationship with his family – and never did it occur to you that those relationships mattered.

“No, I’m sorry,” you told him, with an embarrassed shake of your head, “When I showed up at that wedding… I– I was only thinking of me and what I wanted, not about any consequences it could have for you… I guess I’m not really used to the idea of thinking about what or who matters to others… especially family.”

The last word died on your tongue as your eyes found your lap. The weight of what you'd said, penetrated through your heart, made you hear it for the first time. Across from you, Joel was silent for a long time as you sat with your confession, digesting it at your own pace.

"I know…" Joel suddenly said with a squeeze of your hand, "I forgive you."

His words had a finality to them you found hard to believe. There was no bite of anger, or falseness hidden behind sincerity, only the truth.

"I forgave you weeks ago, baby, after…” He let the words die on his tongue but you knew what he meant – after he’d seen you with your father. “Let's leave it in the past, ‘nd focus on enjoyin’ these days together.”

Joel didn't give you an opportunity to reply before he stood to his feet, reaching out a large palm for you to hold. Slotting your hand in his, he guided you past the food truck and out onto the street, holding your hand the whole way home.

"I didn't know you wore glasses," you said softly, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom.

Joel was already under your covers, propped up against the headboard where he scrolled on his phone. He didn't look up right away, so you took your time to study him as you walked closer with slow steps. One graying curl hung over his forehead, his head tipped slightly forward as he tapped with one finger. His tanned exposed skin looked soft like silk, and you wanted to trace your fingers down the graying thatch of hair speckled down his chest.

At the sound of a quiet wosh! he finally looked up from his phone.

His glasses sat low on his nose where behind the glass his eyes rolled over you, and the brand new set of lingerie adorning your body. The transparent mesh was the perfect shade of green, one that complimented your skin so well it might as well have been made specifically for you. The bra was simple with embroidered flowers weaved through the mesh. The same embroidered flowers adorned the thong, barely concealing your mound. Usually, you wouldn't go for something like this, it wasn't your style– too cute, but there was something about it that made you feel so sexy. Maybe it was the mesh, the way the thin string of the thong split your cheeks in two, or maybe it was the small bow at the back.

You knew you looked hot, but you hoped Joel would like it anyway, you’d bought it just for him. 

Joel placed his phone slowly on your night stand, a wide grin spreading across his face. Then he leaned forward slightly, scrunching his face together in a playful squint, "So, this is whatcha look like!?"

You couldn't contain the giggle slipping through your teeth. Joel's smile hung loose, and he leaned back casually, silently inviting you into his lap.

"I like them… You look hot in them," you told him, climbing up in his lap.

"I use 'em only for readin'," he explained, taking in the sight of you before him with wandering hands.

His rough palms over your skin left goosebumps in their wake. You let him touch you, let him familiarize himself with the fabric as you leaned forward and slipped the glasses off his nose.

"You're somethin' else aren't you, princess?" The low timber in his voice had a wetness soil your panties.

"Do you like it, Daddy?" you wondered breathlessly as one of his fingers slipped through the thin band of your thong where it traced the skin underneath. "I missed your birthday… but I hope this makes up for it?" you asked, a lilt of innocence coating your words as you rocked your hips against his.

Joel's smile sat wide and toothy on his face; forming small creases around his eyes. Under you, you felt his hardening cock grow. You couldn't help but rock your hips again, chasing the feeling of him after waiting so long – you needed him now.

"Y'look real pretty, princess… so beautiful– how'd I get so lucky, huh?"

One large palm cupped your cheek and brought you closer to his face. His lips tasted fresh and mint-y when he brushed them over yours in a soft kiss. Under your skin your body buzzed with anticipation. His kiss was short; leaving you wanting more, always wanting more.

"Too bad you don't fuck on the first date," he teased, leaning back and letting his hands fall to your ass where they landed with a playful smack!

Jumping slightly from the impact, a breathy whine escaped your throat, "I can make an exception."

"Really?" he grinned, raising a single eyebrow at you, "Just f'me?"

Pushing out your lip, you gave him an impatient pout. "You promised you'd make it up to me if I didn't touch myself…" you moaned, "And I didn't."

Joel tilted his head in feigned sympathy; his hands on your ass drawing soft circles into the skin. "That's sweet, princess," he hummed before he let out a forced sigh, "I did promise ya, didn't I?"

"Yes," you nodded with a rock of your hips against his hard cock.

"Alright then," Joel said, his fingers finding the bow at the back of your thong, "Let me make it up to ya."

The silk bow keeping the thin strings of your thong together dwindled into scraps with one tug from Joel. Something drew your closer, like something bright and loud inside your chest clawed out for him. This time it would be for real – no more act to play, and no more hiding. The thought bubbled with nerves in your throat.

