#speed dating word on the curb

[evie-sturns]

21 - Chris Sturniolo

summary: when you recieve a unusual call from chris, you realise he’s got blackout drunk on his 21st birthday. you’re forced to go pick him up and take care of him in his interesting state..

contains: fluff, mentions of alcohol, bestfriend!chris, mentions of throwing up (no detail whatsoever), a lot of chaos

————————————🔸————————————

11:36pm

i yawn as i shuffle around in bed, my warm covers wrapped around me as i scroll through instagram,

suddenly my phone starts to ring,

‘incoming call from ‘chrizzzzyy’

i pick up the phone, pressing it to my ear as chris instantly starts,

“you know you’re so beautiful, like soo gorgeous.” he mumbles into the phone, his words slurred.

there’s faint chatter in the background, along with heavy music.

“chris? you okay?” i ask, my eyebrows knitting together with confusion.

“i need you- like how a baby bird needs its mama” he groans, followed by a loud laugh.

i giggle, “chris what is wrong with you!”

the realisation hits.

chris turned 21 today, i couldn’t make it to his party due to work, but for fucks sake, this kid is drunk.

“oh my god- chris you got drunk? i thought you said you wouldn’t!” i say frantically,

“uh factually i am not drunk- i think you’ll find.” he fumbles over his words,

“can you come.” he follows up.

i scoff, “christopher- it is midnight, where are you?”

he pauses for a moment, before i hear him chatter to someone else,

“yo- where am i, my girl wants to know” he mumbles to a friend i assume,

he shortly gets back to me “i’m at home, but i want to be at your home.”

i nod with a small huff, “god, i’ll come get you now, just wait on the curb and don’t go on the road whatever you do.”

he almost giggles, “you sound like my mommy.”

i groan before hanging up,

i heave myself out of bed, knowing i’m about to have to collect my best friend in his state.

i grab my keys and fix my hair before walking downstairs, creaking open the door.

the cold night hair hits me hard, i shiver as i jog up to my car, swinging open the car door.

i instantly speed off down the street.

-

10 minutes later i arrive at his street, the pebbles crunch under my tires as i slowly drive to his house.

chris shoots up from his sat position on the side walk, giving me a huge grin.

i pull up beside him, reaching over and opening the door.

“hey baby.” he grins, flopping down in the passenger seat,

“chris.” i warn, reaching over and buckling him in.

“how much have you had to drink?” i ask, looking over at him.

he hesitates before shrugging, “shit- ‘prolly like 20 or something.”

i pause, “20 of what.”

he shrugs again, “couldn’t tell ya sweet cheeks.”

i throw my head back, with a small laugh.

“come- come sit on my lap” he grins, his eyes half shut, patting his lap.

“chris! i am not your girlfriend.” i remind him, his face drops

“you’re- you’re breaking up with me!?” he raises his voice

“we were never dating” i point out, his eyes water.

“are you seriously gonna cry?” i laugh,

he nods with a small pout, “my girl, my one and only is dumping me-“

i lean over the centre console and give him a hug,

i hold back laughs as i pull out my phone, putting it on 0.5x and holding it up.

“tell me what’s wrong chris.” i grin,

“you- you’re breaking up with me!” his words are slurred as he throws a mini tantrum.

“you’re my babe, my hot little babe.” he sighs,

“oh my god chris”. i laugh, putting my phone down and starting the car,

i roll down the windows for him as i attempt to explain that fact that i am NOT his girlfriend, and never had been.

he sits up on his knees and attempts to make a break for it out the window, he sticks his arms and head out the window.

i reach over and grab his shirt, pulling him back in before rolling up the window

“chris! no!”

he mumbles something vaguely before looking over at me,

“we hooking up tonight right?” he blurts out so causally.

“shit i bet you could give me the best-“ he starts but i clamp a hand over his mouth.

“chris.. anything you say tonight you will regret.” i warn him with a smile.

“but- but you’re so pretty!” he protests,

i pull into my driveway, hopping out the car before walking over to chris’s side.

i open the door and he jumps out, stumbling over onto the grass.

“oh no chris.” i sigh, grabbing his underarms and picking him up.

he wraps his legs around my lower back and burys his head into my shoulder.

i carry him up the driveway with small huffs,

i fiddle with my keys before unlocking the door, chris is practically a koala bear, clinging to me as i heave us upstairs.

i finally enter my room before dropping him on the bed.

i switch on the light and take a good look at him,

“like what you seee.” he grins with a stupid lip bite,

he looks white as a sheet, my eyes widen as i grab his hand.

i run him into the bathroom.

“i’m gonna throw up.” he mumbles,

“oh god oh god.” i whine, helping him into the shower.

i stand outside the shower as i frantically try to unbutton his shirt, pulling it off of him.

i unbuckle his belt and tug it off, discarding it out the bathroom floor.

i unbutton his shorts for him, guiding them down his legs, leaving him in his boxers.

“look- you get your boxers off and just try not to throw up for another minute.”

he giggles as he tugs his boxers down, i slide the shower curtain across and take a deep breath as i sit on the toilet lid.

he reaches a hand out of the shower curtain, holding his boxers.

“just drop them i’m not touching that.” i groan,

he drops them in the pile of clothes before i hear a small-

“oh shit.”

i reach into the shower and turn it on cold, trying to drown out the sounds of chris..

i hear some deep breaths from behind the curtain,

“y/n!!!! i threw up!!!” he calls out,

“that’s okay! just get clean in the shower for me!” i tell him,

he sounds panicked, “hey, the alcohol is better out then in sweetie.” i tell him,

he laughs in response, “you’re righhhtt!”

i scoff, waiting for him to finish up,

my eyes widen as chris goes silent, “chris! you better not be peeing in my shower i swear to god-“ i start but he cuts me off with a loud giggle.

i throw my head into my hands,

“oopsie daisy’s.” he doesn’t stop laughing.

-

after 45 minutes of chris yapping my ear off, i finally got him changed and in my bed.

“and then guess what he said, he said that he was gonna fight me if i didn’t give him my drink, like just admit you’re a alcoholic!” he rambles on about his night.

“lay down for me.” i tell him as he sits on my matress.

he flops down on my mattress, his head hitting the pillow.

i lean over the bed and tug up the covers over him.

i move his hair off his forehead with my hand then place a kiss to his forehead.

he yawns loudly before whining,

“where are you going!”

i scoff, “i’m gonna sleep on the couch chris.”

he huffs, “but we sleep together all the time!”

i roll my eyes, “that’s when there’s no risk of you throwing up on me”

he kicks his legs, “i promise i won’t!”

i hesitate before giving in, jumping into bed beside him.

he smiles stupidly before wrapping his arms around me, tugging me into his side.

i usually wouldn’t let him cuddling me slide, but i guess he’s not gonna remember it tomorrow.

-

10:23am

i stir awake, chris’s arms still wrapped right around my waist.

he groans, waking up aswell.

“why am i cuddling you” he laughs tiredly,

“do you remember anything that happened last night?” i ask, sitting up in bed.

“not really.” he smiles, rubbing his eyes.

i reach over him and grab my phone, opening up the camera roll.

“you had a long love confession to me.” i giggle, his face drops.

“what?” he asks panicked, i give him my phone

he presses play, letting the video play outloud.

“you’re breaking up with me!? you’re my babe, my hot little babe”

-

@jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover r @nathando-64 esgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 9 9 @sturnthepot t t @zayyluvz z z @realuvrrr r r @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs s @riowritesitall l @raysmayhem-72 @sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver r @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney y @lovingchrissposts @333michelle e @h3arts4harry y @jamiesturniolo o @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees enxtrees @certifiednatelover r r @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast t t @yomamaslays4lyfe e @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 9 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc c c @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise @sturni0l0tripletzz z 0 @ratatioulle @sturnsforlife v @mattsonly @justalittle47 7 @sunsetsturniolos

[wheres-mylove]

ice-cold revelations - modern!cregan stark x fem!velaryon!reader

Summary: You are in a risky secret relationship with your brother's best friend. What happens when Cregan's unexpected injury exposes your feelings? Well, isn't there somebody you forgot to ask?

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Word count: 2.8k

The wind tore through the streets with a biting ferocity, tugging at (Y/N)’s skirt and making her instantly regret both her outfit choice and this entire trip to the bus stop.

“Stupid winter has to be coming,” she muttered, yanking a colorful scarf up to cover her nose. Her phone chimed in her pocket, vibrating with the familiar sound of a new message. She fumbled with one hand to pull it out, her fingers stiff from the cold.

🐺: jace wouldn’t stop bugging me about that earring under my bed

🐺: i convinced him sara must’ve left it when she crashed at our place lmao

(Y/N) raised her eyebrows, her breath fogging the air as she sighed. The last thing she needed was her brother playing the part of a suspicious rom-com wife, finding random jewelry in odd places and jumping to conclusions. At least he hadn’t figured out where he’d seen that earring before.

Jacaerys Velaryon, as much as she adored him, had a habit of being a little too protective. He was always there when she needed him. But he was also the kind of brother who, despite being only a few minutes older, seemed to think that fact gave him full control over her dating life. Any guy who so much as glanced her way was either a potential threat or one of his friends. And friends were off-limits. Too much drama, he’d say. Too awkward if things went south. Even more awkward if things somehow worked out. Conflict of interest. Absolutely not.

Which was precisely why, in the grand scheme of things, the most logical solution was for her to start dating his best friend and his hockey team captain, Cregan Stark.

Cregan was wonderful. The kind of guy who would do anything for her, no questions asked. That's what had brought them to where they were now. Hiding their relationship from her dramatic brother and quite literally gaslighting him.

Did she feel guilty? Absolutely. Did she know it would be a hundred times worse if Jace found out? Also yes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a bus speeding past the stop, tires screeching as it flew by. Her bus. Of course.

With impressive force, she pressed the green phone icon.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?” Cregan answered in three seconds. Her irritation melted a little at the sound of his deep voice. Down bad.

“Hey, did you guys finish practice?”

“Yeah, just now, I couldn’t cut the boys any slack before tomorrow.”

“Any chance the strict captain could give me a ride home? I missed the bus. Or more like the bus missed me.”

“You’re kidding,” Cregan said, sympathy already thick in his voice. “Of course I’ll come get you.” He paused for a beat, then cleared his throat. “Only thing is… Jace wanted a ride too.”

“The gods are punishing me today,” she groaned.

“Call him. It'll be the same ride. Just, you know, he'll think it was his idea,” Cregan suggested.

“Are we bad people, Cregan?” she asked, half-serious now.

“Nah. He’ll find out eventually, just better if I’m in full hockey gear when it happens.”

“Fair enough,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smile. “Thanks. Love you. Bye.”

She hung up and immediately dialed her brother, requesting the same exact thing.

“Sure, you owe me one though,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t have my car today, so we’ll have to go with Stark. Is that a problem?”

“Nope.” No, her boyfriend wouldn’t be a problem.

(Y/N) Velaryon paced back and forth under the shelter of the bus stop, her boots crunching against the thin layer of frost that had already formed on the pavement. She rubbed her arms, trying to keep the cold at bay, when the familiar growl of a black Jeep Wrangler cut through the quiet. It rolled to a stop near the curb.

She jogged toward the car, her breath puffing out in small clouds, as the driver’s window slid down.

“Your chariot awaits, princess,” Cregan announced with a mock flourish.

“More like a toad,” Jace quipped from the passenger seat, his grin unmistakable.

“One more word and you’ll get my bag to the head. I’ve got half my textbooks in there,” she threatened playfully as she slid into the backseat.

The backseat of this car had witnessed many events, and that was the first thought that crossed her mind. One look at Cregan in the side mirror, and she knew he was thinking the same.

She pretended to be very engrossed in buckling her seatbelt.

“How was practice?” she asked out of politeness.

“Not bad. Stark was all business today, but it was necessary. Big day tomorrow,” Jace replied, fiddling with the radio. Cregan slapped his hand away as he slowed down for a red light.

“Great,” the girl muttered, not trusting her tongue around the two of them together.

An awkward silence fell, broken only by some random song. How long can a red light last?

“So, (Y/N),” Cregan began, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His voice wavered, but Jace was in his own world, watching pedestrians crossing the street. “How’s it going? How was your day?”

“Pretty good,” she replied, playing with the hem of her skirt. “Though the classes dragged on.”

The devil on her shoulder won an uneven fight with the weak angel. She smirked.

“‘M absolutely knackered.”

Cregan inhaled slowly through his nose.

“Dude, it’s green,” Jace informed him, just before the car behind them honked.

“I can see,” Cregan reassured him, finally moving forward. “I’ll need your sister’s address since I’ve never been there before.”

If Jace had one more brain cell, he wouldn’t be so easily fooled.

“Sure thing,” her brother agreed, typing the info into the GPS on his phone. “Hey, kid, are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” (Y/N) asked angrily, kicking his seat. “Baela’s taking me.”

“You know what I think?” Jace started, spreading his arms dramatically. “A girlfriend in the stands is such a power boost. Such a boost… I never play as well as when Baela supports me from the bleachers.”

“You never play well,” His sister muttered under her breath, but Jacaerys was currently listening only to himself.

“Cregan wouldn’t get it,” He patted Cregan on the shoulder in the meantime. “If you combined your skills with that support, if you brought a girl, trust me, your performance would be a hundred times better.”

“Talented people don’t need superstitions to play well, Jace,” (Y/N) chimed in, leaning forward. “Besides, Cregan is single.”

“Because he’s too serious and broody, girls don’t like that,” her brother declared in a know-it-all voice. She gave him a side-eye. “He is afraid of women.”

“Are you afraid of women, Stark?” she asked seriously, barely holding back laughter.

Cregan shot her a look in the mirror, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Terrified,” he deadpanned. “That’s why I’m thinking maybe your sister should be my good luck charm tomorrow. Just as a friend, of course.”

“Eh, it’s not the same,” Jace protested, scrunching his face.

“Don’t you believe in the power of friendship?” the driver asked with full seriousness.

“Can I get a jersey with your number?” (Y/N) batted her lashes playfully at her boyfriend.

A jersey with his number was already hanging in her closet.

“Alright, you’ll see, you need deeper feelings for it to work, otherwise it just won’t…”

Jacaerys continued his monologue all the way to her apartment. The girl sighed with relief once she was back in her room, the familiarity of it a welcome escape from the tension.

Two new messages.

🐺: you looked so pretty today

🐺: but next time wear a damn coat, or you’ll catch a cold!!!

The fluorescent light above (Y/N)’s head flickered ominously, casting creepy shadows across the cramped janitor’s closet. She swore that if the bulb died completely, she'd either pee her pants or spiral into a full-blown claustrophobic meltdown. Leaning back against the wall, she tried to focus on the neatly arranged rows of brooms and mops. Soon, the door creaked open, revealing Cregan in all his glory.

Full hockey gear? Check. Helmet? Tucked under his arm. That goofy, ridiculous smile? Definitely check.

“You look so good,” she admitted, grabby hands already in the air. “Come here.”

Cregan shut the door behind him with a soft click, casting a glance at the flickering light overhead. He sighed, took one of her hands, and kissed her wrist softly. 

“We have to tell your brother,” Stark said, his voice serious as he placed his helmet on the wooden shelf beside them. “It’s not right that my girl has to sneak me a good-luck kiss in a smelly closet. You should be able to strut right into the locker room.”

His girl grinned. “You’ve got your gear on,” she pointed out. “We can tell him after the game. Besides, Baela’s softening him up for us. I asked her to.”

Baela Targaryen was known for sniffing out secrets, and the second she spotted (Y/N) wearing Cregan’s jersey before the game, she didn’t even need to ask. Her knowing look said it all, and within minutes, Velaryon girl spilled the truth, enduring Baela’s delighted squeal that had probably echoed for miles.

“I knew you had high standards, girl. Going straight for the captain!” Baela teased, laughing. “Jace obviously doesn’t know? He hasn’t said anything... and Stark’s still breathing.”

Thankfully, Baela had been more than willing to help, distracting Jace so Cregan could sneak away after the pre-game pep talk. Now, Cregan was looking at (Y/N) with pride, his eyes lingering on the jersey she wore. 

“She’s a real one for that,” he mused. “But seriously, we have to tell him. I want a picture of us on my lock screen, and that asshole keeps looking over my shoulder.”

She laughed, pulling him closer and kissing him hard, savoring the way his rough stubble tickled her skin.

“For now,” she murmured against his lips, “just focus on the game. You’re incredible. An amazing captain. And it’s going to go great. I believe in you.”

Cregan grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe one more kiss. Just to make sure we win.”

“The power of having a girl in the stands,” she teased, poking his chest playfully.

“Jace definitely exaggerated that theory,” Cregan confessed with a chuckle. “But honestly... I’m just glad you’re here.”

With butterflies in her stomach and a grin she couldn’t wipe off her face, (Y/N) found herself in the stands minutes later, sitting next to Baela. Her friend was watching the silent exchange of glances between her and Cregan with thinly veiled amusement.

“I always knew Jace was blind, but this is just tragic,” Baela remarked, elbowing her in the ribs. Jace, oblivious as ever, waved enthusiastically from the rink. Both girls waved back, cheering with the crowd.

“You’ll boo with me when the Dornish Spears come out, right?” (Y/N) asked.

Baela gave her a mock-serious look. “Technically, we shouldn’t. Obviously, I will,” she promised. 

The game was fast, brutal, and nearly deadlocked until the very end. (Y/N) had never yelled so much in her life, though her shouts were lost in the deafening roar of the crowd. Cregan played like a man possessed, commanding the ice with his usual grace. At least twenty times during the match, she found herself holding her breath, her heart leaping into her throat with every risky play. But she knew he had it under control. He always did.

Of course they won.

The victory rippled through the stands like a wave, and (Y/N) screamed herself hoarse as the crowd erupted around her. Cregan pulled off his helmet, his eyes scanning the stands until he found her. His smile—tired and breathtaking—was for her, and her alone. She didn’t regret the ringing in her ears or the scratch in her throat for a second. Moments later, he was swept up in a sea of celebrating teammates.

“Girl, are you crying?” Baela asked, pulling her into a hug.

“I don’t know,” She sniffled. “I’m just emotional. I just like that boy so fucking much, Bae.”

“I know, honey. Come on, they’re heading off the ice. Let’s congratulate them, and then have a crazy party or something. No time for tears.”

Cregan was one of the last players to leave the ice, trailing just behind Jace. But before he could step off, the captain of the opposing team, his face twisted with anger, skated up to him. For a moment, it looked like they might talk it out. But then, it all happened too fast.

The player from Dorne shoved Cregan hard against the wall. Stark, ever the calm one, simply raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

And then he took a fist to the face. The sickening sound of bone cracking echoed across the rink.

“What the hell is going on? Jace!” Baela shouted, holding her friend back as she tried to rush forward.

Jace jumped back onto the ice, but by the time he got there, the other team had pulled their enraged captain away. Cregan stumbled off the ice just as (Y/N) reached him.

“Are you okay? Oh gods, let me see,” she fretted, her hands hovering near his face.

“What a fucking jerk!” Jace nearly screamed, skidding to a stop by the exit. “I called for help, they’ll be here in a second.”

(Y/N) carefully moved Cregan’s hand away, revealing the damage. His face was a swollen mess, his nose clearly broken.

“Do you think they’ll make me lie face-down on the ice?” Cregan joked weakly, leaning on her for support.

“Does it hurt a lot? Maybe you should sit down. Oh shit, I can’t believe—”

“Hey, sweetheart. Calm down,” Cregan murmured, his voice soothing despite the pain. “It hurts like hell, but I’ll live.”

Just then, the medic arrived, momentarily distracting Jace. But despite the chaos, he had clearly heard what Cregan just said. For a moment, Jace stood there, his face pale as the words and the image before him sank in.

“Sweetheart?” he echoed softly, but no one paid him any attention.

“Jace, maybe now’s not the time,” Baela said gently, stepping up beside him.

“I feel physically sick,” Jace muttered, staggering to the railing for support.

The medic handed Cregan an ice pack. “Hold this to your face for a bit. I’ll get you something for the pain right away, but a doctor’s gonna have to set that nose.”

Cregan winced but smiled through it. “You might wanna check on my friend first,” he said, gesturing toward Jace. “I can wait. He looks like he’s about to pass out.”

Jace did, in fact, end up passing out.

Cregan had to take a break from sports after that little adventure. He’d recovered, but now sported a slightly crooked nose—something his girlfriend found oddly hot.

(Y/N) saw his temporary recovery as the perfect chance to manipulate him into watching Teen Wolf with her every evening. After all, the title worked in her favor.

They were nestled on the couch, wrapped together in a soft gray blanket. It was their first time lounging in the living room of the apartment Cregan shared with her brother, rather than hiding behind the securely locked door of his bedroom. 

It would be perfect, really. If it weren’t for Jace’s constant, deliberate trips to the kitchen and bathroom, each one an obvious reminder that he was keeping an eye on them.

“Dear Jacaerys,” (Y/N) said, her patience wearing thin, “you do know we don’t need a chaperone, right?”

Jace barely paused, shooting her a sidelong glance before muttering, “You need someone to knock the stupid ideas out of your heads,” as he slammed the bathroom door.

Cregan chuckled softly, pulling her closer. “Give him some time,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “To be honest, I thought it would be worse. He’ll come around eventually.”

They’d already gone through several long, tension-filled conversations, with Baela stepping in as the voice of reason when things got too heated. They were careful now, avoiding anything that might provoke Jace further.

But Cregan was right—Jace was slowly coming around, even if he was still stubborn. The days of silent treatment had finally passed.

“This is on us for hiding things from him,” (Y/N) sighed, watching her brother embark on yet another purposeful long journey to the kitchen. “No more secrets now.”

“Your brother’s just looking out for you,” Cregan called out, raising his voice slightly so Jace could hear. “He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, and I respect that. I don’t know anyone else who cares like he does.”

Jace stopped, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His lips curved into a sweet, mischievous grin.

“Yeah,” he began, drawing out the word. “So tell me sister, when are you introducing him to Mom?”

[lcvemiyuki]

"ice cream kisses" | atsumu, hq

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: he would follow anywhere you would go—even full speed towards an ice cream truck

warnings: disgustingly cute, fem!reader, timeskip!atsumu x reader, established relationship

character(s): atsumu

word count: 541

a/n: summer dates, summer datesss

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The windows were rolled down, letting the cool breeze flow in and out of Atsumu’s car. His hands were on the wheel, but he couldn't keep his honey eyes off you. Your head was out the window, your hands making waves like you were in your own little world. He mentally chuckled at the sight, watching you with a fond smile as you enjoyed the simple pleasure of the wind passing by your face.

Atsumu was dressed casually, in an open shirt that revealed his toned physique. His sunglasses were perched at the back of his head, and he wore comfortable shorts that completed his relaxed look. His chest still slightly damp from the beach trip you guys planned spontaneously. Your reasoning was because it looked sunny enough and you were dying in the house.

You cranked up the music, having a mini karaoke session in the passenger seat. Your phone served as a makeshift microphone, and you sang, belting out the lyrics with a passion that made him laugh. He glanced at you, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “A real star, aren’t ya?”

You grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sorry, my concert tickets are sold out.”