After discarding your thong in the bed sheets to get lost, Joel's hands cradled your face, bringing you closer. The crook of his nose grazed gently against yours before he pressed his lips against yours. 

You let yourself be explored by him, savoring the way his tongue tasted in your mouth, how he took the lead like it was the most natural thing in the world. Inside, you felt like you were about to burst; so many pent up feelings finally breaking free from his kiss. You couldn't help but grind against him; the fluffed duvet in the way of any real friction the way you wanted it, but you craved him either way.

"I know, baby," he hummed against your lips, "That pussy's aching f'me ain't it?"

"Yes," you breathed through a whine, "Please, Joel."

"Alright, princess," he soothed, "So polite for once, huh?"

"Yeah, you better savor it," you teased against him, "Because it's not happening again."

With a breathy chuckle, he pulled away to tap at the thick of your thigh. Twisting your eyebrows together in a confused frown you got off his lap. Between your legs you felt your arousal stick wetly against your inner thighs as you sat back on your knees beside him. Joel pushed the duvet away before he shuffled down the bed, exposing his body, before he laid his head down on the pillows.

"C'mon then," he waved his hand at your expectantly. "Let me take care of ya."

Not moving, your frown grew deeper at his words while your hands collected like a nervous tick in your lap.

"Sit on my face, baby, let me taste that sweet pussy."

Sit on Joel's face?

Your teeth came down to nibble on your bottom lip, as a small shiver of insecurity raced up your back. It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? You shifted on your knees unsteadily, the mattress dipping you forward where his body weighed it down.

You couldn't look at him, so your eyes found your hands in you lap. Why did you need to go through this again? What was his obsession with it exactly? To see you humiliated? And not in the fun way.

"Hey… you okay?" Joel asked, his tone low and soft. He sat up on his elbow, his body turned curiously towards you.

The way he looked at you, his eyes dark and warm and full of… something, had your cheeks filling with a blazing heat. Shaking your head, you tried to will the embarrassment away. You didn't want him to see you like that– it wasn't supposed to be like this, not this time.

"Yes." You pulled yourself together, lips tugging at a teasing smile you hoped would put Joel at ease.

Leaning forward – making sure to push your ass out and arch your back for him – you tugged at the waistband of his underwear where you could peek the outline of his hard cock straining against the cotton. Before you could pull them down, Joel's hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. Tilting your head curiously towards him, you could see a smirk coat his face.

"'s that whatcha want?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, and you nodded. "Greedy girl," he tsk-ed through his grin.

His strong hands were around your waist before you had time to think, manhandling your legs over his chest, exposing you and your wet center to his waiting mouth. A panic gripped your heart then, and you sat up with haste, slipping off his body.

"Don't do that, Joel," you let out, your tone laced with an unintended annoyance.

A frown pulled at his eyebrows as he sat up; his eyes bounced over your body and then your face.

"Red?" he asked, concern spilling across his face.

A sigh fell from your lips as a hand came up to rub at your face. When you didn't say anything right away, his hand caught your own, pulling it away while his other soothing palm found your cheek.

"Red?" he asked again, a little sterner – demanding an answer.

You shook your head in his hand, the words on your tongue failing you.

"What is it then, princess?"

The tenderness in his voice almost broke you down, hacking at the crumbling wall shielding you from him. Joel cared about you. He'd told you that, came all this way to make it crystal clear. So why couldn't you let him?

"Do you wanna get your dick sucked or what?"

Shaking off his palm you could feel ashamed later for slipping into your outdated disguise. This was how the sex with Joel was supposed to go – how it always went. But Joel wouldn't have it.

"Well, now I'm sayin' it– Red."

Inside, your heart sunk like a stone in water, and before you knew it you felt tears fight their way forward. You'd ruined it– your perfect day with Joel was ruined. Cautiously finding his face, you expected Joel to be angry, but the tenderness in his eyes as he looked at you hit you like a sucker punch.

"Let's stop for a minute, baby. Clearly there's somethin' botherin' you. I knew I saw it last time– what's goin' on?" he wanted to know. "Tell me," he grabbed your hand, slotting your fingers together as he held your gaze with an intensity that burned. "'n no more hidin', remember?"

No more hiding.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you managed to push back your tears as a stuttering sigh escaped you.

Okay.

Opening your eyes slowly, you gathered your courage. "I feel like I'm ruining everything," you confessed, your voice breaking a little as you told him the truth.

"That ain't true," Joel frowned, "'f you don't want this anymore, we can stop–"

"I don't want to stop," you cut him off, "I want this– you so badly! I've been thinking about it all day– all month long, b-but I…" you stuttered.

"But you don't like oral?" Joel finished for you, his frown deepening in confusion.