“Look! There’s the ice cream man!” you suddenly yelled, causing Atsumu to swerve slightly. The jingle of the ice cream truck was faint but unmistakable, and the childlike excitement in your voice was contagious.

Before he could scold you for screaming in his ear, you urged him to chase after the truck like it was a high-speed chase. He obliged, speeding up and parking on the side of the beach-side neighborhood before hopping out of the car to run after the pink truck. You, more excited than him, ran a bit faster.

You quickly grabbed his hand to run at the same pace, and he couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face. Your enthusiasm was infectious, and he found himself laughing as you both reached the ice cream truck, slightly out of breath.

“Two—cones—please,” you said, beaming at the vendor while trying to spit out the words. Atsumu watched you, his heart swelling with affection. He loved these spontaneous moments with you, the way your eyes lit up with joy over the simplest things.

The two of you sat on the curb with personalized ice cream cones in hand, enjoying the sweet treats. The setting sun cast a golden glow over everything, making the moment feel almost magical. The coolness of the ice cream was a welcome contrast to the warmth of the day and the lingering heat from the beach.

“Oh, the trouble ya get me into,” Atsumu said with a chuckle, shaking his head. “I swear, ya keep me on my toes.”

“Isn’t that why you like me?” you teased, taking a playful bite of your ice cream as you nudged him with your shoulder.

“Maybe,” he admitted, his eyes twinkling. “Or maybe it’s ‘cause yer the only one who can keep up with me.”

Your laughter faded into a soft gasp as his hand reached up to smear the ice cream on your lips, interrupting your protests. "Hey!" you exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise. The cold sensation on your lips was startling, but the mischievous glint in his eyes made your reaction falter.

But before you could finish your sentence, Atsumu leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the anticipation tingling in the air. With a fleeting look of fondness, he closed the gap between you, his lips brushing against yours as he kissed the ice cream off.

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected intimacy, a slight hitch escaping your lips as the sweet flavor lingered between you. The sound pulled a small smile on him as he pressed against your lips; the taste of vanilla and the faint saltiness of the sea mingled. After he pulled back, a sly smirk played on his lips as he licked the remnants of the ice cream from his own. You sat there, still frozen, blinking a bit too much as you tried to register the kiss.

"Quiet now?" he asked and you swore you could see speckles of mischievous in those hooded eyes.

You shook your head, unable to contain your smile. "Shut up," you replied, lightly swatting his arm.

“Ya love it,” he teased, his arm snaking around your shoulders and drawing you closer. As you both savored your ice cream, the distant melody of crashing waves and the joyous laughter of nearby children added to the ambiance, amplifying that warm and fuzzy feeling between you.

“Next time, I’m drivin’,” you declared, looking at Atsumu with a determined glint in your eyes.

“Oh really?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow. “We’d probably end up in the ocean.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you shot back, your grin widening cunningly.

Atsumu snickered, “Wherever ya go, I’ll follow.”

He pulled you closer, his thumb caressing your shoulder in a comforting gesture; your head nestled in the crook of his neck as if drawn by a magnetic force—finding a perfect fit against his skin.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down. 

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern. 

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips. 

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it. 

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard. 

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out. 

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

[lustfulslxt]

Teach Me - Chris Sturniolo

summary : after being stranded on a date because of your innocence, you want a taste of something more; you beg chris to teach you.

warnings : smut, innocent!reader, slutty bff!chris, oral, fingering, yk the usual

—

Everything was going well, until it wasn't. The first date you'd ever been asked on, and you were ecstatic. Someone had finally taken an interest in you. You got all dolled up and put on your nicest dress. You had your hair sitting pretty, and your makeup on point. You never imagined going all out for a guy, and it was all just for you to be left standing there in the parking lot.

"You look hot tonight." The guy across from you smirked, his leg brushing up against yours beneath the table.

You sent him a bashful smile while pulling your leg out of reach. "Thank you."

His smirk fell as he felt you pull away from him, his face hardening just the slightest bit, before relaxing it as best he could. "What do you say we get out of here?"

You frown, "What? Now? I haven't even finished eating."

He chuckles, "You've had plenty, come on."

He gets up from the table and reaches for your hand, and as much as what he had just said rubbed you the wrong way and made you feel unpleasant, you obliged and grabbed his hand anyway. He tugged you towards the exit, eagerly making his way to his car with you following in suite. You struggled a bit to keep up with his quick pace, having to step twice as many times as him just to not fall behind.

As soon as you reach his car, he presses you against it and slams his mouth on yours. You immediately push him back, staring up at him with furrowed eyebrows. He grins and pulls you back into him, forcing his tongue down your throat.

With another shove, you shout, "What is the matter with you?"

"Oh, come on! Give me a little taste." He chuckles, grabbing your arm.

"Are you serious? Yeah, I think I'll pass." You glare up at him, appalled by his thirst.

"For real?" He questions, until he realizes you're serious and instantly grows sour. "Then you can fucking stay here. Nobody wants a prude."

Before you can even fully register his words, he's in his car and speeding off, leaving you to stumble back in disbelief. You watch him dramatically drive away until his taillights fade into the distance. A frown pulls to your lips and tears well up in your eyes. Without another thought, you're pulling your phone out and calling the one person that never fails to be there for you when you need him.

"Hello?" He answers.

"Chris." You start, holding back your tears. "Can you come get me?"

He can hear it in your voice that you're beyond upset, and he's instantly sliding on his shoes. "Send me your location."

With that, you're sending him the address of the restaurant you're at. You sit on the curb, crossing your arms to provide you as much warmth as possible as the night wind starts to pick up. You put your head down, willing yourself not to cry over some loser that just wanted to get in your pants.

Soon enough, headlights shine in your peripheral, causing you to look up, only to be met with Chris walking towards you. You quickly stand and meet his embrace, his body encasing you in a much-needed warmth. His arms securely wrap around you, holding you snug against him.

"What happened?" He asks in a soft tone.

You pull away with a sigh of annoyance, "Guys suck."

He chuckles a bit before wrapping his arm around you and guiding you towards the passenger seat of his car. He opens the door, letting you take your seat. With a quick glance at you, he's shutting the door and making his way to his side. He gets in, and immediately heads for the road.

"Your house or mine?" He questions, shooting you a quick look before directing his eyes back to the street.

"Yours if that's okay." You reply.

He grins, grabbing your hand in his. "Always."

The rest of the ride is silent, and it's not long before he's pulling into his driveway. He parks in the garage and shuts the car off, the two of you getting out and heading inside.

Chris brings you directly to his bedroom, locking you two in there. You head for his bed while he goes to his dresser. He grabs out a t-shirt and goes into his bathroom, fishing for the makeup wipes he has for you for times like this. After retrieving them, he walks back over to you and holds his hands out.

“You’re spending the night. Go wash your face and get out of that dress.” He simply states.

“Wow, Chris. Keep acting like that and girls might actually think you care.” I tease, grabbing the shirt and wipes from his hands.

He rolls his eyes with a small grin on his lips, “I do care, but only for you. Any other girl that thinks that is lying to herself. Now, shut up and go do what you gotta do.”

You giggle, closing yourself in his bathroom to do as he says. Upon looking at yourself in the mirror, you can’t help but feel a little sad. Not because of some guy, but because you put so much effort into yourself for a guy, just for him to be the type you’ve been avoiding your whole life.

Taking a deep breath, you shake your head to rid your mind of your thoughts. Grabbing a wipe, you begin removing the makeup and wash your face off in the sink. Next, you kick your shoes off and remove the dress, replacing it with Chris’ shirt. His scent and laundry detergent linger in the fabric, pleasantly engulfing your senses. You grab your shoes and dress, then look at yourself, forcing a smile on your lips, and head back out to the bedroom.

“There’s my girl.” Chris says upon seeing you.

He’s sat on his bed, leaning against his headboard with his legs kicked out. He nods his head, silently beckoning you over. Your forced smile turns into a real one as you toss your belongings in the corner and make your way over to him.

“Hi.” You breathe, crawling next to him.

“Hi, pretty girl.” He mumbles, pulling you to lay on him.

Your arms hug his abdomen as you place your face on his lap, both of your legs intertwining with one another. This type of thing isn’t new to you, you and Chris have always been close in your friendship. Though, it’s never went further than cuddles.

“Thank you for coming to get me.” You whisper into his shirt.

His hands run through your hair, “You don’t have to thank me. I told you I always got you whenever you need me.”

You look up at him and smile, squeezing him just a bit harder. You lay your head back down and close your eyes.

“Do you wanna talk about what happened?”

You sigh and shuffle around to where your back is on the bed, but your head is in his lap. You catch his eyes as he stares down at you and all you can feel is safe.

“Do guys not like inexperienced girls?” You ask him.

He furrows his brows as confusion plasters across his face. “What do you mean?”

“Say, you’re out with a girl. Does her not wanting to do anything with you or having never done anything before turn you off?”

He shakes his head, “Doesn’t really matter to me.”

You ponder for a moment, biting your bottom lip as he intently watches you. He places his hand on your jaw and softly presses his thumb to your chin, pulling down so you release your lip.

“What about me?” You finally ask in a quiet voice.

He hums, “What about you?”

“You know I’ve never done anything before. I’ve never even kissed a guy until tonight. Does that turn you off?”

“You kissed him?” He gapes at you.

You frown just a bit, “Well, more so he kissed me. I had to keep pushing him away.”

“He was trying to force you?”

You can see Chris becoming infuriated, so you place a hand on his cheek in an attempt to calm him. “Hey, he just kept trying to kiss me. When he realized I wasn’t giving in, he left.”

Chris doesn’t say anything as he looks off into the distance.

“You never answered my question.”

He glances at you with a look you can’t really decipher. “You could never turn me off.”

A foreign feeling flutters in your stomach and your cheeks grow pink beneath his warm hands. You can’t help but look away as your blush deepens and Chris chuckles.

“You’re blushing.” He obviously points out.

You push one of his hands away from you and roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

It’s silent again and your thoughts end up roaming all over the place; Chris being the main focus for the majority of them.

“Does that mean I turn you on?” You hesitantly ask him.

He raises an eyebrow, “Where’s all this coming from?”

“I don’t know. He called me a prude.” You admit.

“Just because you didn’t want him doesn’t mean you’re a prude.” Chris responds as he caresses your face.

“He’s not wrong though.” You shyly say, “I’m twenty years old and I’ve never done anything like that ever.”

Chris shakes his head, “That doesn’t matter. You’ll do shit when you’re ready. Kid’s just mad you wouldn’t suck his dick.”

“Would you get mad?” You ask, curiously.

He laughs, loudly, “No. If I wanted it that bad, I’d call up someone else to come suck me off.”

“That was a very whore-ish thing to say.” You giggle, before adding with finger quotations, “I’ve never ‘sucked someone off’.”

“That’s because you’re a prude.” He teases.

You groan, pushing yourself off of him. He quickly grabs your waist and pulls you back to him so you can’t run off. Only now, you’re suddenly straddling his lap. He gulps at this new position the two of you have never been in, immediately shaking the dirty thoughts away.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I was just teasing.” He grins.

“Will you teach me?” You randomly ask, doe eyes wide as you stare at him.

He chokes on his saliva, completely thrown off by your question, “W-what?”

“Will you teach me how to suck dick?” You reiterate, adding, “As friends.”

“As friends?” He repeats with a slight chuckle. “I don’t know how to suck dick either.”

You groan once more, pushing his shoulder back. “Come on, be serious. You know in a sense of what you like.”

“I’m not teaching you how to suck my dick.” He forces out in a breath.

“Why not?” You pout.

His heart is practically beating of his chest at your sudden desire to give him head. He so badly wants to remove his pants and slide his cock down your wet throat. He wants to see your pretty lips puckered around him. He wants to feel you gag on him as you try to take all of him in your mouth. He wants to see tears running down your cheeks as you work him.

He quickly shakes his head, almost unable to catch his breath. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Please? It won’t mean anything, and you basically get free head.” You add, trying to sway him.

“Free head is crazy.” He chuckles, attempting to avoid your question.

You readjust yourself in his lap, causing him to squeeze your hips with wide eyes. You halt your movement, unaware of what’s going on with him.

“M-maybe you should get up.” He says, deeply inhaling through his nose.

You’re confused, but nonetheless, you lift your hips from him and kick your leg over, attempting to scoot yourself to beside him. Only, he grabs your waist, stopping you once again.

Chris is having an internal battle right now. Your words awoke something feral in him, and he’s fighting with himself to not give in. He wants nothing more than to comply with your request, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to control himself. Yet, he still wants you on him.

You find yourself now straddling his thigh this time, the heat between your legs resting on his clothed leg. He can feel your warmth, causing him to lean his head back in contemplation.

“Think of it as a favor.” You say with a shrug, “You teach me, and in return, get your dick sucked.”

“Y/N.” He breathes as his mind flashes with erotic fantasies.

“Hey, I’m not forcing you. If you’re not interested-“ You get up for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

“Wait.” He speaks through gritted teeth.

You kneel next to him, waiting for him to continue. He looks at you with half lidded eyes, and you can practically see his inner turmoil. He places his hand on his jeans, pushing it around with his bottom lip between his teeth.

You glance down and are suddenly aware of his growing erection. Your stomach twists at the thought of being the reason he’s getting hard, and it makes you feel somewhat good about yourself.

His hand grabs the bottom of his shirt, sliding it upwards to just above his belly button, revealing his happy trail. His eyes lock onto yours as his hand cups your cheek, guiding you down towards the bulge in his pants.

“I’m not sure we should start something we can’t stop.” He breathes as he feels the warmth emitting from your face through his jeans.

“Who says we can’t stop?” You ask in a whisper as you place your hands on his belt.

He’s so sensitive right now, he can feel your breath as you speak. Unable to help himself, he bucks his hips up into your hands, eyes closing from the sensation.

His hands guide yours to undo his belt. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.”

"It'll be okay." You say, your voice barely audible.

Your veins flood with anxiety as you unbuckle his belt. You're excited, but nervous. What if you don't do it right? What if he laughs at you? You grasp the belt and slowly pull it from his belt loops, Chris lifting his hips to help you. His eyes haven't left you once, soaking in the way you innocently aim to please him.

You unbutton his jeans and pull down the zipper, so slow almost as if you're purposely trying to tease him. You grab the waistband of his jeans, his pulling them down as he lifted up just a bit. You can see his dick straining against his boxers. You can't help but widen your eyes at the size of him.

He smirks at your reaction, rubbing his thumb back and forth on your cheek. His fingertips softly grip the back of your head, pulling you down to his throbbing member. Your lips meet his boxers, feeling waves of warmth through it. Chris takes a deep breath as your plump lips drag over the fabric.

"So, I just take these off. Yeah?" You innocently ask.

Chris chuckles at your cluelessness and nods, assisting you in removing the last piece of clothing on his lower half. His dick springs up, fully erect and throbbing. Your mouth visibly falls open at the sight. You can see veins dancing along his shaft, his head an angry red.

"What I do now?" You shyly question.

His hand wraps around the base, pumping a few times. "Spit on the tip."

You blush under his intense gaze, gathering as much saliva as you could. You lean over him, puckering your lips and pushing it all out with your tongue. It slowly falls onto the tip, causing his dick to twitch. He closes his eyes at the warm sensation, but quickly opens them to watch you again. You watch as the spit dribbles down his length, working around the veins.

"Then, you use your hand to spread it all around and get it nice and wet." He huskily informs.

You look at his face and he nods, encouragingly. Your hand slowly meets his member, and he groans from your delicate touch. Your fingers wrap around his girth, beginning to pump your hand up and down to spread your saliva. Chris' hand clenches the sheet beneath him, his breathing becoming shaky.

"Chris." You whisper, causing his eyes to snap open.

"What?" He breathes.

"What now?" You can't help but giggle.

"Right." He licks his lips. "Uh, just lick the tip."

You hesitantly lean forward, blatantly unaware of what you're doing. However, you do as he says. Your tongue flicks over the tip, slowly circling around it, pulling a low groan from his throat.

"I'm sorry, was that, okay?" You ask, worriedly.

"F-fuck, yes." He mumbles, his eyes drinking in the way you work his tip. "Then, you put it in your mouth. Bob your head up and down as you suck and use your hand-like this." His hand engulfs yours around his member, showing you what to do with the remaining cock you can't fit in your mouth. "Shit, good girl." He praises with a heaving chest.

Your tongue slides over his tip once more, causing his hips to buck, shoving his dick in your face. Your eyes widen at the sudden movement, and you look up at him.

"Sorry." He chuckles, running his thumb over your lips.

You can't help but smile at his smile, then proceed to take him into your mouth. You flatten your tongue and slide down his shaft. Your lips wrap around him so perfectly, eliciting another moan from him, which only encourages you. His hands tangle in your hair as you bob your head, your mouth drooling down his member.

"Fuck, just like that." He groans, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

You place one of your hands on his thigh, the other pumping the remaining of his length that you can't fit. Your tongue glides along the vein on the underside of his dick, traveling back upwards and around his tip. Chris tosses his head back, his jaw clenching as waves of pleasure flood through his body.

"It's so hot that mine is the first cock you've ever had in your pretty little mouth." He moans, caressing the sides of your face.

His hands grip the sides of your head, and he thrusts upwards, shoving his dick down your throat. You gag around him with every thrust, snapping him from the trance he's in. He quickly pulls his hands from your head and places them on the sheet, squeezing it once again.

"Sorry, feels so good." He grunts, willing himself not to overwhelm you.

You pull away from his dick, strings of saliva keeping you connected. You grab his hands and place them on your head, "Do it again."

You can tell it's what he likes, and his moans of pleasure make you feel good, you want to hear them over and over. You can feel a burning desire for him growing in your stomach, a feeling so foreign and unusual. It makes you squeeze your thighs together.

Chris' eyes damn near roll to the back of his head from your words. His hands softly grip your head and his hips thrust up, continuously fucking into your mouth. Wet gags fill the room, and his eyes take in the sight in front of him. Your eyes glisten with tears as they stream down your face, spit bubbles gathering on the sides of your mouth.

He can't help the moans that fall from his mouth as his orgasm builds. His stomach tightens, his muscles flexing as his toes curl. He throws his head back, his mouth falling slack, silent groans leaving it. His thrusts slow as a guttural moan emits from his throat, his hot load shooting into your mouth and down your throat.

His movements stop, so you wrap your lips firmly around him once again. You suck around him, your tongue gathering the remnants of his orgasm. His legs twitch from overstimulation before he's pushing your head off of him with a hiss.

"Sorry!" You rush out with wide eyes.

He faces the ceiling with closed eyes as his chest heaves with heavy pants. His cheeks are flushed a rosy color, his bottom lip swollen from biting down on it. He peeks at you with half lidded eyes, staring at you with such an intense gaze. His fingertips trace the outline of your jaw as filthy thoughts flood his brain.

His hand grips your chin and pulls you up so that you're straddling him again, leaving your faces centimeters apart. His eyes roam all over your face, taking in your expression, attempting to read you.

Your lips are red and plump with dribbles of saliva in the corners and your hair is a mess from his grabby hands. Just the sight of you makes his cock start throbbing again. He wants to do so many naughty things.

"How was that?" You ask in a whisper.

His gaze lands on your lips, subconsciously licking his own as he admires you. His thumb brushes over the soft skin once again, pulling it down and softly pressing into your mouth. The pad of his fingertip rests on your warm tongue, and you can feel him growing underneath your weight.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You question, forgetting that he hasn't answered your previous question.

"I told you it wasn't a good idea." He mumbles, his eyes never leaving your face as his hand meets your hip, squeezing it.

You suck in a breath at the feeling, involuntarily clenching. "Why not? You finished, didn't you?"

"Mm, because now I can't stop thinking about filling you up." He huskily whispers.

Your eyes widen at his words, looking down towards your meeting groins. His free hand runs up from your knee, digging his fingertips into your bare thigh. His hand on your hip moves around your back, sliding up the shirt of his that you're wearing. You can feel his nails run over your skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

"Fill me up?" You repeat in an innocent tone.

He practically groans from your voice, his hands meeting your hips, holding you in place as he ruts up into you. The action pulls a soft moan from your lips as it felt pleasant against your needy core. The feeling was unusual, but you want to feel it again. The sound that left your mouth goes straight through him, his cock twitching with desperation.

"Fuck." He mumbles, barely audible. "God, I can't do this."

"I can get up." You mutter, suddenly feeling a bit insecure, unaware of the dilemma he's going through.

"No." He grits, his hands tightening on your hips. "That's the problem."

You frown, "I-I don't understand, Chris."

"God, even the way you say my name." He practically whines, his eyebrows furrowing as he squeezes his eyes shut.

He shuffles beneath you, exposing his hard member. He grasps your hand and places it on his dick, both of your hands engulfing his length.

"See what you do to me?" He groans at the feeling of your soft hand around him. "I knew crossing that line wasn't a good idea, because now it's all I can think about. I wanna be buried inside of you. I wanna feel you squeeze around me. Wanna hear your pretty little moans, all for me. God, I wanna make you feel so fucking good it's all you know."

Your mouth falls slack as he speaks, a feeling swirling in your stomach as you take in his words. You feel tempted, your attraction and desire for him burning brighter, turned on from the thought even though you've never had what he's implying.

"Do it." You whisper, your eyes set on his face.

"W-what?" He gapes, his eyes frantically searching over you.

"I've never had sex before." You say, "Teach me. Make me feel good."

He shakes his head, letting out a breath. "I don't think I can control myself; I don't want to hurt you."

You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers. "I trust you."

You lean closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. You can feel his breath against your face from the close proximity. You hesitantly brush you lips against his, looking for any signs to discontinue. However, Chris wraps his hand around your neck and yanks you into him, slamming his lips on yours.

You can't help but moan into the kiss, driving Chris insane. His lips work against yours so feverishly, hungry for you. He places his opposite hand on the small of your back, supporting you as he flips the two of you over.

You gasp from the sudden movement, Chris taking the opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth. He explores your mouth, his tongue gliding over yours so perfectly. He pulls away, leaving you breathless, and turns your head so that he can work on your neck. The second he starts leaving open mouthed kisses, your breathing becomes erratic as small whines leave your mouth, only fueling his hunger.

He licks and nips at your sensitive skin, eliciting quiet moans and pants. His hands slide under your shirt, caressing your body with the right amount of pressure. You've never been in this situation before, but you love it, especially since it's with Chris. Your skin burns beneath his touch, you can feel yourself growing wet beneath him.

"You're sure you want to do this?" He questions, barely breaking away from your neck.

You only nod in response, your breath caught in your throat as he continues to suck.

He pulls away, his hand turning your face to him. "I need your words, baby."

"Yes, Chris." You whine, squeezing your thighs together. "Please."

He gives you a tiny smirk and pulls you up so he can remove your top. He swiftly pulls your shirt over your head, the cool air causing you to shiver. His hands run up your sides, admiring your body. He reaches behind you, his fingers finding the back of your bra, and quickly unbuckles it. Grabbing the straps, he guides them down your arms, leaving you topless.

You quickly cover up, suddenly feeling a bit insecure, having never been exposed like this in front of someone.

He grabs your arms, pulling them down as he interlocks your hands. "No need to hide from me, pretty girl. Just wanna make you feel good."

Chris pulls you back into him, one of his hands placed on your lower back while the other one holds your cheek. He presses his lips to yours, in a softer kiss than before. Pulling away, he swiftly removes his shirt, adding it to the pile of clothes on the floor.

As you stare at his physique, he grabs your wrists and places your hands on his bare chest. You take the hint and run them over his smooth skin, feeling his body heat beneath your palms. Chris grins at you, engulfing your breasts in his hands, tenderly squeezing them. A small whimper leaves your mouth at the feeling.

Chris leans you back, taking his place hovering over you. His hand brushes your hair out of your face as he stares down at you with dark eyes. His fingertips caress your cheek as he takes in your features.

"So fucking pretty." He mumbles against your lips, before kissing you.

The kiss is gentle and almost loving, your lips moving softly together. That only lasts for a moment before he's deepening it. It becomes messy and feverish, both of you needy and desperate for more. He pulls away, a string of saliva attached to both of your mouths. Then, he makes his way back down your neck.

He litters your sensitive skin with wet, open-mouthed kisses. His tongue flicks over every inch, his teeth softly biting down, leaving dark bruises in his wake. You can't help but whine beneath him, relishing in this new feeling he's bringing you.

It's not long before he lowers himself again. His mouth nips at your chest, peppering you with wet kisses. His teeth graze the soft skin of your breasts, working his way towards your nipples. His hands engulf the mounds of fat, squeezing and massaging them. He wraps his lips around one nipple, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud, causing you to arch your back into him. His hand tweaks the other one, stimulating them both, before taking turns with each.

"That feels good." You whine, your hands tangling in his hair.

"Mm." He hums, "Just you wait, baby. Gonna make you feel so good."

With that, he's traveling down your stomach, leaving kisses along the way. Your skin is on fire, and you find it hard to breathe. He's getting closer and closer to your most sensitive bits, and you're becoming slightly nervous, having never experienced this. His mouth meets the waistband of your panties, leaving kisses across the elastic.

He pauses, glancing up at you. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes." You breathe, "Yes, please."

He shoots you a grin, his head lowering towards your thighs. He spreads your legs, and his mouth meets the plush skin, sensually kissing and marking both legs. Your head is clouded with lust, not a single thought in your mind, except for Chris.

As he moves up towards your center, you feel yourself repeatedly clenching. His lips meet the fabric of your panties, placing a soft kiss over your clothed clit, causing you to buck your hips into him. He smirks to himself, bringing his fingers up and rubbing you through the cotton.

You gasp from the feeling, quietly whispering, "Oh, my god."

He lifts his head, watching you as he works you through your panties, the fabric quickly becoming drenched with your arousal. He practically moans at the entire sight of you. Without a word, his fingers are dipping into your underwear, swiftly pulling them down and off your feet, leaving you naked beneath him.

Just as you're about to close your legs, feeling exposed, Chris wraps his hands around each thigh, spreading them even farther apart. The sight of your dripping pussy has his mouth watering. As he crawls in between your legs, your sweet aroma floods his nostrils, causing him to groan in satisfaction.

"Such a pretty pussy. All for me." He huskily speaks.

Your body is tense with anticipation of what's to come. Chris places an open-mouthed kiss over your throbbing clit, pulling a whimper from your throat. You stare down at him, his eye connecting with yours as he drags his tongue through your folds, from your entrance to your clit. You can't help the high-pitched moan that falls from your mouth.

The feeling is like no other, and you find yourself grinding down into his mouth. His tongue laps your wetness, indulging in the sweet taste of your essence. He puckers his lips, wrapping them around your aching clit, softly sucking on it, flicking his tongue back and forth over it. You're left twitching beneath him, egging him to keep going.

"God, you taste so fucking delicious." He mumbles against you, the vibrations coursing through your body.

The foreign feeling starts building in your stomach, and you can only assume your orgasm is close. Your hands lace through his locks, gripping them as you moan. Chris' mouth is drenched in your juices, the warm wetness dripping down his chin as he devours you.

You begin writhing beneath him, causing him to hold you still with a harsh grip on your thighs. He's completely lost in the taste of you, possibly enjoying himself more than you are.

Your face contorts in pleasure, your hole clenching around nothing as he continues working you so deliciously. The knot in your stomach tightens, your fingers tugging his hair.

"Chris, oh my god." You cry out, bucking into his face once more.

He shakes his face in your pussy, his tongue flat as it glides over your clit. Your knuckles turn white from the tight grip you have on his hair, crying out as you give into the feeling. The band in your stomach snaps, your juices rushing out into his mouth. Lewd moans emit from your mouth, Chris soaking every one of them up. Your body convulses under him, his grip on you tightening so he can finish you off.

He laps up your wetness, savoring every drop of it. Reluctantly, he pulls away, not wanting to stop, but not wanting to overwhelm you. He peaks up at you through his waves, the bottom half of his face glistening with your fluids. His lips are red as he licks them, attempting to taste even more of you.

"Can I keep going?" He questions, his fingers dancing on the skin around your heat. "I want to try something else."

You hum, slightly giggling, "Let me catch my breath for a moment."

He brings his cheek to your inner thigh, letting you rest for a moment. Though, it's not long before he's inching closer to your core. He teasingly rubs his nose against your swollen clit, causing you to twitch again. You hiss from the feeling, making him chuckle in delight. He admires you, deeply inhaling your scent, eager to make you cum again.

Without another word, his fingers are sliding through your folds, eliciting cries from you. You're so sensitive, but you don't want him to stop. He crawls over you, keeping his hand prodding at your pussy.

He has a goofy grin on his face as he takes in your expressions. Your face is flushed and sweaty, your hair matted from the constant wriggling of your head. You look incredibly fucked out, and knowing he hasn't even done much to you, makes him hot.

With his slender fingers still sliding up and down your slit, his lips meet yours. The taste of you lingers in his mouth as your mouths mold together. His tongue makes its way into your mouth, the taste of your essence more prominent. As his tongue explores your mouth, he takes the opportunity to slip a finger into your sopping entrance.

Your back arches into him, and he swallows every moan that leaves your mouth. He slowly pumps it in and out of you, the sound of your wetness very evident. The slick sounds fill the air as you both moan into each other's mouths.

He breaks away, leaving you breathless. "Look at you. You're loving it."

You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, attempting to hold back your sounds as your frantically nod your head. His pace quickens, his finger rapidly pumping in and out of you. Your brows knit together in pleasure, your fingernails digging into his shoulders.

"Just wanna make you feel good, baby." He coos, "You look so pretty like this for me."

Your mouth opens, silent moans leaving it. As if he can't help it, his opposite hand slides up your neck, his middle and ring finger poking into your mouth, pulling your jaw further down. His eyes never leave your face as he slides another finger into your pussy. Broken moans fall from your mouth as he works you so well.

He soaks in every hint of enjoyment you release, loving that he can make you feel so good. Loving that he's the only one that's ever made you feel this good. His cock throbs at the sight of you, yearning to be buried inside of you. His movements increase in speed and force, becoming rough for just a second, before he's removing his hand altogether.

You're left breathless and whiny at the loss of contact, your mind stuck in a daze. You've never felt this way before, but god, do you hope it never ends.

"I wanna feel you." He groans against your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

The thought of what he's suggesting makes your stomach twist. You're nervous, but you want it so bad.

"Fuck, I just want to feel your sweet little pussy squeezing the life out of me." He grunts, rutting his hips into yours.

His cock glides over your slit from the gesture, causing you to roll your hips for more friction. He lowly moans at the feeling of your warmth against his member. He pulls you further down the bed by your thighs, situating himself between your legs.

He leans over you, his palms placed by your head to hold himself up. His lips meet the side of your jaw, littering soft, wet kisses all over your skin. He does the same to your neck, before moving back up to your lips, placing several there as well.

"Tell me if you want me to stop." He whispers against your lips.

He looks at you, discerning no signs of hesitation or reluctance. One of his hands intertwine with yours as he backs onto his knees. His opposite hand grasps his member, sliding it up and down your folds, coating itself with your arousal.

Every time his tip runs over your clit, you can't help but moan at the sensation. He aligns himself with your entrance and looks up at you again. You both lock eyes, and you give him a firm nod for the reassurance he needs.

You grip his hand with one hand and the sheets with the other, squeezing your eyes shut as he slowly pushes in. He fills you inch by inch, the size of him making you feel like you're being torn. You wince from the pressure, involuntarily clenching around him. The feeling makes him groan in pleasure, but he stops.

"Are you okay?" He grunts, rubbing your hip with his free hand.

You nod, "Mhm."

"Just breathe, and if you need me to stop, I will." He gently speaks, attempting to soothe you.

"Fuck, okay, just keep going." You whine, your eyes still closed.

He gives you a nod, very slowly pushing all the way in. He bites his lip, suppressing the sounds threatening to spill. He stills, letting you adjust to the new feeling.

"You good, baby?"

You open your eyes, letting out a breath. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good, you can move now."

He starts slowly pumping in and out of you, his grip on your hip tightening in hopes of controlling himself. Your breath catches in your throat as you try to power through the pain. It's more so uncomfortable than anything.

He rocks his hips into yours in a sensual manner, pulling a low moan from you as it becomes more and more pleasurable. His eyes widen at the noise, enthralled with the way you sound just for him.

"God, you're so fucking pretty." He groans, "Sound so pretty too."

More soft moans emit from your mouth at his words, taking pleasure in the way he's so gentle with you. He leans forward, capturing your lips in his. Your mouths mold together so effortlessly, like you've been doing this forever.

His thrusts quicken only slightly, still fucking into you at a gentle pace. Your head lolls to the side, soft whines falling from your lips as pleasure consumes you. The familiar feeling builds in your stomach for the second time tonight, causing you to clench around him.

"Doing so good for me." He moans, thrusting just a bit harder.

A lewd moan is pulled from your throat at the switch in his strokes. He leans back slightly, his thumb coming in contact with your clit. He begins rubbing slow, soft circles into it, causing you to tremble beneath him.

"Chris, oh my f-fuck." You cry out, your back arching.

"Feels good, no?" He smirks, soaking in the way you're reacting to him.

His pace quickens after that, causing you to let out a loud moan, "S-so good."

Your sounds are going straight to his cock, and he can't help but thrust deeper. Your hands clench around the sheet below you, your knuckles turning white once again from the tight grip.

He lifts one of your thighs, holding your leg up for better access. The tip of his delicious cock kisses your cervix, you're left writhing in overwhelming pleasure. He tosses his head back at the feeling of your spongey walls clenching around him, pulling his orgasm closer and closer.

His thumb speeds up on your clit, applying more pressure. You're practically thrashing beneath him. Your stomach tightens and you can't help but clench around him again and again. The feeling of your velvety walls contracting around him, pulls a guttural moan from his throat.

"Oh my god." You cry.

You whine out as you can't hold on anymore, giving into the knot and letting go. Pleasure takes over your body, flooding your veins with euphoria. Squelching sounds fill the room as you release all over his cock, coating his member and balls in your juices.

He looks down, groaning at the sight of your deliciousness drenching him. His hips sputter, his thrusts growing sloppy as he reaches his climax. Before he even has the chance to pull out, his load is filling you up and painting your walls a milky white.

"F-fuck." He groans, stilling his movement after riding out his high.

He looks back down at your groins, eyes widening as he realizes what he did. Slowly, he pulls out of you and watches as his cum oozes out of your pussy. The sight alone could make him cum again in an instant.

"Uh, are you on birth control?" He finally spits out.

You open your eyes, immediately raising an eyebrow at him.

He brings a hand down to your center, scooping some of your mixed fluids with two fingers. He pulls it up to show you, before slightly smirking.

"Wanna taste?"

Your eyes widen and your face is taken over with that innocent look that he loves so much. Your mouth parts as you nod, and he's instantly shoving his two fingers into your mouth. You moan at the taste, sucking every drop from his finger.

His mouth waters at the sight, immediately gripping your jaw and kissing you fiercely. He sighs into your mouth, beyond pleased with the way your night turned out.

"Whenever you need me, call me immediately." He grins in a teasing manner.

You can't help but giggle, shoving him away from you. His laugh matches yours, collapsing next to you and pulling you into him. He lovingly pecks your shoulder, his arms completely engulfing you.

"Ten minutes and we're gonna go clean up."

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a/n : as lil wayne said, sorry 4 the wait. ugh god the way i need this is actually so bad for me. anywhooo, hope you little sluts enjoyed this as much as me!! lmk your opinions, and send in more requests!! xx alssooooo, credit to @flowerxbunnie for the slutty bff chris request!!!

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[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 6 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: In the aftermath of the kiss, Bob and Anna try to process their feelings. Bob works on more of his poetry while Anna hides from her friends, but neither of them can get past their attraction. When another man arrives during a night out, all Bob feels is jealousy.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, masturbation, eventually 18+

Length: 5100 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Taking Anna to Chippy's was a mistake, because Bob was falling harder by the minute. She was cute and smart. Witty and reserved. And the fact that she was a little tipsy after one drink just made her more endearing. Jessica could drink more Sam Adams than anyone he'd ever seen before, and Bradshaw's wife could probably play beer pong professionally, but not Anna. She was giggling and demanding he not download a dating app. She was smiling nonstop and touching him. And he wasn't even allowed to have a chance with her.

She only lived a mile or so from campus, which was a shame, because Bob would have liked to spend more time with her. He played with the radio dials in his old truck as he drove, trying to keep his hands busy. And that's when he swore he heard Anna whisper a line from his poem.

"What did you just say?" he asked, eyeing her closely.

"Nothing," she told him as the car behind his truck honked, and Bob tapped the accelerator when he realized the light was green. He must have been mistaken. There was no way anyone actually read the stuff he posted online, let alone Anna. He just did it for a way to help him release his emotions and thoughts.

But he wanted to make sure. When he parked at the curb in front of her building, he turned toward her with curious eyes and whispered, "I thought you said-"

He was instantly distracted by the way she kept her eyes on his as her chest rose and fell a little faster. She unbuckled her seatbelt and scooted closer to him along the seat, and he froze as she leaned in and kissed him. Her lips found his like it was the most natural thing in the world. When she made a soft sound, he raised his hand up to touch her cheek, something he'd been dying to do for weeks and weeks. Her skin felt silky soft as she nibbled gently on his lip, and then he remembered everything that she'd said to him. He couldn't start down this path just to have her put up another roadblock. 

He forced himself away from her. "Anna. I don't think this is something friends do," he croaked, praying that by some twist of face, she'd end up in his arms. 

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, hauling herself back across the seat and throwing the door open. "I'm so sorry, Bob." He watched her climb down and grab her tote bag, barely glancing back at him as she slammed the door and ran inside the building. 

He was going to offer to walk her to her door. He wanted to make sure she got inside safely. He wanted to do a lot of things that would hopefully come across in a friendly way. This was decidedly not how he imagined his night would end, staring at the spot where she disappeared inside and wondering if she regretted kissing him. She really ran away from him at top speed without any clarification.

"Damn it, Bob," he whispered as he put his truck in gear. But he didn't know what he could have done differently. He just wished he didn't know how fucking good it felt to have Anna's lips on his, because it would probably never happen again. He wanted to ask her why she kissed him in the first place. Then an even more devastating thought occurred to him. What if she didn't want to be his friend after this?

He really needed Nat to come home from her deployment, because he knew he couldn't mention this to Jessica at D&D. What would he even tell her? That Anna kissed him exactly once and then ran away faster than an olympic sprinter?

Then he parked in front of his house and saw the text that made him shove his phone into his pocket and not look at it again until morning. 

Anna Webber: I'm sorry. That was a mistake. Please forgive me.

--------------------------

Anna was curled up in her sad bed trying not to cry. Bob would probably never want to talk to her again now. What kind of person told a man they just wanted to be friends and then kissed him like the words meant nothing? Anna, apparently. But it felt so nice. No. Better than that. Kissing Bob felt necessary.

Before she could change her mind, she texted him and then turned off her phone. I'm sorry. That was a mistake. Please forgive me.

She rolled onto her back and started to cry. Not for the first time, she thought about calling Kevin and screaming at him for ruining everything. She should feel a sense of freedom by now after finally leaving him in New Jersey with Alyssa, but she just didn't. It wasn't fair that Anna had no control over what Kevin did when he still seemed to dictate what she was allowed to do. But she knew she had to be a better person than him.

When she reached down to the floor, her fingers found the stack of books she was currently reading for work and for entertainment. She picked up the Vonnegut from Bob, because it wasn't even really that late, and she was in a mood now anyway. Then she took the time to find the note from him. Her new bookmark. She read through her tears until they stopped. She didn't dog ear a single page. She used his note to save her spot, and then she fell asleep with the book pressed to her chest. 

She felt awful on Friday at work. When she gave her first lecture, it felt forced instead of insightful, and her notes seemed to blur on the pages in front of her. She didn't have an appetite, which was fine since she had no money for food and forgot to pack a lunch. Instead of going to the weird tree and the nicest women she'd ever met, she sat in her office and cried with her head resting on her folded arms. 

Bob didn't text her back, but she figured he wouldn't. There was really nothing else to say. She already decided she wasn't going to mention the kiss to Advanced Calculus or Advanced Physics, but perhaps she should tell them it would be a good thing after all if Bob went on a dating app. He deserved to be happy. Someone else would make him happy. 

As Anna was packing up everything she would need for the weekend, there was a knock on her office door. It was late, and her stomach was growling loudly, but she called out, "Come in!"

The room was so small, Bradley Bradshaw and his wife barely fit on the opposite side of her desk when standing side by side, and Anna watched him shuffle around so he was standing partially behind her. "What's up, Anna?" he rasped with a grin, and she had no difficulty imagining him ten years younger in a loud fraternity house. 

"Hi," she replied, clasping her hands together. "What are you both doing here? I was just about to catch the bus and go home."

"You never came to lunch today!" her friend complained. "And you didn't text me back. I was starting to get nervous that the creeper from the sociology department got to you or something."

"No," Anna replied with a soft laugh. "I'm fine."

Two pairs of eyes bored into her, and then Bradley and his wife both blurted out, "How was Chippy's?"

"Did Bob make a move?" Bradley asked, his hands caressing his wife through her tweed blazer. 

Anna swallowed a huge lump of guilt. "We're just friends," she managed to say.

"Yeah, yeah," he said with an eye roll. "Sure. But did he? Because I've been being a dick all week about getting him on a dating app even though I know he's not into the idea. Jake and I thought it might help."

"Are you serious right now?" his wife gasped, smacking at his hands while Anna rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "I told you not to interfere," she hissed.

"We're just friends," Anna repeated a little louder over the two of them arguing. "Chippy's was great. Amazing peanuts. Sticky floors. Grouchy bartender. It was like being back in undergrad."

Just as Bradley was raising his hand, about to speak again, he took an elbow to the side that seemed to make him think better of it as his wife asked, "Then you won't mind going back on Wednesday? To surprise Jessica for her birthday?"

"It's her birthday?" Anna asked, excited by the idea of being invited to a celebration even though Bob would definitely be there as well.

"Yes. I texted you about it when you skipped out on us at lunchtime."

"Right," she replied, knowing she'd only been checking her phone occasionally on purpose. "I'll be there on Wednesday. Of course I will." She was going to have to suck up her embarrassment over everyone trying to push her and Bob together, but at least they didn't know about the kiss she ran away from. "Anything for Jess."

"And are you coming to the Hard Deck tonight?" her friend asked as her husband's hands crept back into place on her body. 

"I have a lot of work to do. Midterms are just around the corner," she replied lamely. "So, probably not."

With a sigh, her friend nodded once and said, "Please don't skip lunch next week. We missed you."

Bradley said, "I'll make extra hummus," before his wife started pushing him to the door.

The confirmation that the hummus was in fact homemade left Anna feeling slightly jealous. That feeling only grew as she watched her friend take Bradley's chin in her hand and softly say, "Oh, Beer Boy. I don't even want to know what kind of a monstrosity of a dating profile you'd make for Bob."

He smiled and waved at Anna before he looked at his wife and said, "I just want all of my friends to be as happy as I am."

She grabbed him by his khaki belt and said, "Let's stop by the library."

Anna desperately wanted to be that happy, too.

---------------------------

"What's your problem, man?" Mickey asked as he drove Bob home from Dungeons & Dragons. "You were weird all night."

"Just tired," Bob replied, and he was being at least partially honest. He'd been staying up later than usual, working on some poetry and reading the books Anna recommended. He enjoyed all of them; she seemed to know exactly how to reach his innermost hidden thoughts and ideas. She somehow understood him, and that was more exciting than he wanted it to be right now. But when he and Anna had to be together in person again, he knew it was going to be a different story. He was almost relieved she didn't show up at the Hard Deck earlier, because he had no idea how to act around her now. 

She knew he had feelings for her, and that kiss had roughed him up a bit. Even a couple days afterwards, he thought he could still feel the pressure of her lips on his and smell her shampoo. 

"Are you still hung up on Anna?"

Mickey's words made Bob laugh. "More than ever before."

"You know what I think you should do?" his friend asked as he zipped along in his sports car.

Bob cradled his forehead and said, "I'd love to hear it," even though he was pretty sure it would annoy him.

"You should tell her that you don't want to be just friends. And then kiss her."

Bob turned and looked at Mickey as the passing street lights illuminated him and then left him in darkness over and over again. "I'm not going to do that. All I can do is hope she changes her mind." He didn't mention the fact that they had already kissed; he was sure she was too embarrassed by it to want it to become public knowledge. 

As Mickey pulled up to Bob's house, he said, "Well whatever you're doing right now, it's not working."

Bob sighed and said, "Thanks. That's really helpful. See you on Monday. Oh, and don't forget about the surprise party thing on Wednesday."

"Yeah, I won't forget. Hard Deck at seven o'clock."

"Chippy's!" Bob called out as he pulled away. Sometimes he felt like the most organized one out of all of his friends, and it was honestly amazing that Mickey even managed to get to work on time. At least Suzanne's lights were off as Bob walked up to his porch and let himself inside. He didn't have the energy to deal with anyone else tonight. 

He stripped down to his underwear and got ready for bed, but he took his computer with him. He was ridiculous for doing it, but he looked at the notes he'd typed up last night and started writing. It was never as beautiful or eloquent as the things he read from others, but posting his poetry online felt like he was at least taking ownership of something he created. This poem, however, he didn't know if he'd be able to post it at all. He found himself writing about red hair when he realized it would warrant a mature rating label if he ever did decide to post it. Then he started to think about all the things he wanted to do with Anna and her red hair. 

Bob grunted and set his computer aside. She was giving him mixed signals, and he wasn't sure she'd ever change her mind about being with him, but that didn't stop his body from responding as he imagined her beautiful hair spread out on his pillow. He'd take fistfuls of it and press his nose to it. He'd tug gently on it and tell her that she was beautiful. He would press kisses to the coppery strands and then guide her lower on his body as he grasped a little harder.

"Shit," Bob panted, kicking off his covers and pulling himself free from his gray boxer briefs. He jerked off to the idea of Anna and him together. She'd kiss his hips and thighs and laugh softly before licking along his length. His name would sound like the most beautiful poetry on her lips. Her freckles would stand out in the soft lamplight. He'd guide her along with his fingers wrapped around her hair as she teased him.