You shook your head, "I– um… no, not really."

Joel was silent for a second, eyes boring into you as you tried to avoid his gaze.

This was embarrassing.

“There a specific reason f’that, pretty girl?” he asked you as his hand holding yours tightened just a little while dipping his head to meet your eyes.

Your cheeks burned furiously as you looked at Joel, trying for a nonchalant shrug. “I-It just–… it doesn’t feel good.”

At that, Joel raised a single eyebrow in surprise, considering you.

“It doesn’t feel good?” he repeated, "I seem to remember you enjoyin' yourself last time…" You watched how a frown pulled at his face, his own words sinking in and replacing them with a sliver of doubt. "Or am I wrong?"

This time, Joel was the one who wouldn't meet your gaze, acting surprisingly bashful. Quickly, you shook your head, "No."

Joel's face twisted into a sad smile, and the way he looked at you told you he didn't believe you. "Y'can be honest with me. If I did somethin' you didn't like– you gotta tell me."

"It wasn't you who did it," you muttered, voice low like a whisper, the only way the words could leave your lips.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," Joel let out in an exasperated sigh, his tone backed up by anger. Squeezing your hand again, he demanded your attention. "Who did then? Tell me, baby– some twenty-somethin’ asshole say something he shouldn’t have?”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words, surprised that he wasn’t even that far off, and the memories pushed their way forward. It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? His mocking laugh echoed in your head. The way he'd licked your mound with a scrunch of his nose as you'd wished you could've sunk through the bed.

Even though you hadn’t uttered a word, Joel had read your expression telling him he'd hit the nail on the head, and now his brows knitted into a frown.

“Baby,” he told you, his voice so tender it made your head spin. One of his hands let go of your palm, bringing his fingers up to graze the pads softly over the edge of your jaw. “We’ll do whatever you want, it’s your choice… but I wantcha to know that I think you've got the prettiest fuckin' pussy I’ve ever seen– the sweetest tastin' too.”

Dropping your head, you squeezed your eyes shut. Joel's hand slid from your jaw to cover the side of your face, the palm covering your ear and half the world disappeared. You were silent for a second, before you took a small breath.

“You mean that?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, princess,” he told you, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, “m’not lying either, you know… it’s the only fucking thing I can think about, only thing I wanna see when I’m fucking ya– wanna see just how good she looks wrapped 'round me.”

You couldn't fight the smile from breaking, your eyelashes fluttering bashfully as you turned your head. "You can't just say that… this is supposed to be a tender moment."

Joel's laugh rumbled through his chest. "I'm a contractor, princess, I ain't no poet. I dunno how to wax poetic 'bout your pussy."

"I don't need you to do that," you told him through a laugh, turning your head back to look at him.

"Good," he smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

He studied you for a beat, before he leaned back against the pillows with an inviting raised arm. "C'mon. Let's get some sleep, baby."

“Sleep?” you asked him, the disappointment evident in your tone, “But, I–… I haven’t even sucked your cock.”

“Y’gonna let me eat you out?” Joel returned, and you crinkled your nose.

“Joel,” you whined, dragging out the vowels as your hands covered your face. A small laugh escaped Joel, and quickly his hands came up to gently pry yours away.

“Baby, I don’t wantcha doin' anythin' that makes you uncomfortable, but I also wanna make you feel good,” he told you, “I don’t believe in one-sided exchanges, and if m’honest, the only thing I can think about right now is buryin' my head between those pretty thighs and makin' you scream my name for the next five hours.”

The casual confidence in his voice sent a shudder down your spine where it pooled between your thighs. He did make you come last time, you remembered, and it had felt really really good. Still, that old insecurity at the back of your neck clung to you like a poltergeist. After a second of silence, watching the conflict on your face, Joel drew a deciding breath.

“Tell you what baby,” he said as you felt his hands gently grab at your waist and pull you towards him, “Think I know a way we can both get what we want.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked grudgingly, “What’s that, hm?”

Joel leaned forward and slotted his lips against yours gently, pulling you deeper into a sense of safety. After a second he pulled back, teeth trapping your bottom lip.

“You still have to sit on m'face,” Joel told you with a smirk, “But I’ll level with ya princess, you can do whatchu want, and I’ll make sure to keep ya distracted… promise.”

A beat passed as you let his proposal settle between you. A thought of how you could always say your safeword if you absolutely hated it crossed your mind. He'd established it so early in your relationship, set the boundaries between you clearly and you knew Joel would never force you to do anything you didn't want to do.

Drawing a deep breath through your nose, you let out a breathy, "Okay."

Joel's smile brightened before he leaned closer to press another gentle kiss to your lips, "Attagirl."

Turning you around, Joel helped you swing your leg over his broad chest where his palms settled over your hips. Maneuvering your hips backwards he positioned your exposed cunt to his face.

Afraid to put your whole weight on him, you hovered, your knees digging deeply into the mattress on either side of his head. As reassuring as Joel had been, being this exposed still made you nervous, and you couldn't help the way your body tensed up. Trying to distract yourself from what Joel thought about you, you focused on your distraction; Joel's straining cock hidden away behind the woven cotton of his underwear.

Pulling at the elastic band, you slowly revealed the length of him inch by inch. A pleased smile tugged at your lips as you took him in your hand; his thigh reacting in a twitch at your touch. He still had the prettiest cock you'd ever seen, veiny and thick, and perfectly heavy in your hand. Leaning down, you pressed a light kiss to the skin right above the base; the dark and silver wiry hair tickled your skin as you inhaled the masculine musk of him – of Joel, your Joel.

Joel's greedy fingers dug deliciously into your skin, as his dominant hand glided up your back, pushing you to lay your weight on him. You couldn't see what he was doing, only feel the hot breath of him so close to the core of you.

"She looks so pretty drippin' f'me," his voice rasped, placing a fluttering kiss through your folds, "'n she tastes even better."

You couldn't help the stuttering breath that escaped you, your eyes squeezing shut as Joel licked a stripe from your clit to your hole, tasting you unabashedly with a content hum. His fingers dug deeper into your skin as you whined, holding you firmly against his mouth to keep you from squirming away.

Focusing back at your task at hand, you tightened your fist around his cock, gathering a blob of spit in your mouth and let it slowly drip down the length of him. You watched your spit run over your knuckles before you started to work your hand up and down his length, thumbing over the head to mix your spit with the precum sprouting from the tip as you wet his cock with slick squelching tugs. Against your stomach, you could feel his chest vibrate in a content hum.

Kneading your ass cheeks firmly, Joel spread you apart for him before you felt him spit harshly against your cunt. The spit ran down your folds, gathering at the flat of his tongue where he circled it around your clit. You tensed at the contact, your face pulling together in the slightest of frowns of pleasure.

"Shit," you let out in a breath.

Pleased at the reaction he'd pulled from you, Joel hummed against your cunt, wet and spread open for him to devour. "Yeah? That feel good, princess?"

"Uh-huh," you moaned, your hand stilled at the base of his cock, as he traced circles around your clit with his tongue.

Cocking his hips, Joel reminded you of your neglected job. Pulling yourself together, you tightened your fist around him again. Mesmerized, you lowered your head and dropped open your mouth, slapping the wet length of him against your waiting tongue. Pleased, you hummed at the first salty taste of him, the familiar heaviness of him in your mouth. Enveloping him in your mouth, you closed your lips around the mushroom tip to tease the head with your circling tongue, making him twitch in your mouth at the new stimulation.

The way his mouth had latched around your clit, sucking and flicking it expertly, made it hard to concentrate. So much was happening all at the same time, his tongue devouring you, urging you towards a long awaited orgasm, but judging from the way he started to buck his hips into your mouth, you figured the same thing was happening to him.

Trying your best to keep your focus, you started to bop your head. Relaxing your throat, this new angle made it easier to take the hefty length of him down your throat, and you found that you liked it. Pushing your head deeper, you gagged yourself on him, loving the feeling of how he filled up your throat with each bop of your head.

On his tongue your clit pulsed with need, and you found yourself moaning around his cock, making Joel's hips buck from the vibrations in your throat. Joel ate your pussy greedily, drinking up every whimper and moan your body produced as he coaxed you closer and closer with just his tongue.

You couldn't stay still, even with Joel's fingers digging harshly into the flesh of your ass, branding you as his. With your head clouded in lust, you didn't realize you started to push back against his tongue, chasing the high of the swipes and zigzags of his tongue through your soaked folds. "Feels so fucking good," you mumbled, lips pressed to the side of his cock while your head was clouded in cotton candy bliss.

Choking yourself on his cock again, you pulled yourself under the blanket of tranquil arousal, your head filled with nothing except the way Joel took care of you, and how good his cock felt in your throat. Your desperate hands found his heavy balls, cupping them gently before you rolled them in your hands, earning you a deep rumbling groan.

"That's it– play with my balls, baby– good girl," he moaned into your pussy.

His praise settled in your tummy like a warm cup of tea on a cold day. The wet breath of him against your throbbing clit was almost too much to take, and now you started to grind against this face, fucking yourself against his tongue as you chased your high that just continued to build, and build, and build. His rough hands on your ass guided your movements, and when your thighs started to tense with arrhythmic shakes, he latched onto your clit and sucked.

"Come on baby… that's it– good girl," he hummed, "Come f'me, princess."