He stroked himself with his eyes closed, panting softly and whispering some of his own poetry, and he wasn't even surprised when he came all over his flat abs. When he adjusted his glasses with his clean hand, he thought he'd much prefer to see Anna in his bed with him.

--------------------------

Anna was starved for conversation with another human being by the time Monday morning arrived. Forcing herself to be a recluse as a means to distract herself from her plethora of issues was clearly not the answer. Not when she'd actually managed to make some friends in San Diego. She arrived on campus early and stopped in the lounge for a donut only to find nobody else from her department was really around. Then when she gave her first lecture, half of her students looked like they were still asleep. She tucked her new bookmark of sorts into Frankenstein by Mary Shelley and counted down the hours until she could meet her friends for lunch.

Jessica seemed none the wiser about her upcoming surprise party, but that was the whole point of the thing. Anna started bracing herself to spend some more time around Bob, hoping her kiss was so forgettable that he'd already moved on. Honestly, that was a pretty good possibility. She hadn't really considered that before, but it made a lot of sense. She was boring. After another day or two, he'd have probably forgotten all about it.

This helped Anna push herself through the week. On Wednesday, she took the bus home to change, and she knew she'd never make it to Chippy's on time in her sundress and denim jacket unless she took an Uber to the bar. So she gritted her teeth and paid for the ride, wishing for so many reasons that she hadn't kissed Bob so that she could have asked him to pick her up. But when she got to Chippy's, Bob wasn't even there. And Anna was met with a different issue in the form of a very attractive man with dark hair and dark eyes.

She felt his gaze on her as soon as she arrived, surprised he was looking at her of all people. But in her rush to get to Chippy's on time, all she really got to do was say hi to Jake and Bradley before they got her into position for the surprise. It looked like the bar had been reserved just for Jessica tonight, and that made Anna inexplicably happy and sad at the same time. Even that old bartender looked excited to celebrate. Even Dr. Rosenthal showed up. 

Then Bob rushed in wearing jeans, a snug fitting tee shirt and a worried expression. His hair looked damp, and he was straightening out his glasses as he glanced around and asked, "Did I make it in time?" Anna felt like someone knocked the wind out of her as he got closer.

"Barely," Bradley replied, checking his watch. "Sugar and Jess should be here any minute. Where the fuck were you?"

Bob's cheeks turned a little pink as he muttered, "I had to help Suzanne with her car. She had a flat tire. And then she insisted I come inside for a few minutes so she could thank me properly. I lost track of time."

Anna crossed her arms and pressed her lips together as Bob came to stand right next to her. When he softly said hello, she just nodded and tried to give him a smile, but she was too overwhelmed with too many different feelings. He smelled like soap, and she knew his body was warm without him even touching her. She didn't know who Suzanne was, but she was automatically a little jealous, which was ridiculous. But now she felt like that kiss last week was as forgettable as she both hoped and feared. 

Anna wanted to cry, but even her tears had to take a backseat at the moment as the door to Chippy's opened up and both of her friends walked inside. "Happy birthday!" everyone shouted, and Anna tried her best to look enthusiastic for the occasion. 

"No!" Jessica called out, shoving at the other woman's arm as she realized it was her birthday party. "You're sneaky! You lied to me about getting just one birthday beer!" Then she rushed forward in her adorable suit and high heels, heading straight for Jake's arms. But the second person she reached out to hug was Anna.

"Happy birthday, Advanced Physics," she said with a stifled laugh.

"I'm so happy you're here," Jessica gushed, and Anna felt a lot better as she returned the hug.

But all too soon, she was left on her own. At least all of the tables were covered in dishes of peanuts. Jake was paying for Sam Adams for everyone, but Anna knew she shouldn't drink. Not again. Not after she got tipsy with Bob. 

She could still feel those dark eyes on her as she broke open a peanut and enjoyed the perfectly salty taste. Who was that guy? His arms were wrapped around Jessica's waist, and Jake looked like he was about to go through the roof as his girlfriend laughed. Then he made his way over to Bradshaw's wife and gave her the same treatment. But Bradley looked completely unfazed when she kissed the other man on the cheek and smiled. They whispered something back and forth, and he met Anna's eyes with a wink. She quickly looked away, hoping to avoid a conversation. Bob was sipping a beer and smashing open his own peanuts, and she knew if she couldn't be with him, she didn't want to be with anyone else either. 

Too late. "Hi, are you Anna?" came an unfamiliar voice followed by the spicy scent of too much cologne.

"I am," she answered, looking down at the extended hand of this handsome stranger. "Are you a friend of Jessica's?"

He laughed as their hands met. "Sure," he replied smoothly. "But it's really Bradshaw and I that go way back. I'm Dev. Dev Borah."

"Oh," she said, still shaking his hand and trying to make sense of things. Why was she so awkward? She finally released him and said, "It's... nice to meet you. Um, how do you know Bradley?"

"Virginia. Undergrad. I graduated with the two of them, actually. Nearly died of shock last year when I heard they were both out in San Diego and getting married. Can I get you a drink, Beautiful? Something other than Sam Adams?"

"Oh," Anna gasped as she looked up at him in surprise. "Um... I don't really drink much."

Dev moaned and gripped at his chest dramatically. "You're killing me. I own a brewery!"

Anna could barely tell one type of beer from another, but she wasn't about to tell him that. And quite honestly, talking about making beer sounded interesting enough; she loved learning about new things. But he just called her beautiful. She was flustered and too hot, and then she saw Bob standing off to the side with Mickey, and his expression was one of great displeasure. 

"A brewery?" she asked, trying to force her attention back to Dev.

"Beta Brewing," he said proudly. "We're currently working on a two million dollar expansion project. It's kind of a construction zone, but if you ever want to come up to sample the goods, I'd love to have you."

Anna's eyes went wide. That sounded like an innuendo, but Dev's face was calm as he sipped his pint. Anna figured he must be okay if he was friends with all of these people, but she was never going to go there without the girls. "Maybe if everyone else wanted to go, I could tag along?"

Dev laughed and said, "Bradshaw makes the drive frequently enough. I'm sure we'll see each other again. But just to be sure... I could give you my personal number."

----------------------------

Bob was seething. He'd met Dev Borah exactly one time before, and while he'd had pretty neutral feelings about him prior to tonight, now he hated the sight of him. He'd persuaded Anna to have a beer even though Bob heard her say she didn't really want one, and now he was typing something into Anna's phone. He was giving her his number, just like Bob had done so many weeks ago.

"Stop torturing yourself, man," Mickey said, handing Bob some more peanuts.

"You think she likes him?" Bob asked, voice tight as he grabbed the bowl in his shaky hand.

Mickey shrugged next to him. "What's not to like?"

Bob tossed the bowl onto one of the tables. "You're not helping." He walked away to find someone else, anyone else, to talk to. He should have kissed Anna for as long as he could when he had the chance, because it was all he could think about now. It was all he wanted. She kept looking at him; if she was going to talk to Dev all night and say that kissing Bob was a mistake, then why was she looking at him?

He needed to get out of here and go home, but he knew his friends would be disappointed. Even Suzanne would shake her head. Honestly, he'd be annoyed with himself, too. But his mood was something so unfamiliar, he was ready to force himself to talk to the woman standing next to Anna who he thought was from the science department just so he wouldn't feel like a joke. 

"You know," Bradley said as he slung his arm around Bob's shoulders, "I had no idea Dev liked redheads so much. But then again, he never was too discerning back in the day."

"What do you want, Rooster?" he asked with a grunt.

"I just wanted to make sure you're having fun at Jess's little shindig."

Bob let Bradley slap him obnoxiously on the back as he asked, "Did you invite Dev? Is he going to give Anna a hard time or anything?" His eyes trailed back over to where Dev was still talking her ear off.

Bradley chuckled. "I invited him to get Jake riled up, but I had no idea you'd be collateral damage." He finally released Bob as he said, "And nah, Dev's harmless."

What Bob wouldn't give to have Natasha back. He missed her terribly, and all the guys seemed to be better behaved when she was around. But she'd take one look at Anna and probably embarrass him in front of her even more.

"I think I'm actually going to head home," came Anna's voice filtering over to Bob as she finally cut Dev off. "It was nice to meet you."

"Let me drive you," he replied immediately, and Bob could already picture him getting Anna settled into his Mercedes-Benz, his fingers grazing her bare thigh.

"No, that's okay," she told Dev as she backed away from him. "I'm just going to say goodbye to Jessica, and then I'll get an Uber."

She made her escape to the table next to where Bob stood, and Jessica gave her a big hug. "Happy birthday," Anna told her once again, followed softly by, "I'm glad we're friends."

Jessica squealed and hugged her tighter. "Me too."

"I'm going to call an Uber and head out," Anna was saying, but Jessica was already looking around. 

"No way. It's dark out, and someone here can drive you home. Hey, Bob? Can you drive Anna home?"

He knew he was going to say yes even though part of him didn't want to. And there was another part of him that assumed she'd just say Dev offered to take her. But when Anna looked up at him, he nodded and immediately said, "Of course."

To his surprise, Anna looked a little relieved as she took a step closer. "Are you sure you don't mind?" she asked him with a little wince.

"Not one bit. I was planning on heading home, and it's on the way."

Bob accepted a sloppy kiss on the cheek from Jessica who was well on her way to being drunk. Then he dug his keys from his pocket and nodded toward the door. Anna followed closely next to him, but unlike the last time they were at Chippy's, he didn't touch her. When Bob held the door open, he looked back over his shoulder at Dev who raised his pint glass with a smile of defeat, but he didn't really care about anyone except Anna.

"Thanks," she muttered, walking out into the cool, night air.

"Did you have a good time?" Bob asked, putting a little more space between them as he pointed up the block toward his truck.

Anna laughed, but the sound was tight and forced. "It was okay. I think Jessica was having fun, which is the most important thing, you know?"

"Yeah," he agreed, squeezing his key in his hand as all of the images of their kisses returned. Everything he thought about when he wrote new poetry and touched himself to completion. He swallowed hard; even being around Anna was a lot for his senses. He couldn't blame Dev for trying, but their interactions made him jealous. "Did you get Dev's number?"

Anna stumbled a bit on the sidewalk as she looked up at him, but he kept his eyes focused straight ahead. "I didn't ask for it. He just kind of gave it to me," she said softly. "He invited me up to his brewery to try some beers. When I told him I'm not much of a beer drinker, he said he'd really enjoy teaching me about the process."

"I'm sure he would," Bob muttered, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

When he reached his truck, he wrenched the passenger door open for Anna, and she glowed softly in the dim, orange interior lighting. "He's a bit much," she said, looking up at him.

Bob nodded once, but she didn't make a move to climb in. "I don't know him very well, but I know he likes to hear himself talk." When she still didn't move, Bob asked, "Are you going to call him? Give him the opportunity?"

"I already told you..." she said firmly. "I can't be in a relationship right now, so I wouldn't want to encourage Dev. And I'm really, really sorry about last week, Bob." She fidgeted with her hands and added, "But if I were in a place where I wanted to start something, I wouldn't pick him."

"Really?" Bob asked as his heart pounded. The most depraved part of him wanted to hear her say she liked him more than Dev. More than anyone.

"Really," she whispered, placing her hand on the seat. "I like old trucks better than fancy sports cars."

That was enough confirmation for Bob. His skin was tingling with anticipation he knew he couldn't quench, but he didn't mind as much now as he did ten minutes ago. "Yeah... you could do way better than a multi millionaire anyway."

Anna's laughter in response was so genuine, Bob laughed, too. The drive to her place was quiet but not as strained as he was afraid it would be, and when he was about a block away, she took her phone out and started messing around with it. "Thanks, Bob," she said as he pulled up to the curb.

He cleared his throat. "You know how you told me you didn't think I should use the dating app? Because I didn't need it?"

"Yeah?" she asked, reaching for the door handle but looking at him. 

He squeezed the steering wheel tight in both hands and said, "Well, I don't think you need Dev's phone number." He watched her jump down and turn to glance his way, and then she smiled.

"I already deleted it. Thanks again for the ride. Maybe I'll see you this weekend?"

He nodded once before she closed the door. As she walked inside, he said, "I hope so."

----------------------------

Oh. Oh, okay. She prefers you, Bob! Now get ready for action. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls. And thanks @attapullman for all the underwear discussions.

PART 7

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Snapdragon - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Snapdragon (Antirrhinum) - Meaning: Presumption, deception

Summary: Reader thinks her boyfriend, Bruce Wayne, is cheating on her. Bruce tries to figure out how to tell her about his nighttime activities.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 1864

Warnings: Suspected infidelity, angst, discussion of insecurities, a little bit of gaslighting/misdirection from Bruce, Alfred is a sassy bitch, Bruce is a mopey bastard, cliffhanger ending

Day 12 takes a sharp turn back into angst! I wrote this with the Christian Bale Batman and Michael Caine Alfred in mind, but use any Batman/Alfred you fancy. Also, sorry for the cliffhanger.

In Bloom Masterlist

Part 2: Snowdrop

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are incredibly appreciated! ❤️

Bruce was cheating on you, you knew it. He hadn’t spent the night at your place in weeks, was texting you back at odd hours at night, and whenever you did manage to pin him down for a date he seemed disengaged, preoccupied, like he would rather be elsewhere. 

Dating Gotham’s Prince was difficult enough as it was, press following you everywhere and your face showing up in supermarket tabloids — you were just a regular person, you didn’t come from money or rub elbows with Gotham’s social elite, you had a regular boring desk job to pay the bills. 

You met Bruce by accident one day when you were on your way into work. You weren’t paying attention and almost walked into oncoming traffic, but Bruce had caught your arm just as you stepped off the curb, spilling your coffee. You’d turned, ready to give him such a tongue-lashing, but a motorcyclist zipped by at an ungodly speed right where you’d been about to step. Bruce then offered to replace your coffee and escort you to the office (“For your own safety,” he’d insisted with a  devilish smirk that you couldn’t say no to). 

You’d been dating ever since, almost a year now, which surprised most of the press. Numerous gossip sites were speculating about how you’d managed to keep Bruce’s interest for that long, but you’d learned to tune all their shit out. 

The insecurity you felt now stemmed from Bruce’s own behavior, not the latest expulsion of bile from the gossipmongers online. You’d texted Bruce to meet you at your place after work, only receiving a thumbs-up emoji back. 

You weren’t worth a real response. You weren’t worth his honesty. You weren’t worth him.

Shaking that insidious voice out of your head, you decided you needed a drink. In the middle of pouring yourself a glass of wine (box wine, another reminder of the insurmountable differences between you and Bruce) a knock sounded at the door. 

Looking through the peep hole, you saw a large bouquet of flowers held in front of a tired-looking Bruce. You opened the door and let him in, accepting the flowers and a kiss on the cheek. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” Bruce said, lingering near your cheek and stepping closer, putting his hands on your hips and pulling you closer to him. You tensed in his grasp, and he immediately let go, lifting your chin with a finger so you had to look him in the eye. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” 

Looking into his baby blues was a little too much to handle, so you simply nodded and moved away from him. 

“Yeah, just gonna get these in water,” you said, lifting the bouquet slightly. Fishing the one vase you owned out of the cupboard, you filled it at the sink. Bruce followed your movements, hands in his pants pockets while he watched. 

“I’ve only got a few minutes, unfortunately, but I was hoping you were free this Friday for a proper date,” he offered, smiling in his charming way. You only hummed your response, focusing on rearranging the flowers so they looked nice in the vase.

You had a speech prepared, known exactly what you wanted to say to him to get him to confess that he was cheating. Now that he was here, however, your well-formulated hypothesis was harder and harder to grasp. Like smoke, it dissipated the more you tried to catch it. 

“You sure everything’s okay? You seem tense,” Bruce observed. That was your cue, and you knew you had to take it before he got any closer. Once he had his hands on you, every rational thought would flee and you’d be at his mercy. 

“Are you cheating on me?” you asked, fighting to keep your composure. You’d never been good at confrontation, so you figured the best way to handle this was firm, direct, like ripping off a band-aid. You tried to put on a confident air even though your insides were practically liquifying with nerves. 

Bruce sighed, “We talked about this, you can’t believe anything you read on those sites. They’re just in it for the clicks-”

“I’m not-! I didn’t get it off the internet, it’s just…you’ve been distant lately, and I can’t think of any explanation other than you found someone more…in your league,” you explained, wrapping your arms around you in an effort to comfort yourself. The insecurities you felt earlier were slipping into your words, despite your best efforts to shove them aside.

Bruce softened, took a step toward where you were standing in your kitchen. When you didn’t flinch away, he laid his hands on your shoulders. “Babe, you are in my league. Hell, you’re way above my league, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” 

“I don’t either,” you said, “but this isn’t coming from an external source, it’s what I’ve noticed when it’s just the two of us. You seem distracted, like you don’t want to be in the moment with me. And it’s a rare occurrence that you text me back before midnight, if at all.” 

Bruce’s hands stroked down your arms, warming your skin. He leaned down into your eye line. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know you were feeling that way, I’ll be better about being present with you, I promise. There’s just been a lot going on at work and it’s been…busy, I’ve been busy, you know?” 

You nodded, “I know.” 

“But,” he said, unhooking your hands from where they’d been holding your elbows, “Now that I know, we can fix it. I’m gonna do better. Thank you for telling me.” 

You let him unfold your arms and bring them up around his shoulders, resting them there and bringing his hands to your lower back. He kept his grasp loose until, against your better judgment, you tightened your arms and pulled him into a hug. He returned your embrace, planting a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

When he held you like this it was easy, too easy, to forget your stupid insecurities and let yourself trust him. In his embrace, every imperfection you nitpicked about yourself ceased to exist. He was a safe space — well, until recently. 

Bruce said your name quietly to get your attention. You looked up at him. 

“I love you,” he said, the look on his face betraying the heartbreaking truth of his statement. 

You pushed up on your toes and kissed his lips quickly — any slower and you’d completely melt into him. 

“I love you too, Bruce.” 

________

Later that night…

Bruce was well and truly fucked. He’d known it was only a matter of time before you noticed his odd behavior, the late hours, the preoccupation and distractibility. Fuck! 

He and Alfred had rules, dammit, and he should’ve followed them. 

No more than five dates or two months, whichever comes first. 

They’re never allowed to roam the house unsupervised. 

Most importantly, keep feelings out of it. Sex and companionship, nothing more and nothing less. 

But it was different with you. You’d…surprised him, which he didn’t think was possible anymore. You were funny and gorgeous — not his usual type, but still enchanting — and a little spiky, which only intrigued him more. For the first time, Bruce wanted to get to know someone on a deeper level. Maybe it was age, or he was finally ready to admit he wasn’t an island, or maybe he was just sick of the endless line of vapid, waifish model-types he usually dated, but whatever the reason you came into his life at exactly the right time and you were…perfect. 

What was the old saying, nothing good can stay? The truth of that statement weighed on him as he pulled off the suit, tossing the pieces haphazardly all over the cave, leaving a trail to where he eventually settled in his computer chair. 

“Y’know, sir, while kevlar is good at stopping bullets it does rather badly when left unattended on a damp cave floor,” Alfred scolded gently, bending to pick up the pieces of Batman. Bruce only grunted at his butler, pulling up the dossier he’d been preparing on the Joker. The last few weeks it looked like the psychopath had reemerged, which is why he’d been so preoccupied. Gotham barely survived the last scrape with that psychopath, so Batman had been doggedly hunting him after the sun went down. 

“Did you stop by her place, then?” Alfred asked, referring to you. “She seemed rather insistent on it.”

Bruce paused, then sighed and turned to face Alfred. “She thinks I’m cheating on her.” 

“Not exactly an incorrect assumption,” Alfred joked. Bruce flashed him a glare, but the butler didn’t notice. “Well, we knew this was coming didn’t we? Once you started breaking the rules for her, it was only a matter of time.” 

Bruce internally groaned, not wanting to admit Alfred was right. “I just wish I knew what to do. She’s the first person in a long time that I’ve actually wanted to have around. Present company excluded, of course.” 

“Of course, sir,” Alfred said. “You’ve arrived at a crossroads, if you don’t mind me saying. You either tell her, or you don’t.” 

“How do I know if I should tell her?” 

“That answer lies in how much you trust her to keep your secret.” 

“And how do I know that I won’t lose her even if I tell her?” Bruce asked, voicing his biggest fear. Painting a target on your back as well as his, and then being shoved out of your life. 

Alfred laid a comforting hand on Bruce’s shoulder, like he always did when sharing a hard life lesson. “You don’t, Master Wayne.” 

The hand left his shoulder and Bruce turned back around, each man now going about their usual business. A few quick incident reports later Bruce made his way upstairs to his bedroom, hoping with how tired his body was that sleep would claim him quickly. 

No such luck.

Instead, he tossed and turned, going over every possible outcome of the inevitable conversation.

Option 1: He tells you about Batman, you accept it, and the two of you make it work. This, of course, was the ideal scenario so he knew that wouldn’t be the outcome. Nothing in his life worked out ideally. 

Option 2: He tells you about Batman, you freak out and break up with him, and you become a huge liability. Giving you that knowledge would be like handing you a grenade with the pin pulled out — if you held onto it, you were both safe, but if you let go…Kaboom. And how long could you hold onto a secret that big, that dangerous?

The last option was that he doesn’t tell you, you continue to assume he’s cheating on you, and you break up with him eventually. He loses you, but you remain unaware and therefore safe — from his enemies, from prosecution, from whatever else came from being Batman's girlfriend. 

Around three in the morning Bruce’s mind was made up, his next steps planned, and resolve steely, but he waited until half-past five (a more normal wake-up time) to text you. 

‘Dinner at my place tonight. We need to talk.’ 

Read Part 2 Here

[nhlclover]

wish you were sober | mark estapa

summary: you finally get the romantic attention from your childhood crush but you just wish he was sober when he kisses you.

request: yes / no

warnings: drinking, angst, kissing

a/n: based on ‘wish you were sober’ by conan gray. first mark fic🤭love this man

word count: 2.05k

“I really don’t want to go.” You groan.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking at your friend standing at the end of the bed. Mark stomps his foot like a child, crossing his arms. You toss your head back with laughter.

“You throwing a hissy fit doesn’t make me want to go more.” You tell him.

Mark, your childhood friend, was attempting to convince you to go to a party with him. Most of his friends were busy, hanging out with their girlfriends or studying. So you were his next option.

At least that’s what you’d convinced yourself was the case.

Ever since you met in grade school, you’d had a crush on Mark. He was the boy next door type. He was loved by all his peers and he made everyone smile, especially you. He always made time for you, running around the neighbourhood with you. You were convinced your parents had paid him to be friends with you because there was no other logical explanation for why Mark spent so much time with you. But he did.

Over the years, the pair of you stayed close. You went to high school prom together, homecoming, and was even your date to your cousin's wedding. However, all platonically. All as your best friend.

Your crush grew stronger, although Mark shared none of the same feelings. But you were happy just to have him in your life.

You remember the first time Mark kissed you. It was at a party while in freshman year of university. He was drunk. But you didn’t stop him.

His lips were so soft. Softer than you ever imagined. His hands felt like they were made for you the way you fit perfectly in them. Then the next morning, when you met for breakfast, he said nothing. It was like all the kissing and the touching never even happened.