Pulling off his cock with a wet pop, your head came to rest over the thick of his thigh as your body started to shake and wither with your orgasm. You felt him grunt against your cunt, his tongue never ceasing to assault your aching clit. He lapped greedily at you, tasting each drop of your blinding ecstasy. His cock sat heavy in your hand, small wet whimpers puffing against the wet skin of him as you rode out your high.

In your chest, you could feel your heart grow larger, bursting out of your chest for Joel, like it reached its hand out to intertwine it with his.  

When the tension in your body let go of you and your grinding hips faltered, you sat up slowly, sliding down his chest on shaking legs as you beared your weight on his thick thighs. His hefty cock laid heavy and throbbing against his stomach, smeared and glistening in your saliva. With a curious tilt of your head, you wrapped your hand around him, his hips bucking as you jerked him slowly.

"Fuck," he spat.

Looking over your shoulder, Joel looked a mess coated in your arousal. The coarse salt and pepper hair of his beard glistened in the dimmed light as he turned his head to the side, pushing it deeper into the pillow while you teasingly skated your fingers down the length of him. His moan vibrated through his chest, and a smile followed a pleased prickling feeling of pride in your chest – pluming yourself at having a man like him at your mercy, your eyes found his cock again.

In your hand you felt him throb; the thick vein down the underside of him protruded with need. His hands found the thick of your thighs, palms spreading over your skin like an afterthought before they settled at your hips. Leaning down, you longed to feel him fill up your throat again – finding you liked this new angle.

Placing a pouty kiss to the head, you licked at the pearling precum. Did it always taste this good, or was there just something so obsessively special about Joel? Humming contently, you hollowed your cheeks around the head, before you dropped your jaw to slowly ease him back down your throat.

Joel's hands on you tightened like he was holding on for dear life, as another pleasurable moan fell from his lips. 

"Shit– you love that cock don't cha– love sucking cock like a good whore."

His words had you whimpering around him – he was right after all, you loved sucking his cock. You wished you could see him, see the way his eyes squeezed shut as you took him deeper. A rush of arousal pooled in your tummy at the thought, ready to gush over the greying hair scattered over his chest.

Starting up a bopping rhythm again, an obscene gagging squelch escaped your throat at every bop, filling your bedroom with filth. Joel's mouth wasn't any better, rambling degrading praise that only urged you on. When your hands found his balls, slicked up with your runaway spit, his fingers dug harshly into your ass cheeks.

"Stop, baby… I'm so fuckin' close."

Pulling away, you dropped your head to his thighs, laying down gently with your hand still wrapped around him at the base. Tightening your grip around him, Joel's breath stalled in his chest, and you couldn't help but place a soft kiss down the length of him.

"Baby," he said sternly, and a bubbling laugh escaped your lips.

Loosening your grip, his cock slapped against his skin where the head wept onto the skin below his belly button. His hands on your ass pushed at you, and you slid your body off him, your thighs sticking together wetly as you sat back on your knees beside him.

Sitting up against the headboard, a soft groan fell from his lips. His gaze over you was blown out and wide, and his grin wide with teeth.

"Come here," he ordered, the crook of his arm open for your body to slot into.

His other hand fell at the top of your chest, sliding it up around the back of your neck, holding you. The heavy weight of his touch had you pliant and loose in his hands; your eyelids fluttering with desire. He could do whatever he wanted to you in that moment, and you'd let him, but the only scandalous thing he did was kiss you.

He tasted like you, and you as him, and nothing had felt more right. Somehow, he maneuvered you onto his lap, distracting you with his kiss as he positioned you how he wanted. 

His leaking cock pressed into your stomach, and if you hadn't been so distracted the visualization would spark a thought of how deep inside you he'd reach, would graze you. Instead, you licked into his mouth, your desperate hands finding his cheeks where his beard prickled your palms.

"You want that cock inside, don't ya, princess?" he nudged between kisses, slipping a hand between your bodies to angle the tip of his cock to rub through your folds, circling it around your aching hole.

The new stimulation had you pulling away from his mouth with a hitched breath, "Please– been so long."

Pressing your cheek into the crook of his neck, a sticky sheen of desperation clung to your skin as you lifted your hips. He slid the bulbous head through your seam where you dripped over him, coating him in your slick arousal.

"Go ahead, baby, sit on that cock, take what you need," Joel's voice rumbled against your skin.

Lowering your hips, the blunt fat head of his cock pushed past your folds and nudged at your opening. He let you take the lead this time, letting you control the pace at which you worked inch by inch of him deeper inside you. The stretch of him always burned deliciously, an aching pleasure that you didn't think you'd ever get enough of.