It took a couple of times to realize that was a common theme with Mark. He only ever kissed you when he was drunk. If you ever hung out when you were sober, he was back to being the same Mark that hung out with you by the creek on Sunday afternoons.

But at parties, his hands were on your waist, walking behind you to the nearest room with a lockable door.

You recognized how potentially unhealthy this was for you, your childhood crush only giving you romantic attention whenever he was drunk. But you were getting attention from the guy you’d liked since you were 8, so you took it.

A smile forms on his lips as he flops onto the bed beside you. You tip your head to look at him. Mark is looking up at you. He has no distinct look on his face, not even his stupid puppy eyes he likes to do. Yet you find yourself caving into him.

You sigh, dropping your head back to the pillow and looking up at his ceiling. “Fine.” You huff.

“Yay.” Mark grins. His smile. It makes you weak in the knees and causes the butterflies to take flight.

That’s precisely what you don’t want. You shoot up from the bed, grabbing your bag from the floor.

“I uh… I gotta go.” You blurt out.

Mark's brows push together. “Why?”

“I… gotta change and get ready. I kinda look like a mess.” You chuckle.

“What do you mean? You look great.” He says, getting up and standing in front of you.

The smell of his cologne becomes strong. You step back, worrying that it might be brainwashing you. “Mark, I’m going to change.” You state. “Text me when you’re picking me up.”

You leave his place, going back to change into a more presentable outfit. A few hours later, Marks outside your place in his Range Rover, honking wildly. You run out, hopping in the passenger seat.

“You need to chill.” You laugh.

“You were taking too long.” He rebuttals.

Mark pulls away from the curb, speeding off in the direction of the party. When you pull up, you see people spilling out onto the front lawn of a frat house, with people on the front steps making out. You already know this won’t be an enjoyable party but you know you’ll stay for Mark.

You get out of the car, following Mark inside. The house is packed, so Mark grabs your hand making sure he won’t lose you.

“Hey, man!” Mark says to a tall guy in the kitchen.

“Wassup Estapa?” He says. They dap each other up, asking each other how they are.

“Oh, here you go man.” The guy says. He reaches into a cooler on the island, handing Mark a Bud Light.

Mark doesn’t hesitate to crack it open, chugging half of it in just a few seconds.

“Who’s this?” He asks, motioning to you.

“This is y/n,” Mark says, pulling you in front of him, his hands landing on your waist. “Friend from the hometown.”

“Nice to meet you, y/n, I’m Chris.” He smiles, sticking out a hand to shake.

He’s cute, got small dimples when he smiles, and is most definitely another student-athlete. You swear Mark was only friends with other athletes.

You chuckle, shaking Chris’s hand. “Nice to meet you too.”

Suddenly your skin longs for Mark's hands as they leave your hips. He’s walking out of the kitchen, towards a group of people calling his name.

“So what program are you in?” Chris asks.

You make small talk with him for the next little bit, talking about hometowns and hobbies, but Mark’s location lingers in the back of your mind the whole time.

“It’s been great getting to know you, but I should probably go find Mark. Make sure he’s okay.” You say.

Chris laughs. “I think Mark’s doing just fine.”

Chris points past you, into the rest of the house. You turn around, scanning the room for Mark. You finally spot him, standing in the living room, across from a redhead. She’s giggling, a hand on his bicep, as he’s swapping cups with her. He takes a sip of her drink, pulling a sour face as he swallows. He says something that makes her laugh.

The sight in front of you tenses your heart, feeling like someone took a knife and stabbed it into your chest.

You excuse yourself from Chris, turning around, and heading down a hall, finally winding up in a bathroom. You enter, locking the door behind you. Tears prickle at your eyes and you find yourself laughing at the sight.

Who cries over a guy they’re not dating? Let alone the guy who only likes her when he’s drunk?

You wipe the tears from your cheeks, stepping out. You couldn’t take this much longer. Walking back down the hallway, you spare one last glance at Mark who is downing whatever was in the redhead’s cup. You roll your eyes continuing out of the house. Mark spots your familiar figure speed walking out of the house. He excuses himself from the redhead, chasing after you.

“Woah, y/n!” He calls after you. You stop and turn to face Mark. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going home.” You tell him.

“Why?” He asks.

“Because I don’t want to be here anymore.” You say.

“What? Why?”

You go to answer but someone cranking the volume of the speakers makes it hard to hear over the top of 21 Savage's voice.

“C’mon, let’s go somewhere the music isn’t loud.” Mark says. he guides you through the house and out into the backyard where it’s significantly quieter and less crowded, safe for a few couples making out and some people smoking.

You cross your arms, waiting for Mark's argument about why you should stay. Mark gives you a small smile, his lazy, drunken eyes scanning your face.

“You look really pretty.” He says.

You roll your eyes, preparing to push past Mark and leave him in the dust. However, he grabs your hips, stopping you from moving.

“You wanna leave? We can leave.” He says. You sigh, looking up into Mark's eyes.

His sweet, soft brown eyes make you feel like you could look into them for days. His stupid, genuine eyes, make you believe every last word that comes out of his mouth.

“Thank you.” You say softly. “But you’re not driving.”

You grab the keychain sticking out of Mark’s pocket, nabbing the keys too. He chuckles, sticking his hand in your back pocket.

He leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek. “You really do look fucking amazing.” He whispers in your ear.

You push him back slightly, walking around front to his Rover. He stumbles slightly so you wrap your arms around his torso to stabilize him.

You open the passenger door, helping Mark into the seat. He sinks into the seat, his head resting back against the headrest. You step up into the car, reaching over to buckle Mark in.

He suddenly leans up, cupping your cheek in his hand, pressing his lips to yours. The temporary feeling of bliss almost makes you want to forgive him for only acting when he’s drunk. His soft lips are gentle, but not sloppy, briefly making you believe he isn’t as drunk as you thought he was.

But you pull away. At the end of the day, he only does this when he's drunk. “Let’s go home.” You say.

You get in the driver's seat, pulling away from the frat house and driving to Mark's place. He cranks the volume of the radio, singing along to Cruel Summer. Half the words mould into one another, him slurring every second syllable.

You pull into his driveway, turning off the ignition. You climb out, going over to the passenger side to help Mark out of the car. He trips getting out of his seat, leaning his weight on you. You get him to the front door and attempt to open the door, only to have Mark pull your hand off the handle.

He pulls you into him, you hitting his chest. He wraps his arms around you, resting his hands on your lower back. “You should stay over.” He suggests.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” He asks.

“Mark…” You sigh.

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to one side of your neck, then leaning over and kissing the other side.

“Mark.” You say again.

“I love it when you say my name.” He whispers.

He works his way up your jaw, peppering your skin with kisses. He slows down when he reaches your face, kissing the side of your mouth before pressing his lips to yours.

It’s like almost every other kiss you share. It sends a rush of energy down your spine, your core heating up on command. His hands trace down to your ass, lightly squeezing it. You find yourself instinctively kissing back.

Mark has this effect on you where no matter how many times you say to yourself no more, you always find yourself back wanting more.

But the pang in your chest, when you remind yourself that this is seemingly nothing more than a drunk habit for Mark, makes you push away.

“Mark.” You say, your stern tone coming out clearly. You wriggle out of his grasp, stepping back. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” He asks.

You groan in frustration because how does he not see it? “Doing this dance that we do. Where we go to a party, get drunk, and then hook up.” You say. “But then in the morning, I’m nothing more than your friend from back home.”

He sighs, looking away. “Y/n-”

“No, Mark.” You say. “I’m done with this.”

You step down the stairs, onto the walkway.

“Y/n, please come back.” He says. “This is just a…a misunderstanding. I do like you, please.”

He comes down the steps, stopping in front of you and grabbing your hand. “Please, I… I think I was just too scared to admit my feelings.”

You want to believe him, but it doesn’t even sound like he believes himself.

“Mark this is real sweet and all but… I just wish you could say that to me when you’re sober.” You say.

You give his hand a squeeze before walking down the road towards your dorm.

[storiesfromafan]

Ride - Benny x Reader

A/N: finally finished the next part of whatever I call this is haha.

Previous: Drinks, Persistent, Insane

Prompt: I think I have fireflies where my caution should be.

When you awoke at seven thirty the same morning as dealing with a persistent, insane Benny Cross, you were flooded with memories which brought on butterflies. And with every moment from then till you left your house, those butterflies just seemed to grow. Every step closer to where the Vandal should be waiting for you, you grew excited yet nervous. You were also worried he might not even be there as you were running late, due to your mothers insistent questioning on where you were off too.

The whole morning you had spent it either tip-toeing around last night’s date, or telling white lies to save yourself. Ultimately you told her you were hanging out with a few girl friends today, which she happily accepted. But she did not let up on Stewart. Still trying to sell you on him, even when you told her it wouldn’t work. And for good reason, your constant shadow aka Benny. As well as the attraction between you both. Teetering on the edge of you resisting him and giving in. Which makes today a real trial for you.

You wanted to be a good daughter and a good woman. But the want to be bad was still there. The want to give in to who you wanted to be. The want to just go f’ it to society. But most of all, there was a need for Benny. The need to have him look at you with those beautiful blue orbs of his. The need to have witty and sassy exchanges. The need to be close. And the need to have his hands and lips on you.

Rounding the corner to where you told Benny to meet you, you were half relieved he was there and half disappointed. Part of you wanted him to think you were standing him, he would give up and that would be it. Temptation removing itself from your life. But there he was. Leaning on his bike, cigarette in hand as he looked off into space, like nothing really mattered.

As you got closer, Benny snapped back to reality. His beautiful blues looking you up and down, a soft smile gracing his lips. Taking one last drag of his cigarette, he flicked it off to the side as he exhaled. The way the smoke left his lips, it was hypnotising. You stopped when you were an arms length from Benny and his bike.

“Afternoon Princess" Benny said sweetly. “I thought ya must be standin’ me up".

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t think I wasn’t tempted too". Liar.

He chuckled. “Hmmm, if i was waitin' for much longer, I would've just showed up at your house. And knocked on ya door". He winked.

You glared at him. “No you wouldn’t have".

“Oh? Ya sure Princess?” Benny challenged.

“Yes" you replied simply. “Because if you did, you know I wouldn’t go anywhere with or near you". It was a bluff, but you had to stay strong.

He laughed getting up from his leaning position and took a few steps closer to you. He looked deeply into your eyes, searching them. Silently you battled each other. You were doing everything to not show him how he was effecting you. Your heart was racing from the intensity right now. His piercing gaze was making your knees weak. Yet you stood tall and strong.

Then Benny stepped back, smile on his face. “Come on Princess. The open road awaits".

When he turned from you and headed back to his bike, you released the breath you had been holding. Heart still racing, butterflies full flutter in your stomach. Without a word you followed Benny, taking his hand and getting on the back of his bike. Again you wrapped your arms around his waist, grasping his t-shirt. Your denim clad legs resting against Benny's. Which wasn’t as thrilling as bare legs on denim. But you thought it would be smart to wear jeans and a sweater, over a dress.

Once ready, Benny pulled away from the curb and headed out of town. Hitting the road outside of town, where it was open fields and farms, Benny really opened up the bike. The new speed made you grasp his shirt tight, arms growing tighter around his waist. You clung to Benny, scared by the increased speed.

Smiling to himself, Benny was enjoying the feeling of having you closer. It wasn’t his intention to scare you, he hated that you were scared, but feeling how close you were made him happy. You have been keeping him at a distance, fighting him. But he could tell you were wearing down. He patted your hands with one of his gloved ones, silently telling you that you were alright with him. And he brought the speed of his bike down, a sign that you were his priority.

You relaxed when the speed dropped almost back to what you were comfortable with. Yet you didn’t pull away from Benny. You enjoyed the feel of him, the heat from his body. You finally looked around you both, watching how everything went by. Feeling the wind licking your skin, and how all you could hear was the rush of wind. It was soothing in its own way, like it drowned out your thoughts. And all you could focus on was the man before you. Laying your cheek against Benny’s back, you enjoyed the ride.

Benny rode to two towns over, stopping to refuel and for you both to have something quick to eat, before getting back on his bike and riding back to your town. As soon as you got on his bike, you moved closer to him and holding on to him. And once he hit the open road Benny tried going faster again. At first you held him tightly, but this time you could relax a little bit. He smiled, knowing you were warming up to it. And definitely him.

When the sight of the sign welcoming you to your town went past, you frowned knowing you were almost back to your drop off place. And your time with Benny was coming to an end. You should be happy about that, you could get off his bike and say see ya. But you didn’t want that. You wanted to keep going, free on the road. And with him.

Just like that you knew this was it. You couldn’t deny it anymore. You wanted Benny. You wanted this gorgeous man for yourself. Which meant ruffling a lot of feathers. You feared when your parents find out. When you felt Benny’s gloved hand on yours once more, like he knew what you were thinking, you knew he would be there for you.

Finally pulling up where you’d both taken off from, Benny parked his bike before cutting the engine. Neither of you moved for a few minutes. Just taking in the soft sounds of the street and enjoying how close you both were. Reluctantly, you moved back, letting go of Benny, yet your hands remained on his waist. Something he noticed but didn’t say a word about. Eventually he held out his hand, and you hesitantly took it, before getting off the bike. Benny remained where he was.

“You alright Princess?” Benny asked, seeing you looked to be in thought.

“Hmm?” You said before looking to the man before you. “Yes...just thinking".

He chuckled. “About what? Me?”

You looked to Benny’s eyes, seeing in them worry. “Yes" you admitted freely. “I think I have fireflies where my caution should be”.

A look of confusion washed over his face, unsure of what you meant by those words. “I don’t follow Princess...”

For the first time you shot him a small, warm smile. You didn’t say anything, you just stepped closer to the Vandal. You brought a hand up, cupping his cheek. The feel of his stubble scratching your palm. Your warm skin soothing Benny. But then you leant in, placing a soft kiss to the corner of his lip. It lasted a few seconds. Pulling back you looked into Benny’s eyes, then you removed your hand and stepped back from the man.

“Thanks for the ride Benny" you broke the silence. “I’ll see you around soon".

With that you turned and headed home. Those butterflies fluttering so much you felt like you were floating. You smiled joyously. It wasn’t smart to give into Benny, but you couldn’t let him go now. Now that you’ve had a taste of him.

Benny watched you walk away. And when you turned down your street, he snapped out of it. Lifting his bare hand to the corner of his lip, finger tips touching were you’d kissed him. He smiled, chuckled at this giddiness in him. Finally, his Princess was coming around to him.

[ashyyslashy]

million dollar baby - kendall roy x f! reader

You go on a blind date with Kendall Roy circa his college graduation and learn the truth beneath his public front.

word count: 4.5k

warnings: language, drug use, sex while intoxicated, piv sex, discussions of infertility

You anxiously drummed your fingers on the back of the car seat in front of you. Bass music throbbed in your ears, barely drowning out the voice of your taxi driver blabbering to someone on the phone. You were used to overeager drivers pushing the speed limit, but this guy seemed to pride himself on going at least 5 under at all times. Worst of all, the heater in his car was broken, leaving you shivering within the fogged-up windows.

You kept glancing down at the “I’m outside” text on your BlackBerry, received a minute ago and counting. Unable to delay it any further, you typed out “I’m just a few blocks away”, and hit send. Several moments later, it buzzed with his response: “Don’t keep me waiting.”

As the taxi slowed towards the restaurant, you squinted out of the window to search for your date. Truth be told, you were wholly unsure what to expect of him. From what your friend Cecily had told you when she set the two of you up, Kendall Roy could either show up to a date wearing a tuxedo or a tracksuit. 

You slipped the driver his fare and scrambled out of the backseat before the car had even fully stopped, hurriedly pulling your bunched-up dress down. You cautiously stepped onto the curb in your knee-high boots.

“I’m here,” you texted Kendall as you made your way towards the restaurant’s signage. A bustling crowd was gathered in front for dinner, obscuring your view of the entrance. Heat lamps burned outside with customers flocking around them as they warmed themselves. 

You didn’t receive a reply. Your eyes scanning the area, you spied a lone figure standing away from the mass of bodies. He was dressed in a white shirt and black slacks. A cloud of smoke billowed around him, his fingers holding a cigarette to his lips. 

He matched the description your friend had provided: average height and a head of coiffed dark hair. As you approached him, his features became more evident, resembling the photo you’d seen. Your gaze flicked from his dark chocolate eyes to his angular nose, his long face bearing an expression absent of any emotion. 

“You’re Kendall, right?” 

His eyes narrowed, the end of his cigarette crackling. 

“Yeah. Hey. You finally showed up.” His voice was deep and distinctly authoritative, speaking to you with all the air of someone at a business meeting. 

“Sorry, the taxi was really slow.”

He nodded, taking one last puff of his cigarette before dropping it on the slush-covered cement. He ground it down with the heel of his dress shoe, his movements effortless and fluid. 

“Shall we?” he asked, striding towards the entrance of the restaurant without waiting for a response. You were compelled to fall in step behind him - you guessed that a lot of people fell prey to the magnetic force that seemed to orbit him and his family. 

He deftly maneuvered his way through the crowd and walked up to the hostess. She didn’t notice him at first, leaning over her coworker in conversation. He cleared his throat abruptly. Her head jerked up, and she blinked a few times in succession as she took in the sight of him and the way he’d forcefully inserted himself into the space.

“Sorry, sir. How can I help you?” she asked, her tone cool. 

“Reservation for Roy,” he said in a confident, clear voice, fixing her with an intense stare.

“Alright, let me check that out for you. For 8:30?”

“Yeah. I know we’re a bit late,” he said, placing a pointed emphasis on the last word, “but I know you guys have a grace period. So, I’m hoping we can get seated ASAP.” 

A look of brief irritation flashed across the hostess’ face as she picked up two menus. “No problem. Follow me.”

“Ladies first,” he directed towards you, gesturing for you to go ahead of him. You walked behind the hostess, feeling vulnerable to his eyes through the exposed skin on your backless dress.

The hostess guided you to a secluded area at the far corner of the dining room - whether he’d requested the privacy or she had opted to spare herself from Kendall being in her eye line, you were unsure. You thanked her, taking your seat across from your date. 

“Can we start off with two Smirnoffs on the rocks?” Kendall asked.

“Oh, I don’t drink. I’ll have an iced tea,” you said quickly. 

“One Smirnoff and an iced tea then.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably as the hostess walked away. 

“Have you, um, been here before?” you inquired, studying him over the top of your menu. 

“Of course. I take all my dates here,” he replied in an indecipherable tone. 

“Oh. Haha,” you deadpanned.

“No, seriously, I do.” He paused, before letting out a curt laugh at your disbelieving expression. “Come on. I’m fucking with you, you know that, right?”

“Hard to tell.” Your face burned. 

“Yeah, I’ve been here a few times. Cool if I order for the both of us? I know which dishes are the best.”

“Yeah, sure.” You tried to hide the disbelief in your voice.

His eyes studied your face. “So, Cecily wasn't wrong. You’re very pretty.” 

“Thank you,” you replied, your glossed lips curving into a hesitant smile. 

“I hear you want to go into politics?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You know, starting out as an ATN anchor wouldn't be so bad,” he said. “I’m sure we could work something out. You know who I am, right?”

“Yup,” you said, forcefully popping the “p”. “Cecily told me all about you.” 

Clearly not enough.

“Cool. Now that I’m out of college, I’m ready to start becoming more involved in Waystar.”

He looked at you expectantly, waiting for the ego stroke. 

You settled on: “Party days are finally behind you?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He flashed you his first grin of the night. 

“Pardon my reach.” A voice appeared at your shoulder, leaning over you to place the drinks on the table, ice clinking in the glasses. 

“Alright. What can I get for you two?” The waiter plastered a smile onto their face and pulled out their notepad. 

You slid the iced tea towards yourself and took a long sip, tuning out Kendall’s voice as he recited your joint order to the waiter.

He focused his eyes on you once they’d left, searching your face once again. You weren’t sure what he was trying to find. You got the impression that he was inept at reading people when so much was centered around himself. 

“Food should be good,” he said simply.

“Mm.” You were about to excuse yourself to the bathroom when his phone rang.

He flipped open his Blackberry screen and squinted at the number. “Oh. I should take this. I’ll be right back.”

“No problem,” you said with a polite smile, trying to disguise your relief.

As soon as he was out of sight, you flipped out your own phone and furiously typed out a message.

“U didn’t tell me Kendall was the WORST. WTF?!?!”

Cecily’s reply came within the minute:

“No!!!! He is an acquired taste but I thought the 2 of u might click ):”

Your fingers raced to fire back: "He’s so entitled."

“Growing up rich will do that 2 u,” She wrote.  “Seriously though, he has a good heart. Give him a chance, 4 me?” 

“Ugh,” you murmured to yourself. 

“Fine.”

You closed the phone in frustration and stuffed it into your purse, before noticing a pair of black loafers on the ground next to you. 

You glanced up to meet Kendall’s eyes. He looked as if he didn't quite know how he’d gotten there. Suddenly so much smaller, his arms curled towards his chest and his phone hung limply from his hand. A lone figure amidst the clinking silverware and pleasant conversation. 

“Um, hey..” He said, his voice shaky. His bottom lip was wavering almost imperceptibly.  “I’m not really hungry anymore. Can, uh, can we just go back to my place?” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You shook the grease-soaked paper bag, the remainder of the fries rustling around inside. You balanced it on your lap as you sat gingerly on Kendall’s art deco sofa. 

“Do you want any more?” you asked softly. 

You were answered by the sound of snorting and sniffing from beside you. Then, a nasally: “Nah, I'm good.”

You tried to keep your eyes away from the lines of cocaine on his phone screen. The two of you had sat in silence on the car ride there, save for him asking your McDonald’s order. It had felt so strange to pull through the drive-thru in one of Logan Roy’s many limos, driven by a stuffy, well-dressed chauffeur. 

Kendall still hadn’t spoken to you when you got to his apartment, descending upon bags of white powder he had stashed away. He’d wordlessly offered it to you, and when you vehemently shook your head no, he seemed to interpret that as an invitation to consume more for himself.

You chewed on the fries at the bottom of the bag, feeling like the eating noises were deafening. The apartment was eerily silent, punctuated only by snorting from Kendall’s end of the couch. 

“Thanks, for, uh, being chill with this,” he said dumbly, pinching and wiping his nose. You felt relieved to see that all that was left on his phone was the white residue. 

“With the… cocaine?”

“Just all of it, I guess. Sorry.” He turned his head to fix you with his penetrating gaze. 

You guessed this was as close to an apology for his behavior as you were going to receive. Placing the bag on the table, you hesitantly scooted closer to him.  

“Can I ask what happened on that phone call?”

His head snapped away from you again. “I don't really want to talk about that.” 

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He slumped back on the couch. 

Your purse vibrated from a text. You dug through it for your phone, holding back a dazed laugh as you saw the text that flashed across the screen.

From Cecily: How’s it going??

You switched it to silent. 

“Do you want to smoke a blunt?” Kendall blurted.

“Um, is that a good idea? After… You know.” You jerked your head towards the evidence on his phone.

“Yeah, why the fuck not?” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s do it.”

The next thing you knew, you were on his balcony, Kendall’s face illuminated by the skyscrapers and cars passing below. You shivered as the night air chilled you to the bone. 

“Here,” he said, shrugging his jacket off and holding it out to you. 

“Thanks.” Your joint crackling between your fingers, you moved it into the corner of your mouth. You draped Kendall’s jacket over your shoulders and were immediately greeted by the smell of Dior cologne and cigarette smoke. 

“You smoke really sexy,” he said. “Like a James Bond love interest. Mysterious and hot.”

You burst into a mix between a laugh and cough, waving smoke out of your face. “You’re so high right now.”

“So? Doesn’t mean it’s not true.” He inhaled deeply, then blew out a smoke ring. “You do this a lot?”

“Go on dates or smoke weed?” you questioned.

“Um, both, I guess.”

“I’ve only smoked a couple times. With friends. And I go on dates every few weeks or so.” 

“All first dates?” he asked.

“Yeah, pretty much.” 

“Are most of them bad?”

“Kinda.” 

He drew in a deep breath of smoke. “I hope ours doesn’t rank as the worst.” His eyes shined with the vulnerability you’d seen back at the restaurant. As if your opinion held significant weight to him, though you’d known him for less than an hour. As if he couldn't hear one more bad thing tonight. 

“No, of course not. There was one guy who I think was, like, into eugenics?”

“What?” he laughed. 

“Yeah. Like 20 minutes into the date, he said something like,” you deepen your voice, “Doctors say I have the best sperm they’ve ever seen. So I need a healthy wife who’s gonna bear me a shitload of children.”

He let out a curt laugh as a darkness suddenly settled over his expression. Bringing the joint to his mouth, he took another deep inhale. 

“Is something wrong?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows at his shift in demeanor. 

“No, no. I just fucking hate guys like that, you know? The way they treat women, like they aren't equals.” The inexplicable passion didn't reach his eyes, as if he was reciting a script. 

“Oh. Yeah, fuck him.” You wrapped Kendall’s jacket more tightly around yourself, an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air. 

“Do you want kids?” he asked after a few moments.

“Uh, I don’t know. Not at this stage of life. But later on, with the right person… maybe,” you replied, your voice nearly drowned out by a gust of wind on the balcony. “What about you?”

“Same,”’ he said tersely. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the joint was in his mouth again before he could. The smoke drifted away in the increasing wind. “You wanna go back inside? Getting pretty cold out here.” 

“Yeah. I’m sorry for taking your jacket.”

“Don’t be. It looks good on you.” He paused. “You should keep it.”

You laughed in disbelief, sliding it off of your shoulders. You caught a glance at the tag - Saint Laurent. “I’m not going to keep this, Kendall.”

You tried to toss it back to him, but he expertly moved out of the way. Your heart dropped as the jacket soared off the balcony and onto the street below. Scrambling to the railing, you watched helplessly as it was swallowed up by the headlights. 

Your knuckles whitened around the railing and you could simultaneously feel the color draining out of your face. “Fuck. Kendall, I’m so sorry.” 

He erupted into laughter behind you. “That was a pretty impressive throw.”

You swiveled around and stared at him in shock, your mouth slightly ajar as you imagined the thousands of dollars being flattened by cars below you. “Huh?”

“Hey,” he said, moving forward and placing his hands on your shoulders. “It’s cute how worried you are, but don't stress. I was going to give it to you anyway.”

“Oh,” was all you could manage. 

“Come on, let’s just go inside.” He stubbed the blunt out on the railing and you copied his movements. His free hand found yours, cold and shaking, and steadied it as he interlocked your fingers. 

You welcomed the warmth that greeted you upon stepping back inside his expansive apartment. You could feel a heady sensation wash over your body, a mix of the heat and marijuana putting you into a hazy state of relaxation. Like Kendall, you didn’t care about the jacket: you wanted to hold onto the comfort that he must come back to every night. You let go of his hand and flopped down onto his couch, flinging off your shoes and closing your eyes.

Cecily’s words appeared behind your eyelids: It’s not his fault he grew up rich.

You wondered if you’d be as much of an asshole as he’d been earlier tonight if you were used to being in a bubble where only your needs mattered. You’d probably laugh too if someone threw a $5,000 jacket over your balcony. His lifestyle was like a numbing agent, keeping him coddled and wanting for nothing. But it seemed like he was trying so hard to pretend that he was serious now that he’d come out of college, with his desire to become involved in Waystar - although you surmised he’d spent most of school in a cocaine-induced stupor.

Did it weigh on him that none of this was his? Or did it not matter where it came from, as long as it was his?

You opened your eyes and glanced over, his back facing you. Your eyes studied the curve of his spine through the fabric of his fitted white shirt. You registered the sound of a needle dropping onto a record, and the thump of hip-hop music filled the room. 

“How vintage of you,” you teased.

“I took this player from my dad. He’d probably be pissed if he saw what I was listening to on it.” He turned to you, his eyes alight with supposed rebellion.

He moved closer until he was standing over you, his face a few inches above yours. You rolled over onto your side, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, and realized you wanted to know how his lips would feel against yours. Before you could change your mind, you reached out to cup his face and brought it towards you, brushing your mouth against his. His lips crashed against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth; he tasted unsurprisingly of cigarettes and vodka, the scent of his cologne again filling your nostrils. 

He clambered on top of you, his pelvis digging into your hips. You smoothed your fingers over his shaggy hair, gelled strands falling into your face and lightly tickling your cheeks. The long, wavy locks felt so inherently boyish as you mussed them up, providing a stark contrast to his attire. You turned your attention to getting rid of that attire, working open the buttons on his pristine white shirt. His body was pale and lean, a light smattering of chest hair coarse underneath your fingertips.

You felt his fingers travel to the back of your dress, tugging on the zipper and sliding it off of your body. He murmured a compliment against your mouth as he ran his hands up your stomach to your breasts, gently squeezing the flesh. 

“You want to move to the bedroom?” he asked softly. 

“Mhmm.” 

He hoisted you up, guiding your legs around his waist as he carried you to his room. Your lips were fixed to his neck the entire way there, leaving marks on the creamy, stubbled skin. 

Kendall deposited you on his bed before going to undo his belt. You sunk into the plush mattress, intoxicated by his luxuries. Reveling in your high, you pulled your panties down, tracing circles on your clit as you watched him finish undressing. He studied you just as intently. Tugging his pants down revealed his hardening cock through the fabric of his Tom Ford boxers. 

You dipped your fingers into your entrance in eager anticipation. He tossed his boxers to the side, allowing his cock to spring free, precum leaking from the tip.

“Come here,” you murmured, moving the decorative pillows out of the way with your free hand.

His arms were around you again, his tongue exploring your mouth, his hands traveling across your naked body. You were hopelessly under the spell of Kendall Roy, dying for him to be inside you.

“Please,” you whined. 

���Please what?”

“Please, fuck me.” 

He tossed one of the pillows at you. “Use that to show me how much you want it.”

You were too far-gone to be irritated at this obvious power trip. 

“Okay,” you sighed, obediently straddling the throw. You rubbed your bare pussy against the blue velvet, undoubtedly leaving a trail of slick as you ground into it. 

He laid on his side in an emulation of Kate Winslet, pumping his cock as he watched you.

“Are you enjoying the show?” you asked, your question punctuated by a soft moan.

“Very much so.” He smirked. “You can stop now.” You ignored him, continuing to roll your hips against the pillow. He reached across the bed and pulled it out from under you. 

“You’re no fun,” you complained, mourning the loss of friction.

“Wouldn’t you prefer me to the pillow?” He put his arms on either side of your torso, boxing you in. You stared up at his face; his expression was hungering for you and for something inaccessible at the same time. If you were sober, you might have stopped, asked him if he was okay. But your drug-addled brain only had one urge: the ubiquitous urge shared by a frat guy hoping to score.

“Yes,” you admitted breathily.

He responded by lightly teasing his cock against your folds. You let out a noise that was a mixture between frustration and lust. He coaxed your legs into the air, putting you into a spread-eagle position. His eyes locking with yours, he slid inside you with agonizing slowness. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to absorb as much of his body heat as possible as he thrusted into you. You were inches away from his dark, intense eyes, feeling so close to him yet so far away at the same time. You wanted to melt into one another so there was not even the tiniest amount of space between you - your flesh turning into jelly, mixing together with his dripping body into one inseparable mass. To share a hive mind, know the thoughts and emotions he was hiding beneath his well-groomed face, the desire behind each movement of his cock. 

His thrusts were sloppy, wet, unfocused. His hands held your legs in place, allowing him to push into you ever deeper. You were intoxicated by the animalistic scent of his sweat as perspiration ran off his chest onto yours. 

“I’m close,” he murmured, his thrusts increasing in speed.

“Wait, I’m not on birth control,” you protested, momentarily breaking out of your lustful daze. “Pull out first.”

“Don’t worry, I’m shooting blanks anyway.” He said it as casually as if he was telling you the weather, but he was unable to fully mask the fresh pain in his voice. Words faltered on your lips as shock washed over you. 

“So can I just cum in you?” he pressed.

“Y-Yeah.”

He stilled, a grunt escaping his mouth as a feeling of sticky warmth filled you up. Cum dripped out of your pussy and onto his pristine sheets as he slid out. He flopped onto his side next to you, facing away.

You stood up and walked over to the room’s adjoining bathroom, locking the door behind you.

What the fuck? You mouthed at yourself in the mirror. You smoothed your hair and wiped away your smeared makeup, trying to remove all evidence of a tryst that had soured. You’d blame the weed and forget all your misplaced desperation and affection for a man who didn’t even have the decency to offer to help clean you up. 

You sat down on his heated Toto toilet to empty everything out. When you stood up to flush, you found yourself at eye-level with Logan Roy. He wore a smile that didn’t quite reach the rest of his face, begrudgingly posing in a newspaper clipping from 1980 which marked the billionaire’s founding of Royco. A clipping that was, strangely, framed and affixed above the toilet in Kendall’s apartment. 

You imagined Kendall standing in front of this toilet every day during his American Psycho morning routine, staring up at his father. Dad, am I good enough for you? Do I piss like a man? A slave to the judgment of his God. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

You scanned the expensive products littered haphazardly across the bathroom counter before lathering your hands in his Aesop soap. You envied the suds and water washing down the drain of the stone vessel sink, wishing you could disappear as easily. Checking your appearance in the mirror one more time, you unlocked the door and cautiously ventured back into the bedroom. 

Kendall’s back was still facing you, his limbs splayed out awkwardly across the bed. He almost appeared to be shaking despite the warmth of the apartment.  

“Um, do you want me to stay?” you asked quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“Whatever you want,” he murmured into the pillow. His voice was thick with tears.

Damn it.

You didn't owe him anything, but you still couldn't bear to leave him like this. Tentatively, you laid beside him, reaching for his hand. He crossed his fingers through yours. You flinched at the sensation of his clammy palm. 

“The call I took at dinner, it was the sperm bank telling me my sample wasn't viable,” he said, his voice muffled by the pillow. 

Your stomach plummeted to the floor. It was as if all the blanks of the night had been suddenly filled in. Every strange reaction, forlorn look, shifty glance. “I'm so sorry.”

He rolled over to face the ceiling. He stared at it for several moments as if trying to decipher something in the creases of the paint. “It was a stupid dare by my friend to donate it. He thought it'd be funny if Logan Roy had some nobody heir out there somewhere and he never knew.” He sniffled. “Anarchy and all that shit, right? Well, now he won’t have an heir at all. At least not from me.”

“There are other ways, Kendall,” you comforted.

“I know my family. None of them will be the right way.” 

You snuck a glance at his red-rimmed eyes, feeling your pull towards his lifestyle fade into obscurity. In his world of excess, there was a constant demand for more, and he was never quite enough. Just laying beside him felt stifling. The massive bedroom was closing in on you. 

You waited for him to say something else, but all you heard coming from his side of the bed was soft, steady breathing. You weren’t going to wait for him to regain consciousness. You were going to take this chance to leave, doubting that he’d ever contact you again and feeling guilty about not contacting him first. 

You threw one last look at his crumpled form before leaving to collect your purse from the living room. You were left still slightly buzzed, consumed by the odd combination of human emotions that you surmised kept zoos in business: pity for the caged animal mixed with a sick, guilty fascination at the spectacle of it all. As you boarded the elevator down to the ground floor, you pulled your phone out and stared blankly at your chat with Cecily, wondering what the fuck you were going to tell her. Your head buried in your Blackberry, you almost didn’t hear the voice calling out to you as you pushed out of the revolving doors.

“Miss. Miss!” You whirled around to see the chauffeur from earlier waiting patiently by the limo, parked out front. “I’ll take you home.”

“Oh- are you sure?” You wondered how long he'd been waiting there.

“Yes,” he said tersely. 

“Okay, thank you so much.” You clambered into the car, reciting the area of New York City where you lived. You were unsure whether you appreciated this gesture or felt like you were being shuttled away like just another hook-up. But you were just another hook-up, you reminded yourself. You were a blip on Kendall’s radar, a chance encounter, a rando he’d told too much. All you could do now was forget.

[pannman]

Other Motives

Part 3

Yandere Vox x ftm delivery driver reader

Tw: toxic relationships, toxic behavior, forced relationship, power dynamic, invasion of privacy, controlling behavior, depictions of a car accident, needles, description of injuries

Things took a 180 ever since you sold your soul to Vox. He insisted on spending every spare second with you. But you no longer felt the sway of his hypnosis and no longer wanted to be around him. You did move into one of the employee apartments. And he was free to pop in as often as he felt.

There was even a camera in your living room. You expressed to Vox that made you uncomfortable but he told you it was "for your protection". You didn't believe a word of it. It was obviously so he could watch you. Over time more cameras were installed in your apartment making the only truly private place your bathroom. You were grateful for that. You even changed into your pajamas in there. You used to change in your bedroom. Whenever you went out on deliveries Vox would call you and his face would pop up on the screen in the car. One specific day he called to remind you of your dinner plans...

"Remember baby, 7 sharp at the harvest garden." He said. You tried not to cringe at the pet name and the way he said it. He noticed the lack of immediate response. "Are you sure we shouldn't just ride together? You'd think with all the driving you do, you'd kill for a break" he spoke as if you were a long time couple. You were absolutely sure you wanted some time to yourself. Driving was really the only independence you had left. You relied on Vox for practically everything. You wanted to hold on to the only sense self you had and you feared he'd take that away too. But you were relieved he seemed to respect at least SOME of your boundaries. For now anyway.

You finished your deliveries and returned to your apartment to find a polished black suit waiting for you to wear to your "date" with Vox. And after you went to the bathroom to try it on you tried not to think about how it fit so well it seemed... tailored. You got ready and tried to get yourself in the mindset. He owned your soul. There was nothing you could do to change that. It's best to comply so he doesn't make you miserable. Although you kind of already were miserable.

More miserable. You thought. You could very well be more miserable than you are now. Don't upset him. It won't do any good.

You hopped in your car. You put the coordinates into the VPS. And you drove out. You knew if you were a minute late it would not go over well but you couldn't help but drive slower trying to procrastinate being forced to have dinner with him. You noticed the clock and decided to speed up.

What you didn't notice was a drunk driver running a stop light. In seconds which felt like hours, like slow motion, you turned your head to see it barreling towards you, you attempted speed up to avoid being side smacked, you felt the impact and a wave of whiplash before blacking out

You awoke to a slightly familiar voice. You couldn't pin point where you heard it from. "You're Voxs little boy toy right?" The tall stranger in pink and drag was assessing your injuries. "Angel Dust?" You said head kind of fuzzy. "What are you doing here?" You mumbled. "Working" was all he said. Before he helped you out of your now totalled car.

You limped on out, using the spider as a crutch before he sat you down on the curb. You looked on to see the vehicle in shambles. You doubted Vox would replace it. In fact, you doubted Vox would ever let you get behind the wheel again after this. This. This was just the excuse he needed. You started to cry.

"Does it hurt? Hang in there ok." He had no idea what to do. Angel seemed almost uncomfortable at how to console you. You could understand that.

"He's never gonna let me do anything on my own ever again!" You sobbed. Angel gave a look of surprise. "You mean Vox?" You didn't get a chance to answer before the man himself showed up and budded in immediately.

"I'll take it from here Angel. Really appreciate you looking after him" Vox straightened his tie and gave Angel a serious look which was his hint to leave. Angel gave you an apologetic look but clearly wasn't ready to challenge Vox. So he simply wished you well and went away

Next thing you knew you were in the back of a car being checked for your injuries on your way to the studio to be treated. There were no hospitals in the sinner part of hell but there were medical professionals (for the right price). While in the car Vox discussed what was next.

"You really scared me." He said almost scolding you. "I don't know what I would've done if anything happened to you." Something did sort of happen to you but you were to tired too object at the moment. "I think I figured out a solution. You won't have to make deliveries anymore. You won't struggle with anything ever again. I'll pay for your testosterone, your surgeries, all of it."

You dreaded to hear what he had in mind. What could he possibly want from you that he did not already have? You got your answer and you did not like it.

"You'll come live with me. It will be just the two of us. You will never have to worry about anything." You jumped in panic and the nurse looking you over tried to calm you. You felt a rush of adrenaline suddenly kick in and your heart began to race. You couldn't communicate or form coherent thoughts as you tried to speak but it came out sounding delirious. You felt a sharp pain in your leg and looked down drowsily to see the needle before everything went dark again

You woke up in a bed... in someone else's room. Someone else's apartment. You were sure you knew whose it was. Vox sat at the edge of the bed perking up when he noticed you were awake

"How are you feeling?" He asked caressing your face. You tried to pull away but didn't have the energy to move an inch. You were too sore. "Vox?" you spoke up. "Yes" he leaned in at the sound of your voice. "Can I please just live on my own? I... I want to be independent" you thought maybe that since you were in such a state he would take pity on you. But you were wrong

"No. You're going to stay with me. I'm done with your rebellious behavior" he said coldly. This was a side of him you hadn't seen before. But then again you'd always done exactly what he wanted. Rebellious? You thought. I've been doing everything he asks.

"What are you talking about?" You questioned him confusion clear in your voice. "I didn't expect that once I owned your soul that I would no longer be able to hypnotize you. I wouldn't have taken it had I known. You were so good for me then. I would never have set you up. I would have found another way."

Set me up? You thought. Wait a minute! Your landlord.... "You did that?!?! I lost my apartment! You did that so I would... I hate you!" It was finally out. You finally lost your temper with him. He thought your behavior before was "rebellious" well you were gonna show him rebellious.

"Hate me?" He chuckled darkly "You have no idea how much you could hate me. But if I can't hypnotize you any more there's another way I could make you behave the way I want. You may hate me first but you will love me. I have an eternity to wait. Now I'll see you again soon my love... until then I would stay in bed. You wouldn't want to further injure that leg of yours" and that was the moment you noticed you couldn't feel your right leg. And you felt horribly alone as he left you to your own devices. This. This was the beginning of something truly awful

Keep an eye out for part 4

[straykids-97]

Jaws

Synopsis: Yunho is prepared to do everything to help you forget. Even if that means doing something you’ve never done before…

Warnings: Soft Dom! Yunho, sensory deprivation (blindfold), bondage (use of Yunho’s tie), dom/sub dynamics, pet names, (princess, darling, etc.), friends to lovers. Lmk if I forgot anything <3 

Word Count: 2.4k (yea. Pure filth… heh.)

I'm not here to be the savior you long for.

Hot tears rolled down your cheeks as you angrily type in a familiar number. You had given your boyfriend- your now ex-boyfriend, one too many chances. You hated when Yunho was right, but this time you had nowhere to turn. You were standing outside your apartment in your slippers and pajamas and his jacket, waiting for Yunho to answer the phone. You were trying hard not to cry harder as you heard Yunho’s voice on the phone, “Yes?” 

“Yunho,” your voice cracked, and you let out a soft sob. “Where are you?” He demanded. “Home. Standing outside-” 

“I’ll be there soon.” With that, Yunho hung up. You stared at your phone in disbelief. You had no other option but to wait for Yunho to arrive, trying not to shiver. You didn’t want to go back inside, you didn’t want to risk running into your ex, who was still in your apartment. You wrapped your arms around your body, watching the rain begin to dribble as you stood underneath the awning of your apartment building. 

After a few moments, headlights flashed down the street, and you see Yunho’s dark car pull up to the curb. Hot tears fill your eyes again as you watch him slide out of the car, holding an umbrella. His eyes fell on you and you could see anger flash in his dark irises. “Y/n.” He groans, rushing to you. You sob as he wraps his arms around you, “Come on. You must be freezing.” He ushered you to his car and helps you inside. 

He doesn’t ask you anything as he speeds away, you could see that he was upset. But, you didn’t want to fight anymore, you were tired and wanted nothing more than to be around someone who wanted you. The drive back to his place didn’t take long, but before you got out of the car, Yunho simply sat there staring ahead of him. You slowly look over to him, “Yunho,” you murmur, “Please. I don’t want to hear about it right now… I don’t want to hear how you were right.” You sniffle, causing him to scoff, “Do you want to hear what I want to say?” You shake your head, “No-” You begin to say but he interrupts you, “He’s a piece of shit. I want to break him, limb from limb.” He turns to face you, “I want to make him hurt in ways he could never fathom. So, yes, I was right. It doesn’t make you feel any better.” He put his hand on your knee, “He doesn’t deserve to be loved by someone like you.” You turn to look at him. “I just don’t want to feel anything right now.” You whisper. 

There was a long pause before Yunho speaks again, “Let me help you.” He opens his door and climbs out, helping you out of your door. He takes your hand and guides you up the stairs of his home and opens the door. You don’t say anything as he guides you through his house. Through his dimly lit hallway to a room at the end. His room. 

You turn to face him as he looks down at you, his eyes soft, understanding, waiting. “I need your permission, Y/n.” He murmured. “Permission?” you cock your head to the side slightly, not sure what he meant. “Permission to touch you…” His large palm flattened, curving against your cheek as his thumb prodded your bottom lip, “to kiss you,” his voice was deep, and so soft that you could barely hear it. “To make you forget.” you couldn’t breathe. Yunho’s mouth was so close to yours that you couldn’t think straight. His warm breath skittered across your face, and the smell of toothpaste and his cologne swirled around your body, fogging your mind further. 

Sure, you thought your friend Yunho was extremely attractive, who couldn’t think that? You became friends with him nearly 6 months after dating your now ex, meeting through mutual friends. After all, Yunho was part of the reason your relationship fell on the rocks. You gulp, “I need to hear you say it, darling.” 

“Say, say what?” You whisper, your voice failing as he steps closer, his body now pressed against yours. “Say, yes.” His lips were so close to yours, if only you had the nerve to move just a fraction of an inch, they could touch. “Yunho,” you whimper, eyes fluttering as his lips ghost yours. “Say it, y/n. Say the word and I’ll make you forget the pathetic bastard ever existed.” 

“Please,” you plead with him, “I don’t want to think- I don’t want to think about him. Help me forget, please.” His breathing stops for a moment, and he pulls away. You gulp, your mind whirling as he reaches for his door, his free hand latching around your wrist as he tugged you into his room. You follow like a lost puppy, allowing him to guide you to the edge of his bed, pushing you so your legs were against the mattress. You gulp, watching him as he knelt down, pulling your shorts down with him. You feel your cheeks heat up, realizing that you weren’t wearing any undergarments, whatsoever. His hands ghost up your thighs, squeezing as he went, placing soft kisses along your hip. Yunho’s thumb’s hooked around your shirt, pulling it over your head, tossing it with your shorts in a heap. 