When you finally eased yourself down on him, your hips flush with his, a guttural moan fell from Joel's lips. Sitting on his cock like this, he reached deeper than he'd ever done before; a heavy pressure poking at the deepest part of yourself. It was almost too much, your thighs clenched as they fought to move back up.

"There you go," he cooed, "So fuckin' tight f'me."

"Joel," you whined out in a heavy breath, digging you face deeper into the crook of his neck.

"'s alright," he soothed, nosing down the length of your jaw, "'s all yours, use it princess– get yourself off on my cock."

You couldn't help the whimper you stuck to his skin as you felt him flex inside of you, your walls fluttering around him desperately as you rocked your hips into him. The wiry hair at the base of his cock nudged against your throbbing clit, the new angle prodded at the spot inside that made your hips stutter.

Joel let you do all the work as you lifted your hips, slowly at first, and lowered yourself down on him. Looking for more leverage, you forced yourself to sit up straight, your hands digging into his shoulders as you pushed back on him at an increasing pace, using him for your own pleasure.

"Such a good girl, keep goin', just like that," he praised from under you, watching how your eyebrows creased as your eyes shut at the increasing pleasure.

Moving your hips at an unabashed pace, Joel's hands found yours to intertwine with. "Come on, baby, don't stop now, ride that cock, bounce on it like a good slut," he encouraged, pushing back against your hands.

Lost in the fog of your own pleasure, desperate pleas and whiny breaths were the only coherent sounds falling from your lips, the feeling of him filling you up repeatedly, too good for words.

When your thighs burned with effort, you slowed down your bounces and fell against his chest to catch your breath. Swiveling your hips between chasing grinds, the desperation in you still chased your orgasm.

"Gettin' tired, princess?" Joel asked, his voice full of faux pity. His hands untangled from yours to fall at your back, his fingers teasing over the band of your bra. "Need me to do it f'ya, huh?"

Hooking his finger under your bra strap, he pulled, letting it smack harshly and quick against your skin in reprimand. You jolted against him, letting out a whine and a "Yes, please," as the end of him poked at your spot at the movement. 

Unhooking your bra, Joel cast it aside, getting lost in the duvet along with the rest of your underwear. Cupping your ass, he squeezed a good handful before a hand came down in a stinging smack!

What happened next was nothing short of instinctive. Keeping you steady in his lap, Joel thrusted up into you, setting a brutal pace. Bouncing in his lap, you felt like a rag doll. Rolling your head back, you met every thrust, felt every vein, and every ridge of him, as the fat head repeatedly hit the spot so deep inside you. When your vision started going spotty with pleasure, and Joel's lips spilled filth between his grunts, you  were tethering right on the edge.

"Keep goin'– good girl, earn my fuckin' cum."

"Y'want me to fill y'up don't cha? Have it leakin' outta you all night."

"Come on, princess, I know you're close, give m'cock a big squeeze."

The noises spilling out your throat were breathy and whiny, harmonizing perfectly with the deep guttural grunts out of Joel. When his hand reached between your bodies, the flat callused pad of his thumb putting pressure down on your clit, it was all too much.

With an arch of your back, he tipped you over the edge, the pleasure rolling over you like a blinding wave. Your body went rigid for a moment, your cunt squeezing around him like a vice, before the tension released in a stuttering shake.

"There she goes, my good girl," Joel praised, but his voice was far away, like someone had stuffed cotton in your ears, or pulled your head under water.

Prolonging your release, Joel never stopped his thrusts, only slowing them down as he sped up his fingers on your clit. Your mouth dropped in a quiet scream, your face twisted in pained pleasure as a stream of liquid gushed from your cunt.

You didn't notice the surprised look on his face, or the way he groaned out, "Fuck– you're amazin', princess– 'm comin'." But you felt the way his cock twitched inside you, pulsed thick spurts of his cum as he filled you deep and steady with his hot release.

Caught up in his own pleasure, Joel sunk down the bed, dragging you with him. The feeling of his cum filling you up, branding you as his, had you withering with another gush of release over his thighs. Your skin stuck to his, and with this new angle his cock slipped out of you from the force of your orgasm.

Everything was sticky, everything was hot. Riding out the last buzzes of your ecstasies, you could still feel how intensely your clit throbbed as Joel's heavy release dribbled out of you, making a mess over his wet thighs and softening cock.

You didn't realize you were crying until Joel peeled your cheek from his chest, two large palms cupping your head to thumb at the wet tears.

"'s okay, baby, you're okay," he cooed, wrapping his strong safe arms tightly around you, while you clung to him like a koala bear. "I'm here."

It was only two words, but it was just the two you needed to hear.

Joel was here.

"Thank you," you whispered, afraid your voice would break if you spoke louder.

"You did so good f'me," he cooed, as your heartbeats steadied.

Pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, Joel turned to the side, dragging you with him. Your limbs were coated in your releases, and sweat clung to your skin, but it didn't matter as he pulled you closer. You didn't know how long he held you, how many kisses he pressed against your skin, but you could never get enough.

When he finally pulled away, you whined, your fingers digging into the flesh of his arm.

"Please don't leave," you whimpered, your brain scrambled with vulnerability.

"'m not leavin', pretty girl, but ‘m gettin’ you cleaned up. That sound alright?"

Getting out of bed felt like moving through molasses, but Joel was patient, helping you to the bathroom on your wobbly legs. Finding a washcloth in your cupboard, he dampened it with warm water before he dragged it down your thighs, catching the mix of your combined release where it had started to run down your leg.

"Made a mess didn't we?" he teased with a wink.

Shooting him half of a smile, you only nodded, tiredness pushing at your eyelids. Joel didn't push, only cleaned himself up before he told you to pee while he changed the sheets. When you finally emerged from the bathroom, Joel invited you back in his embrace, curling himself around your body in a safe weight as your eyelids started to droop to the feeling of his soft kisses against your skin.

When you woke, the bed was empty. Looking around the room a coldness ran through you as you started to wonder if last night had all been a dream. But then you heard a low hum of music coming through the open bedroom door, along with the smell of breakfast cooking, and the coldness melted away.

Grabbing your robe off the hook by the door, the music got louder as you padded into your kitchen. Joel stood with his back to you, already dressed as he pushed gently at the eggs frying in the pan. With a look over his shoulder, Joel noticed you and the smile that spread on his face as he took you in in all your morning glory, had a warmth tug at your heart.

"You ain't got no coffee in this house," he told you, turning back to the eggs.

"I usually go down to the coffee shop on the corner," you shrugged, sitting down at the table.

"That ain't real coffee, princess," he clicked his tongue playfully, sliding the eggs carefully onto two plates he'd set aside with two pieces of toast ready.

"Thank you serf," you joked as he placed one of the plates in front of you. It earned you a genuine laugh as Joel sat down opposite you.

"You're welcome, brat," he smiled.

There was something so romantic about the way he said it, all casual and smirking. And when you caught the way his eyes glinted as he looked at you, you found yourself thinking that if this was love, then you thought you could get used to it.

For the first time in your life, you wanted to fall in love. 

Again and again.

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[xxaraaq]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙑𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙪𝙚

masterlist

Synopsis | Alicent is a Godly woman who's morals stand high above everything else. She's given everything she's supposed to to the realm. She is so selfless, so fucking her husbands brother is the one thing she can keep to herself, right?

Word count | 1.5k

cw | Infidelity, spoken violence, corruption?

Authors note | Hi y'all. I know I haven't posted in literally the longest time ever but if I'm being honest I've been fighting with life it up until about a week ago it was beating my ass. Anyways, I'm back now, and I hope that this will make up for it, enjoy! Not edited.

She is a good queen.

That’s what she thinks to comfort herself whenever the regrets of her past set in.  She has done her duty to the realm, giving birth to formidable sons and a beautiful daughter. She did what she was supposed to do, she just happened to do it with the wrong man.

No one could blame her for her choices. Her husband, a now senile, miserable old man who had no romantic love for her, failed in his role as her source of comfort. Once Rhaenyra went off and fucked her uncle in a brothel, she felt as though she had no true friends, no real allies.

No one except you.

You were the youngest of you, Viserys, and Daemon. Meaning that you had no real responsibilities. You had close to if not no chance of inheriting the iron throne, and you accepted it. Instead of struggling futilely trying to climb your way up the line of succession, you sat back, kicked your feet up, and enjoyed the life of a royal, of a Targaryen.

With you and Alicent being so close in age, you only being four years her senior, she found it easier to converse and jest with you compared to her husband and virtually everyone else around her. You were light hearted, a companion she often sought the company of. And even though her fathers concern grew about the influence you have on her that grows with each passing day, she paid it no mind. After all, she was the queen, and no one could tell her no.

It was the day the ‘rumors’ spread about Rhaenyra that you swooped in. Exhausted, you were the first person she went to to deliver the news. 

“Your sister has ruined almost any chance she has at marrying a suitable lord.” Alicent huffs, pacing back and forth around the room. You chuckle, amused by the entire ordeal. “She is a princess, maiden or not, my brother will surely find a wealthy husband for my niece.” You say, trying to ease her nerves. It obviously doesn’t help, her looking at you like you have two heads. “This is nothing to joke about. Your niece might run your entire house into ruin with the horrid accusations circling about. Have you no care in what happens?” She yells, desperate to get you to understand her frustration in it all. “Accusations? Alicent, my closest friend, you are no fool. You and I both know she fucked my brother in a whorehouse. You can speak freely with me, I promise you that.” You stand from your chair, making your way towards her. You love your niece and brother, but you’re also not one to deny the truth.