His eyes were lust-filled, watching your every move like a hawk. He moves to his nightstand, pulling out a silk sleep mask, “Pull your hair back, princess.” he murmurs, his voice rumbling your chest as he comes to stand in front of you again. You do as you’re told, and for whatever reason, you obey without questioning him at all. You pull your hair into a loose ponytail at the nape of your neck. “I’m going to put this over your eyes. Don’t take it off. Don’t touch it. You’ll lose your hands.” He warns, nudging you to sit on the bed. You nod your head, “Verbal confirmations here, now, y/n. Nodding your head does not count. I want to hear your voice.” 

“Ok.” You whisper as he offers you a sexy grin, “Good girl.” He slides the mask over your eyes and gently pushes your shoulders back. “Scoot back a little bit, baby doll.” He guides you so that you’re laying in the middle of his soft bed. You feel the bed dip, and he’s now standing somewhere in his room. You hear him moving around the bed, but you’re unsure of what he’s doing. “How I’ve dreamt of this, y/n…” He sucks air through his teeth, groaning as he moves to your feet, using his fingers to dance along the inside of your calf. You gasp, the sensation going straight to your groin. You clamp your legs closed, a strangled whimper escaping your mouth. 

As suddenly as his touch came, it was gone again. Your skin was aflame with desire, and you shuddered, “Yunho, please.” You beg, shifting as he moves through his room. “Patience, y/n. You’ll be rewarded soon.” You groan frustratedly as he pauses. The bed dipped, and you could feel him on your left side, “I want to see you squirm first.” Your head moves toward him, and you feel his breath fan across your chest. You gasp, shivering as he pull away, “Yunho,” you move to remove the blindfold but his hands were faster. “What did I say, Y/n?” He says, his voice low. Annoyed slightly. He tsks at you and leaves you alone on the bed. “I suppose I can’t be surprised…” he chuckles, and you hear him walk away. “Where are you going?” 

“I thought you would be a good girl,” he begins, his voice further away than before. “It seems that I was wrong. So, now, I need to improvise.” He says, his voice growing louder at the end. “Hands. Now.” 

“You can’t be-” 

“Don’t.” his hands wrap around your throat, squeezing slightly. You moan, his mouth hovering over yours, “Back. Talk.” You feel him gather your hands and the sensation of something cool and smooth wraps around your wrists. “I think this is going to be my new favorite tie.” he chuckles to himself as he restrains your hands above your head. You gulp as he climbs over your legs, pinning your hips with his. He was wearing shorts- or he had undressed to his briefs, you weren’t sure. But you could feel his muscular legs moving against yours as he rolled his hips into yours. You gasp, arching into his chest, his hands running along your sides as he nibbled your neck. “Yunho,” you whimper, pressing your face into his hair. He chuckled, “Yes, princess?” He hums, lapping at your right nipple. “Please- please,” you whine. Yunho moves to the opposite nipple, his tongue trailing across the valley between them. He hummed in reply, his mouth consuming your breast; his teeth scrapped your sensitive bud as he pulled away, “Please, what, y/n? Hmm? What is it that you want?” 

“Yu- Yunho, please.” 

“Me?” He chuckles, his lips hovering over yours again, “You want me?” 

“Yes.” You said, your voice coming out harsh. The desire building in the pit of your stomach was making you desperate. “Oh, well,” he chuckled, tsking at you as if you were a child. “Talking to me like that will get you nowhere.” He rumbles, his chest pressed against yours as his hand dances to your hip, “manners, darling. Use. Your. Manners.” You shudder, “Please.” You whimper, feeling useless against him. “Please, what, Y/n? I’m not a mind reader, love.” He teased, licking a hot stripe up your neck to your chin. You groan, chasing his mouth. He luckily allowed you to catch him, his mouth and yours hungrily meet. His tongue danced around your mouth, prodding your tongue and lapping at it expertly. Your mind was spinning as you were helpless, he was pulling away, “No- no, please.” You whine, grinding your hips into his. “So greedy. My, oh my, someone really needs to teach you some proper manners.” He chuckled. 

“Yunho, please. Stop teasing. I can’t take it anymore.” You gasp. He pauses for a moment, his hands dancing to your hips and pinning you down, “Can’t keep up?” You shake your head frantically, as he chuckles. “Guess we’ll have to build that stamina then, huh?” He pecked your cheek, “Is my sweet y/n getting too worked up? Hmm?” You nod, “Yes.” you whimper pathetically. He chuckles, “Oh, pretty angel. What to do?” You groan as he giggles to himself. “Awh, alright. I guess I’ve seen you fidget long enough.” He sighs, lips attaching to yours like a man starved. You feel him move his hand between your faces, “Open up. Spit.” You don’t even think twice as you spit onto his awaiting fingers. You hear him chuckle and listen to the sound of him spitting as well. His hand moves between your bodies and frees his strangled cock from its prison of modern clothing. 

He hisses as he drags his hand along his cock, using the leftover spit to run his two digits along your folds. You gasp, bucking your hips toward his fingers. “So wet… Did we even need spit?” He teases, his mouth on yours as his cock prods your entrance. “Fuck,” you gasp, feeling as he teased you, entering slightly and pulling back out. There was a slight pop! making you whine as he hissed. He chuckled darkly, “Tight.” 

His lips were back on yours within moments, his hips softly rolling against yours. You both moan, his hands dug into your hips as he stills, bottoming out. You tug at the tie around your hands, “Yuyu.” You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut as he leisurely moves his hips, testing to see if you were going to be in pain. “Fuck, y/n.” He grunts, his hips pausing slightly, his face buried into your neck. You can’t speak. You can’t think. The only thing keeping you from going insane was the moans from Yunho and the feeling of his cock moving in and out of you. You wrap your legs around his hips, making him chuckle, “Fuck.” He hisses, grabbing your throat, “I’m not gonna last like this.” You nod your head, unable to admit that you were about to come undone as well. But, it wasn’t like he couldn’t tell. 

Yunho grunts, feeling you orgasm and catching your cries in his mouth. He doesn’t stop as you shake, pushing you through the longest orgasm you had ever experienced, the sensation coming in waves. He moans, squeezing your throat as he pulls away, holding your hips as he picks the pace up suddenly. You cry out, another strong orgasm threatening to rip through you again. Your words are nothing but incoherent whines and moans as his hips met yours, pornographic noises echoing around the room as he grunts. You feel his hand rip the blindfold off, “I want to look in your eyes as I fucking cum.” He growls. You thought you were dreaming. The sight before you was enough to make you sob. Yunho was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his abs flexing as he moved, his biceps taught from holding your hips prisoner, his large hands wrapped and digging into your skin as if he was attempting to melt into you. 

He uses one of his hands to interlace with yours, his lips gathering yours as he groans, thrusting one last time into you, hard and deep. You feel a warm sensation spread through your womb and you buck your hips against his. 

You both lay there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Panting, he pulls away, looking into your eyes as he undoes the restraint. You didn’t realize how tired your arms were until they went slack above your head. He pulls out of you and flops beside you, staring up at the ceiling. After nearly five minutes of no talking coming from either party, Yunho turns you. “Y/n…” he trails off, causing you to turn just enough to look at him. “Yuyu.” you feebly reach toward his face, and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “If I would have known you felt that way, I would have come running.” He chuckles as he kisses you a few more times, pulling away to look at you. 

“You definitely came something… Maybe not running… At least not with your legs… Definitely down them.” 

©️straykids-97

[navybrat817]

First Date

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader Summary: Steve has the best first date thanks to you. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Fluffy fluff, light pining, first date, first kiss, mentions of the holidays, Steve Rogers (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: Sixth day of my Naughty & Nice Nonsense belongs to Steve Rogers. Requested by the incredible @buckyownsmylife. You deserve only good things! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

If there was one thing Steve still wasn’t used to after the serum, it was that women wanted to date him. It was strange even after he was taken out of the ice that people actively sought out his company when they used to overlook him. Bucky no longer had to convince his dates to bring along another girl for him. And Natasha, of course, did her best to set him up with a few different women.

He relented when he realized she wasn’t going to stop.

She gave up when the third girl she set him up with didn’t work out.

“What was wrong with this one?” she asked.

“Nothing was wrong with her,” Steve told her truthfully. “She was just wrong for me.”

He wondered if he was doomed to be alone.

Until you asked him out.

A breathtaking new agent with a loving smile who could easily put men twice your size on their backs. He was inexplicably drawn to you and wouldn't be breaking any bylaws by dating you. He planned to ask you out, but you beat him to the punch one day after sparring.

"Would you want to grab dinner with me Saturday?"

"A date?" he asked as you nodded.

"Yeah, a date," you said with a hopeful smile.

It felt good to have you smile at him that way.

"I'd love to," he smiled back.

“Great! I’ll pick you up at six o'clock. Dress warm, okay?”

“Okay,” he smiled more, wondering what you had in mind.

He got his answer when you showed up at his apartment right on time.

“Oh, wow,” you whispered when he opened the door. He heard your heart rate speed up as you gazed at him. You told him to dress warm, but he still wanted to look his best. “Sorry. I’m staring.”

“It’s okay,” Steve chuckled. You told him to dress warm, but he still wanted to look his best. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m staring, too.”

You looked at your feet with a small smile before you lifted your head again. “I don’t mind.”

The breathy tone in your voice had his heart racing, too. “We should probably get going, otherwise I’ll just stare at you all night,” he teased.

The other dates he had been on had initial awkwardness in the beginning, but he felt none of that when he held out his hand for you. Even through the fabric, he felt electricity crackle between the two of you. Like a natural fit.

“Now, I should warn you,” you began as he led you out of the apartment building. “I kind of deviated away a bit from the normal first date dinner."

“I’m sure whatever you have set up is going to be amazing,” he smiled, giving your hand a small squeeze.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “I wanted to make it something to remember.”

“If I were a better gentleman, I would’ve been the one to plan this.”

“You think I’d make you plan your first date since you’ve been unfrozen?” you asked incredulously as you began to walk again. “Never.”

Steve opened his mouth and closed it just as quickly as you pulled him along the sidewalk. He didn’t have the heart to tell you this wasn’t his first date. Not when you looked so happy.

“Here it is!” you grinned.

A large horse and carriage stood by the curb with a coachman who tipped his hat. The red plush bench had a blanket for extra warmth and Steve noticed a small table with two drinks and a large box across from where they’d sit. He could smell the pizza from where he stood.

It was from his favorite restaurant.

“I thought we could have pizza and drinks while we looked at lights around the city. And there’s a bakery stop along the way so we can have dessert,” you explained as you approached the carriage. “I figured this would give us a chance to talk and see how beautiful our home looks when we’re not fighting to keep it safe.”

Steve didn’t get in right away as his eyes met yours, memorizing how beautiful you looked under the city lights. You held your breath as he stepped closer. He knew you put a lot of thought into this evening. That alone made him feel special.

"But if you hate it, I can-"

“This is incredible,” he said as you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Really? Because your silence made me a little nervous,” you giggled.

Steve held up a hand to stop the coachman from helping you in, wanting to do it himself. “I'm sorry. I’m told I can be a bit stoic,” he joked, settling into the carriage beside you once you got comfortable.

“Didn’t I tell you? This is a stoic free carriage,” you teased.

"If anyone can make me smile, it's you."

He hoped that didn't sound cheesy.

"I like making you smile," you said as the carriage began to move.

The two of you traded stories as you ate and rode through the city. The lights brought warmth to the night sky, but he found himself staring at you more than the scenery. By the time you finished eating the pizza and stopped for warm, freshly baked cookies, he had his arm around you and the blanket over both of your legs.

"So, is this how you pictured your first date?"

"No, I didn't. This is even better," he smiled, brushing a bit of chocolate from the corner of your mouth away with his thumb.

"It is?" you asked, your voice soft as he brought his thumb to his mouth.

"It is," he said, unaware of how enticing he looked as he licked it clean. He bet you tasted just as sweet. "I wish Natasha had set you up with me first."

The longing in your eyes shifted to confusion. "First? What do you mean?" you asked before you nodded in understanding. "I'm not your first date, am I?"

Steve briefly closed his eyes. Shit. He didn't mean to say that. He was a terrible liar though, so he knew he couldn't come up with an excuse.

"No," he said.

"I'm so sorry," you said, picking a bit at the blanket and avoiding his gaze. "That was a really dumb assumption on my part."

"It wasn't dumb," he promised. "I don't exactly go around broadcasting my personal life."

That happened to him enough while he was under the ice and you wouldn't have known.

"It was dumb, but thank you."

He didn't want you to feel bad or embarrassed. "Look at me, please."

It took a moment, but you slowly turned your head toward him. He wanted to kiss the uncertain expression off your face. Leaning in, that's exactly what he did. The brush of his lips against yours was soft and full of promise.

Perfect.

"This is the best date I've ever had," he whispered.

"Our date isn't over yet," you smiled when he leaned in for another kiss.

With your lips against his, he imagined what it would have been like had he taken you out in the 40's. Maybe the two of you would have gone dancing. Any excuse to hold you close like this.

It would be the perfect second date.

Steve deserves something sweet. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[daechwitatamic]

II. My Devotion's Been an Ocean || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo @/casuallyimagining and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love. 

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

//

You and Namjoon get used to living together.

Section Warnings: language, drinking, pov switch to Namjoon at the end

WC: 7k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Monday August 31

Monday passes quickly, the biggest event being that your wifi finally gets installed. You don’t see Namjoon all day - his room is empty when you get out of bed. You spend most of your day lazing around in sweatpants, enjoying having high-speed internet at your fingertips again.

Although there aren’t classes due to the federal holiday, the cafeteria on campus is open since the administration knew most students would have moved in over the weekend. You could walk there - your apartment to the student center is a shorter walk than the student center to your furthest class - but Taehyung offers to drive you. Laziness, and a few minutes of time alone in his car, win over practicality. 

Once you’ve made your plates and commandeered a small table near the back of the caf, Taehyung asks you, “So, how’s roomie life?”

You shrug. “Nothing to tell. He hasn’t even been home today. But I think it’ll be fine. I have a feeling we’ll just each… do our own thing.”

Taehyung nods. “That’s better than big drama. Do you remember Jungkook’s roommate last year?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, god, the toilet paper hoarder.” 

Jungkook’s university-assigned roommate had indeed hoarded every extra roll of toilet paper in a secret location, meaning that if a roll ever got used up by anyone who wasn’t him, they could never find the new rolls to put out, even if they’d bought the replacements. Not only had Jungkook had to buy and then hide his own replacements, you and Taehyung had gone over and tried to help him search around for the hoard while his roommate was out, to no luck. 

Taehyung snorts into his plate. “Man, that kid was weird. JayKay’s so lucky we had room for him this year.” 

“I haven’t seen the place yet,” you point out. “Any major decor changes?”

Taehyung laughs again. “Just Jungkook’s punching bag. I swear, Jimin’s gonna break his wrist playing around with it.”

“Unlike you and your perfect form.” You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says defensively, pointing a finger at you. “When I’m goofing around, I don’t hit it hard enough to hurt myself.”

When you’re done eating, you walk back to Taehyung’s car. It takes literal minutes to get back to your brick building, and he idles at the curb.

“You want to hang out for a while?” you ask, hopeful. “We got the wifi installed today, we could watch a show?”

“Can’t,” he says apologetically. “I have plans with someone later.”

Plans with someone. That was Taehyung-speak for a date, or maybe “date” was the wrong word. Regardless, it meant he was seeing a girl later, getting something from her that he wasn’t getting from you.

“Ah,” you say. “Use protection.” You unbuckle as he scrunches his face at you.

“Don’t be gross,” he grouses. 

“You know I have no choice,” you tell him solemnly as you climb out of the car. You pause, resting your head on the top of the doorframe, peering at him. “Good luck in class tomorrow. Text me if you want to eat or anything.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding, already thinking ahead to his schedule. “Lunch around one?”

“I’ll text you, I have to go look at my schedule,” you admit. You shut the door and wave goodbye, heading inside. You don’t say love you in goodbye; you never do when you know he’s leaving your company for another girl’s. As if, with this one silly little rule in your own brain, you can punish him for it, when in reality there’s no way he even notices. 

Namjoon still isn’t home, so the apartment is silent and empty. You decide to devote your evening to prepping - both physically and emotionally - to start class tomorrow. You check your schedule, organize your books, make sure your laptop is charging. You get in bed early just out of sheer boredom. Around eleven pm as you’re scrolling around mindlessly on your phone, you finally hear keys in the lock, the thump as the door shuts again, Namjoon’s footsteps approach his own bedroom. You wonder absently where he was for fourteen hours. 

It occurs to you that you know nothing about his personal life beyond that he’s a grad student. You don’t even know his concentration of study. 

You wonder if you should go out to say hi, maybe under the pretense of getting a drink. Then you hear the sound of his door shut, and minutes later the boiler kicks on as his shower demands hot water. So, you stay put, turning out your light and setting your alarm for morning.

Friday September 4th

Your classes go well. The first week is always the professors going through the syllabus and outlining their expectations, anyway. Today, your morning class seems like it will be interesting, but tough; you’ve had this professor before and she’s a notoriously hard grader. You’d done okay with her the year before, though. Your second class, after lunch, is better. It’s a poetry course, which is your concentration, and you’ve had this professor - Professor Jemisen - twice already. He’s pretty laid-back, an easy grader, but you always find his lecture topics and assigned readings to be really interesting. 

He also gives homework on the first week, which most of your professors don’t: an assigned reading and reflection for the first poet on the syllabus, plus a prompt to write your own, pulling inspiration from that poet’s choices in style, rhyme scheme, and use of imagery. You’ve already got an idea as you walk out of class and head in the direction of your new building - this particular poet used a lot of nautical imagery, ships and captains, and the ocean itself was always very nearly a character of its own. 

You think as you walk, inspired by the lecture fresh in your head, toying with some ocean imagery and how you could stitch it into a turn of phrase. When you reach your building and sling off your backpack to hunt for your keys, you decide to stay on the steps for a minute. The sun is shining but it’s breezy, and it’s really pleasant. You pull out a notebook and some paper and start to draft what you might turn in.

Pulling pulling pulling, each 

cresting wave a daunting hill.

Who would try to fight the tide,

the dark, the depth, the chill?

My devotion’s been an ocean.

I fear it always will.

One thing that the deep sea is:

it’s never still.

You frown at it, pen between your teeth. You like the idea of the shorter final line, but the flow is off. You’re still considering this - as well as already thinking about how you’ll need at least one but probably two more short pieces like this for the assignment - when someone stops in front of you, their silhouette blocking the sun and casting you in a sudden shadow.

“You locked out?” a deep voice asks.

You look up (and up, and up) to find Namjoon peering at you, concern on his face.

“Oh,” you say stupidly. For some reason, you feel embarrassed, like you’ve been caught doing something silly, as if doing homework outside during nice weather was something strange and secret, and not completely normal. “I was working on an assignment. The sun - it was nice out here. I’m not locked out.”

“Gotcha,” he says easily, fishing in his pockets for his own keys. You struggle to stand, knees a little achy after using them as a table for the last half hour or so, closing up your notebook. You might as well go inside, now. You aren’t going to write anymore at this point, anyway.

You follow Namjoon upstairs, trying to find a good distance to put between you: you don’t want to be right on his heels, nor do you want him to have to hold the door for you for an awkward amount of time if you’re too far back. 

Inside the apartment, Namjoon drops his keys on the counter and heads for his bedroom door. Over his shoulder, he calls, “Have a good night.”

A good night? The sun isn’t even setting yet. 

But, it seems Namjoon means what he says. He disappears into his room, leaving his door open just about three inches, and he doesn’t come out again for the rest of the afternoon.

You stay in the living room through the afternoon, preferring to do Professor Jemisen’s poetry reading by the large, living room windows. You can hear Namjoon doing whatever in his room - the clacking of keys for minutes at a time, bumps and clacks as his wheeled desk chair moves and taps the table as he shifts in it, occasionally his footsteps as he crosses the room towards his attached bathroom. Sometimes you hear him mutter a curse, bang once on the desk with - you presume - a fist. 

You wonder idly what he’s doing - gaming, maybe? - as you finish your homework. You submit your assignment. The sun sets. You cook an easy one-pan dinner. You wash up the dishes you made while cooking, you put the leftovers in the fridge. You go shower and wash your hair, emerge back into the living room in your pajamas, and heat up some water for chamomile tea. 

Namjoon’s door hasn’t moved at all, still open just enough for you to be able to tell that he hasn’t turned on any of the lamps even though it’s gotten dark; the only light from the room flickers blue and white, a tv or computer screen. The same sounds filter through the small gap as you let your tea steep - the chair, the keyboard, Namjoon’s low voice as he mutters to himself, something rhythmic and lilting, before the typing starts again.

When you turn out the kitchen and living room lights, close to midnight, and head to bed, he’s still typing away in there, the room still cast in black and blue.

Wednesday September 9

You’re surprised to find him in the kitchen Wednesday morning. You come out of your room at a clip, pretty ready to head over to campus - you’re just trying to find your wallet. 

Namjoon is sitting at the breakfast bar, a mug of steaming black coffee in front of him, scrolling on his phone.

“Hey,” he says, sounding a little surprised to see you, too.

“Do you not sleep?” you ask, before realizing how bratty you sound. “I just mean, you were still up when I went to bed, and now you’re up before me.”

Luckily, he smiles at this, a bit sheepishly. “Not as much as I should,” he admits. “I got… I was working on something last night, so I was up later than I meant to be. I’d love to sleep in today - trust me - but I have to be on campus in–” he glances at his watch, “--twenty minutes.”

“Me too,” you say, starting to hunt around the living room. “But I can’t find my wallet.”

“Is it this one?” he asks, pointing to the counter near the spot that you’ve both wordlessly designated as the place to drop your keys. 

“Yes,” you say, sighing with relief. You slide your wallet into your bookbag and zip it back up. You pat your pockets, checking - phone, keys, yes. “Are you walking over? Want me to wait for you?”

He considers this for a second. “No, go ahead,” he decides. “I need to get a few things organized first, I don’t want to hold you up.”

“Okay,” you say easily, hiking your backpack up a little higher on your back. “By the way, I won’t be around tonight, I have work. If you want the leftovers from what I cooked last night, feel free. They’ll go bad after today.”

Now Namjoon looks really surprised - his eyebrows jump and everything. “Really? Wow, thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Sure,” you shrug. “I hope you like it.” You glance at the clock and murmur to yourself that you need to get going. “See you later,” you call over your shoulder as you leave. As you turn to give this goodbye, you see him watching you go with a small smile on his face, mostly hidden behind his large hand, fingers pressing against his mouth.

–

You have your senior thesis class on Wednesdays - it’s a double, with a break for lunch in the middle, and it’s with Professor Jemisen again.

“Two days in a row, huh?” he asks you as you pass his desk. You give him a quick smile and pick a desk near the middle of the room. As class starts, he outlines how the thesis will work - an intensive study and analysis of one or two poets’ works, as well as your own portfolio project. 