A tear slips from her eye, the stress of it all pouring down on her. “Oh, my dear, don’t cry.” You cup her face in your rough hands. A chill runs down her spine, something she’s never felt before. The look you have in your eyes is not what she’s seen from you before. Your eyes are dark, a smirk on your face that means nothing but trouble.

“You are a good woman, I must say. A loyal wife, an obedient daughter, a great friend. You never fail to be there to fulfill the needs and wants from others around you. But what about your needs, hmm?” You ask, tone sultry with an emotion she can’t pinpoint. “I-I don’t understand what you mean.” She stutters, growing shy from your demeanor. “You know what I mean, Alicent. When’s the last time you’ve truly felt fulfilled? Rhaenyra is too busy chasing after Daemon like a lost pup to spend time with you. Your husband is still stuck on Aemma even though he’s the reason she passed on in the first place, God's rest her soul. And your father, as much as he may love you, sees you as nothing more than a tool. I am the only one who has genuine intentions for you. The only things I care about ensuring is your well-being and happiness. A life full of not knowing what it’s like to be pleasured and to bring pleasure is not one worth living.” 

She knows that you mean this deep down in your heart, and that makes her want to give in all the more. ‘We can’t, what if someone finds out?” She asks, fear covering her features. You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Who would be so impudent as to try and tell the King that his youngest brother is fucking his wife?” You say. 

She thinks for a second, then two, then three. “I’m… I’m not certain that having an affair would be for the best.” She says, backing away until she hits the edge of a table. “Let me show you what I could do for you, please? If you don’t like it, just say the word and I’ll never make an advance again, I promise this to you.” You almost plead, desperation laced through every word you speak. You have to have her, you’re sure you’ll die if you don’t.

Her silence fills the room, making your heart beat all the more harder. You almost dropped to your knees to thank the Gods for having you in their favor the moment she nodded her head yes. It was slow at first, a kiss on the neck, a light caress on her thigh, but then you stopped holding back, and you took her to that table in a matter of minutes. You held your hand to her mouth, trying to keep her as quiet as possible as you fucked into her tight cunt with a fervor you’ve never felt before. Everything about her drove you crazy as you corrupted her. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, the way she so futilely used her hand to try and push you from her as your thick cock plowed through her. 

Your secret relations kept on through the years, past the birth of Ageon and the rest of the children. The both of you knew that all four of them were yours, words not needed to be spoken to know that you were the one to sire the king's heirs and not the king himself.

As everyone grew, so did the tensions concerning the birth of your niece's sons. You had to laugh when you first saw Jace’s brown tufts of hair. How could she be so transparent about her infidelity? It was Rhaenyra’s actions that truly caused the hatred to stir within Alicent. You knew as well as everyone else that it was only a matter of time before things grew too large to keep a blind eye to it all.

The day that Aemond was maimed was one that nobody could ever forget. It was truly just a blurry haze of squeaky voices, deep insults, and the sound of a sheathed blade. The royal blood that covered the pavement that night would never be forgotten. You were the one that escorted the queen back to her room that night, providing an environment where her tongue could be as loose as need be. You shut the door, the creakiness that shows its age filling the silence. “That vile woman and her, her…” She couldn’t even get the words out, she was so furious. “Bastards? Say it Alicent, we all know it to be the truth.” You say, leaning against the stone wall. She groans, hand running over her face as she goes back to her habit of pacing the room. “The king is so shielded by the love he has for her, he can’t even see the vile things she has done.” She says, pupils so dilated with rage she can’t see straight. “Must I remind you that we are in the same boat as her, only that her’s has started to sink while ours stays afloat?” You say, quick to point out the sins she has also committed. The words catch in her throat, taken aback by your sudden correction. “Are you taking her side?” Her voice trembles with stress as she picks at her nail beds. “Do you not remember how I to this day sneak into you room through secrets passageways to fuck you to sleep every night? How I’ve filled your womb with so much seed I’ve impregnated you four times? Or have you forgotten how all our children are bastards as well?” You say, your voice sarcastically sweet as you grip her waist, pulling her backside flush to her chest. You lay kisses on her neck and shoulders, soothing her tenseness almost immediately. “What happened to our son is a tragedy that may never be avenged. But as he said, the reward for losing his eye was much greater than the pain he suffered.” You whisper in her ear.

She is a good queen, she thinks to herself. 

She is a good queen, even as she lets you fuck her up against the bed posts, mouth cover by your calloused hands once more to keep her muffled sounds of ecstasy hidden from the outside world

-Nene