“We’ll spend the first half each week working on the anthology study,” he tells the room, scanning the crowd of sleepy seniors to make sure everyone is listening. “After we break for lunch, we’ll spend the second half workshopping your portfolios. It’s going to be a lot of work, and you’re going to need to be ready to go each Wednesday. If you’ve made it this far half-assing it, I’m warning you today that it won’t get you to pass your thesis. I’d like to remind you that you must pass Senior Thesis in order to graduate.”

He spends the rest of the morning session going over some options for the anthology study, showing examples of previous students’ final thesis projects to model what he’s looking for. 

By the time he flips the lights back on and you all stagger back to life, slowly shifting to pick up backpacks and shoulder bags, rising unsteadily from your chairs, your head is spinning. You could walk across campus to the student center and get real lunch, but this particular academic building has a coffee shop and a fast-food area. You opt for french fries and a juice, finding a few girls you’re familiar with and joining their table.

“This sounds like it’s going to be a lot of work,” one of them, a girl named Gloria, laments. You’ve had a few poetry courses with her over the last three years; she’s a talented poet, good at using a biting, precise syntax. 

“I know,” you agree, twisting the top off your juice. “Any ideas whose anthology you might use?”

She hums, eyes far away, mentally flipping through poets she likes enough to type twenty-five pages about. “Not sure yet,” she finally admits. “You?”

“No,” you lie. Professor Jemisen had said there would be no repeats - if someone else picked a poet, no one else could choose them. You already knew exactly who you wanted, and you didn’t want to lose your chance. In fact, you leave the lunch break early to go stake your claim.

“Can I go ahead and put in my choice?” you ask Professor Jemisen as you re-enter the room, about twenty minutes before the second block is scheduled to start.

He frowns good-naturedly. “You don’t want to think about it a little? I’m not going to let you change in the middle.”

You shake your head, sure. “No, I know who I want.”

Professor Jemisen nods somewhat absently, looking around the scattered papers on the table before him. He finds what he’s looking for and lifts it, reaching to take the pen from behind his ear. 

“Okay,” he says, finding your name on the roster. “Let me have it.”

“Edna St. Vincent Millay,” you tell him, mind already whirring, thinking ahead to which works would fit your thesis. “I was thinking of coming from a feminist angle… how she was so progressive for her time, how she pushed boundaries as a woman and as a writer.”

Professor Jemisen nods slowly, considering this. “That sounds promising. I look forward to seeing what you come up with, Y/N.”

Pleased, you take your seat, pulling up your school email and catching up on a few things while you wait for class to start again. 

–

You actually like your part-time job at the on-campus bookstore. The busy season can be a little exhausting - those first few days when it seems like the entire campus comes at the same time to get their required reading. But after the initial rush each semester, it’s a pretty laid back job. Since this is your third year there, your boss trusts you with a little more responsibility, which is how you ended up getting the closing shift twice a week.

Almost no one comes in after regular dinner hours, which means once you’ve done a quick sweep through to make sure nothing got put away in the wrong spot and the items that need restocked are handled you can just sit around behind the counter and talk shit with your coworker, Kris. Kris started with you last year, and you get along well.

“Do anything fun over the summer?” you ask absently, leaning back in your chair and crossing your legs, happy to be seated for a little while. Outside the store’s high windows, it’s dark. The lighting in the store is relatively dim, giving you a cozy, sequestered feeling.

“Went with my parents on vacation,” Kris tells you. “Barely survived.”

“Yikes,” you say. 

“How about you? Any family trips?” they ask.

“Nah,” you say easily. “Just hung out with Taehyung, the usual. The biggest event from my summer was Penny bailing on the apartment with me.”

Kris makes a grumpy noise. “I wish I could afford it,” they complain. “I would have loved to help you out and live off campus.”

“That would have been fun,” you smile. “We would’ve made trouble.”

Kris cackles, a deepy, throaty sound. “We would have. The roommate is okay, though?”

You shrug. “Yeah, Namjoon’s really nice. He’s clean and quiet, so I really can’t complain.”

Kris sits up, eyes widening. “Wait, Namjoon? You’re living with Kim Namjoon? The TA?”

You hesitate. “Is he a TA? I’m not sure.”

They wave a hand at you. “It has to be the same,” they say insistently. “How many Kim Namjoon’s can there be on a campus this size?”

“Probably only one,” you admit. 

“Probably only one,” Kris echoes in agreement. “And he’s beautiful. I honestly blame him for almost failing Medieval Lit last year. I was too distracted.”

You can’t help it, you crack up. “You failed Medieval Lit because you tried to take it on top of a full courseload,” you object. “And you tried to write your final paper about The Legend of Zelda.”

“I had solid evidence for my thesis!” Kris balks loudly. You’re laughing so hard you’re nearly crying, remembering how strongly you’d tried to help them focus on a better topic for that paper. Kris doesn’t listen to reason - not even when it comes from you. “And I’m telling you - it’s because I was staring at his gorgeous dimples instead of listening to the lecture!”

Gorgeous dimples? You haven’t noticed. To be fair, you’ve barely interacted with your new roommate; not a lot of chances to see him smile.

“How do you find all these beautiful men?” Kris laments, tugging at their purple hair in emotional distress. “It is truly unfair.”

You laugh; Kris spent much of last year bemoaning how much time you got to spend with Taehyung - and by proxy, Jungkook and Jimin. Kris had a collective crush on the whole bunch, starting from when they shared Freshman Seminar with Jungkook. 

“They find me,” you shrug. “And you know I’m blind to the beauty, anyway.” Well, that was almost all the way true. There was one exception.

“You know,” Kris says thoughtfully, “they really don’t hang out with other girls. You’re the only one.”

“That’s not true,” you object. “Have you seen those idiots at a party? They’re like magnets. It’s almost gross how easy it is for them.”

“I don’t mean at parties, I mean in their circle,” Kris explains. “You’re the only one they let into the group.”

You consider this, weighing the validity of it, searching for reasons. “I think it’s because they all know -”

Kris cuts you off, eyes glinting with mischief. “They all know that you’re so in love with Taehyung that you won’t bother the rest of them?”

You know they’re teasing and that they mean no harm, but it stings a little. You let out a quick laugh, trying to cover it. “I was going to say they all know that Taehyung and I are a package deal,” you say, the words tasting like arsenic on your tongue. “But maybe you’re more right.”

Kris seems to hear the change in your tone, and their gaze softens a little. “Anything new with that?” they ask delicately.

Anything new. You consider for a moment the version of the story that Kris knows: the close friendship, the feelings you have. How does it look from the outside? Can they see the situation with more clarity than you? You’re afraid to ask, afraid to give the question any attention.

“What could be new?” you ask, the lie dripping from you. “We were best friends last year - we’re best friends now.”

Kris gives you a side-eye good enough to be a viral meme. You ignore them, turning away gladly when the bell over the door dings. A grubby-looking freshman comes in and stands before the spinning rack with your electronic accessories - knock-off airpods, charging cables, usb drives. He grumpily sorts through the chargers and grabs one, slapping it down on the counter in front of you.

You ring him up silently and he leaves after paying. Kris is still watching you, and you dread turning around.

“You know,” they say slowly, “he was at a party I was at the other night. With a girl.”

You force yourself to shrug. “Taehyung dates. We aren’t together - he’s allowed. We’re just friends.”

They look at you evenly, then purse their lips and visibly decide to drop it. “Okay,” they say lightly. “If you say so.”

“I say so,” you mutter, deciding to go check the stock room for absolutely nothing, just to walk away.

When you get home, sometime after nine-thirty, Namjoon’s door is shut - a little sliver of that same blue light slipping underneath the crack below the door. Your leftovers are gone from the fridge, the container washed and put away.

Thursday September 10th

Thursday brings heavy rain - the all-day kind, the kind whose noise permeates the whole day, greeting you as you struggle to consciousness in your bed, adding steady percussion to the quiet music you turn on. The kind that makes you turn on lamps in broad daylight, the darkness outside making it that much harder to stay awake.

The kind that brings a barometric pressure headache, just for you.

[12:02 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: This is Taehyung, looking for signs of life [12:02 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: anyone in there? Hellooooo? [12:04 PM] You: shhhhhh why are you being so loud??? [12:05 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: ohh she’s got a weather headache [12:06 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: :( [12:07 PM] You: i want to push my thumbs through my eyeballs [12:09 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: you have such a way with words [12:14 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: you take anything for it? [12:15 PM] You: left the prescription stuff at lin’s house [12:15 PM] You: like an idiot 🤡 [12:17 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: ugh i’m sry [12:18 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: hope it passes quickly [12:19 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: lemme know if you feel good enough to come to dinner at the caf w me later

You don’t answer, pressing your head back into the darkness of the couch cushion beneath you. The pressure across your browline is nearly unbearable. You had managed to get up and get dressed, drinking a mug of coffee out of sheer desperation, before collapsing onto the couch. You set an alarm on your phone for when you need to leave for class and pray that just resting and closing your eyes until then will help, at all.

You don’t know how much later it is when you hear the front door open and close. You hear a muted thump as Namjoon (you assume) drops his bag in the entryway, then his footsteps tracing through the kitchen. The fridge opens, closes with a click, and then the footsteps approach. 

They pause somewhere in your vicinity. 

You can almost feel the unspoken alarm. It must look bad - you aren’t even laying down, just slumped sideways from a sitting position, body twisted to hide your face from any source of light. You raise one pitiful hand and wave. 

“Hi,” you say, not sure he can hear you through the couch cushion.

“Uh,” Namjoon says, taking one step closer, “are you… okay?”

“Relatively,” you say, rolling your head to squint at him through one eye. The soothing yellow lamplight seems stabbing, and you squint a little harder, trying to block it out. “I get bad headaches sometimes when it’s like -.” You wave a hand at the windows. Rain pounds against them, happy to finish your sentence for you.

Namjoon makes an understanding and sympathetic noise. “Can I do anything for you?” he asks after a minute, sounding a little ill at ease. “Does anything usually help? Do you need to go back to sleep or something?”

“I have class at two,” you grumble. “I don’t want to skip this early in the year. And yeah, I used to have a prescription for these kinds of days, but I guess I forgot to pack them.”

Namjoon disappears into his room, midconversation, which confuses you so much that you actually make yourself sit up, your head spinning from the change in position. You see the light shift in his room - he must have turned on the bathroom light. You can hear the rummaging of items, the rolling clatter of pills in bottles. He returns with a white bottle in hand, holding it out for you to read the label.

“You take these?” he asks, pushing his glasses back into place as you peer at the name.

“Not at that dose,” you laugh. “What are you, an elephant?”

He frowns playfully, pretends to pull the bottle away. “Well, I’m not going to share if you’re going to call me names,” he teases. “You think a half would be okay?”

“You don’t mind?” you check.

He scoffs lightly. “Of course not. I never use them all. I get about one bad migraine every six months, that’s all.”

“You’re a literal life-saver,” you tell him. He gives you a gentle smile, and you notice - really notice - those dimples Kris mentioned. 

They are cute. Damn.

He places half a pill on the table before you, screwing the cap back onto the bottle as he walks into the kitchen.

“Oh,” you call after him, feeling a little like you should stop him. “Hey, I can get my own…. drink,” you finish lamely as he sets a cup of water next to the pill. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, something warm in his voice, and then disappears into his bedroom again. 

You’re staring absently at his empty, open doorway as you take the medicine. He’s a mystery, this roommate of yours. There are probably lots of sides to him that you haven’t seen yet, many things you haven’t discovered about him. But you decide, right there, that he’s nice. 

–

[1:41 PM] You: i left my headache meds in your bathroom :(

[1:59 PM] Lin: oh noooooo

[2:02 PM] You: :( can you mail them? is that legal? Lol

[2:17 PM] Lin: i’ll find out 

–

[4:36 PM] Namjoon: did it help??

[4:37 PM] You: :( why are you so nice

[4:39 PM] You: took it from Death Mode to a dull pounding 

[4:43 PM] Namjoon: i’m really glad

[4:44 PM] Namjoon: i was going to order smth for dinner in a bit - you want in?

[4:47 PM] You: oh yes pls

[4:49 PM] Namjoon: Ondubu Menu.pdf

–

[4:41 PM] You: just said (typed) the word ‘pounding’ to my roommate

[4:42 PM] You: can i die now???????

[4:42 PM] Kris: lmfaooooooooooo i love you

[4:43 PM] Kris: the context, i BEG

[4:45 PM] You: i mean very unsexy context lol 

[4:46 PM] You: was in regards to the HEADACHE FROM HELL >:(

[4:47 PM] Kris: let’s work on sexying up the context 

[4:48 PM] You: bye 🚶‍♀️

[4:49 PM] Kris: #TeamNamjoon

[5:24 PM] You: #TeamYN 

[5:24 PM] Kris: #TeamDimples

[5:25 PM] You: we’re done here

–

[6:06 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: dinner at the caf? want me to come pick u up?

[6:08 PM] You: sorry, i ate, namjoon ordered us takeout

[6:09 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: ah. okay.

[6:12 PM] You: come over later?

[6:13 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: headache?

[6:14 PM] You: all better :) come over?

[6:19 PM] You: tete... please?

[6:20 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: yeah

[6:21 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: yeah i will

–

“I’m glad you feel better,” Taehyung tells you from his end of the couch. 

“Me. Too.” You wiggle your feet against his ribs. “It was truly terrible this morning.”

You’re on opposite sides of the couch, as usual, one blanket thrown over your legs. You balance your laptop on your thighs, trying to work on some homework. Taehyung scrolls through his phone. 

“I was thinking, you guys should have people over this weekend,” he muses, not taking his eyes off his screen.

“Like a party?” you clarify, still typing. 

“Mhm,” he nods. “A housewarming?”

You laugh a little. “That’s kind of last minute, Tae. You offering to help buy all the snacks and drinks? And clean?”

He meets your eyes long enough to make sure you see him roll his. “You don’t need help,” he grouses. 

You sigh, hating that you don’t hate the idea. “Could we keep it kind of lowkey?” you ask, as if you wouldn’t be the host, and thus in charge of these decisions.

“Just the guys?” Taehyung suggests, sounding a little hopeful now that it seems like you’re cracking. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Jungkook, Jimin… maybe the others? I don’t remember all of their names.” You mean Namjoon’s friends, the ones who had helped him move in.

“I’ll ask the groupchat,” Taehyung promises.

Friday September 11th

In the end, Taehyung gets confirmation from Jimin, Jin, and Jungkook - the others seem more like maybes. Although you’d asked to keep it small, you feel the need to diversify a little, and you extend the guest list to include Kris, plus Gloria and a few more of the girls from your classes.

Of course, needing to maintain a positive roomie experience, you make sure you ask Namjoon if it’s okay. In the morning, you wait a while after you hear his shower run to make sure he’s properly awake, and then knock on his door.

“Yeah?” he calls, sounding a little distracted.

“Namjoon?” you ask, nudging his door just a little. Yeah isn’t the same as come in, necessarily. “I wanted to ask you something.”

He’s sitting at his desk, his back to you. At your words, he reaches up to pop out his airpods, and clicks to minimize the screen he had up - what looks like a word doc, from your vantage point in the doorway. 

“Okay?” he says, stretching his long legs towards you, leaning back in his swivel-chair. 

“Did Taehyung talk to you about tonight?” you venture.

“Tonight?”

Why are you nervous? 

“Yeah,” you say. “He had an idea to have your whole group come hang here, like a little housewarming thing? He said he’d text you all.”

Namjoon glances at his phone, as if to corroborate your story, but doesn’t turn the screen on to actually check for the text. “I didn’t see it,” he admits. 

“Oh,” you say. “Okay. Well, he should have invited all of you guys. I mean, you don’t need to be invited, you live here. I just, um, I wanted to make sure it was okay with you? To have people over tonight?”

You watch it on his face as he understands that you’re asking for roomie permission. He sits back up, already starting to swivel back around to his screen, nodding easily. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for asking first.”

You frown at his back; you hadn’t really felt like the conversation was over, but he’s already pressing his airpods back in with his thumbs, feet tapping with the bass.

“O-kay,” you say, backing out of his room. You have a date with a vacuum cleaner before your living room fills with people. On your way to the closet where the vacuum lives, you text Taehyung, begging him to make a liquor run for you.

–

The truth is Namjoon forgets what you asked him about twenty seconds after you leave his room. He gets back to work, trying to get back into the flow he’d had before you knocked. He doesn’t hear you leave for class, doesn’t think about it again when he leaves for his own an hour later. 

[4:49 PM] Namjoon: bar tonight?

[4:50 PM] Yoongi: did we not…already have plans with you tonight?

[4:51 PM] Hobi: no, we did

[4:53 PM] Namjoon: we did? idr. can the plans be bar at 8:30?

[4:55 PM] Hobi: you’d rather do that??

[4:57 PM] Namjoon: than what?

[5:00 PM] Yoongi: we were supposed to go to your place?

[5:01 PM] Yoongi: taehyung texted us yesterday

[5:03 PM] Namjoon: oh yeah

[5:05 PM] Namjoon: i mean you all know i love taehyung…

[5:06 PM] Hobi: but…..

[5:07 PM] Namjoon: but do i want to sit around my living room with a bunch of undergrads tonight?

[5:08 PM] Yoongi: i get the feeling the answer to that is ‘no’

[5:10 PM] Namjoon: so, i repeat. bar? 8:30?

[5:10 PM] Yoongi: 👍👍

[5:15 PM] Hobi: that won’t hurt your roomie’s feelings???

[5:16 PM] Namjoon: she’ll be fine

Still, when 8:30 rolls around and Namjoon notices you bustling around the living room like a crazy person, he feels a stab of guilt in his stomach. Resigned, he asks, “Can I do anything to help you get ready?”

“Taehyung is supposed to be helping me get ready,” you grumble, as you line up a bowl of chips next to a smaller bowl of popcorn. “But is he here helping? Despite this being his idea?”

“That feels rhetorical,” Namjoon observes. You shoot him a look. 

There’s a knock at the door, which saves him from your wrath, he thinks. As he watches you hurry to the door, wiping your hands once on your jeans out of nervousness, he knows he can’t leave - not yet. Silently damning both his conscience and his mother for raising him to have one, he texts the guys that he’s running late. Then, he reaches over and pops the top off one of the beers you’ve set out.

He might as well, right? 

It’s an entire hour later than he finally feels like maybe he can slip away. Taehyung finally showed up about half an hour ago, three girls slipping through the front door behind him. Namjoon can’t help it - his eyes fly to your face, watching for a reaction. If you’re upset, you don’t show it, instead hurrying to show them around, pointing out where to grab drinks and where the bathrooms are located. 

When Jungkook and Jin arrive - clearly having pregamed - Namjoon rises, inching his way closer to the door. Someone with a mop of bright purple hair comes through the door with Jimin, and the volume in the room triples instantaneously. 

Now’s my chance, he thinks, and glances your way to see if he'll make it out unnoticed.

Would it not be easier to say, ‘hey, Y/N, this was fun, but I have plans with Yoongi’? He wonders. Probably, but that would potentially result in seeing the hurt look on your face, and he’s trying to avoid that. 

On the couch, you sit close to Taehyung, legs touching, his arm over your shoulders. You’re laughing maniacally at something, using his torso to hold yourself up as you cackle, eyes squeezed shut. He looks down at you, smile large and boxy, laughing along. 

Namjoon grabs his keys and slinks out the door. 

“Look who decided to show up to the gathering that he planned,” Yoongi drawls when Namjoon finally slides onto the barstool beside him. Hobi gives him a sheepish look, one that says sorry about him… but also, he’s right. 

“I felt bad leaving,” Namjoon explains. “No one was there yet, and then I wanted to finish the beer I opened…”

“Mhm,” Yoongi intones, and Namjoon almost asks him what that’s supposed to mean, but decides to let it go. 

They talk over a pitcher of beer, Hobi filling them in on how auditions for his dance team are going, Yoongi on his current classes. 

Namjoon’s phone buzzes against his leg and he slips it out of his pocket far enough to see your name on his screen. 

[10:03 PM] You: did you… leave??

[10:04 PM] Namjoon: yeah

[10:06 PM] You: it wasn’t bc of us right? I thought you said this was ok???

[10:07 PM] Namjoon: no it wasn’t. just not really my scene. have fun though

[10:10 PM] You: ah ok. i just assumed since some of ur crew are here you’d join us

Yoongi’s chin is practically on Namjoon’s shoulder as he peeks at his screen. 

“She wanted you to hang out, you dick,” he says. 

Namjoon balks, shaking his head. “She’s just trying to keep the peace. Doesn’t want drama with her roommate.”

“No, dude,” Hobi insists, peeking over Namjoon’s other shoulder, giving him a perfect angel and devil scenario. “You are, in fact, an asshole. She’s definitely upset that you left.”

Namjoon growls in frustration, shimmying his shoulders to knock his menaces loose. “I don’t want to talk about Y/N. Let’s talk about something else.”

From either side of him, Yoongi and Hobi exchange a knowing look. 

“What?” Namjoon demands. 

The shared look now incorporates some eyebrow movement. Then, cool as a cucumber, Yoongi leans back in his seat, takes a long pull from his beer glass. “So,” he says, so casual, “how are things with you two, anyway?”

“What you two?” Namjoon counters. 

“The roomies,” Hobi supplies. “The odd couple.”

“We are very not a couple,” Namjoon says flatly, irritation simmering. 

“But seriously,” Yoongi pushes. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” he says, a defensive edge in his voice. He pauses, tries for a second to get his act together. “As far as roommates go, she’s good. Keeps the shared areas clean, isn’t noisy. She’s not rude or anything.” He shrugs, hoping this will be enough to get the jackals off his scent. 

“That’s good,” Hobi says, nodding. “Do you talk or anything?”

“Nope,” Namjoon says, which is true. “We just kind of do our own thing.” 

“Her ‘thing’ being Taehyung, right?” Hobi asks innocently. 

Namjoon shakes his head. “I don’t think anything’s actually going on there. To her dismay, it seems.”

“I wonder why,” Yoongi muses. When the others look at him in confusion, he explains, “I mean, why nothing’s going on. It seems like they’re attached at the hip. What’s missing? What’s stopping them?”

“He is,” Namjoon tells them. “How she looks at him, and how he looks at her… it isn’t the same. It just isn’t there for him. I won’t presume to know how he feels, but it seems like he’s just enjoying the benefits of her company until she figures out that it won’t go anywhere. If that ever even happens.”

He hadn’t realized he had an opinion about this until the words are out of his mouth.

“Kind of sad,” Yoongi remarks, pouring himself another beer. 

“Maybe she just needs someone to snap her out of it,” Hobi says thoughtfully. 

“Maybe,” Namjoon agrees, and changes the topic as smoothly as he can.

Honestly, he agrees with Yoongi. It is sad - even from the outside, even from the limited interaction you’ve had, he can see the stars in your eyes when you look at your best friend. And he can see the disappointment that swims there when Taehyung, just by existing, lets you down, over and over again, day after day.

Maybe you do just need a distraction, someone new to divert your attention. But Namjoon can easily see that it’ll be an uphill battle for whatever poor soul tries that route, and he doesn’t feel like he has the emotional energy for it. He’s been there and done that before, and he doesn’t like to repeat mistakes.

No matter how cute and funny he might find you.

He hurries to drown that thought in another pint of beer. 

Thank you so much for reading!!! Let me know what you think!!! Theories? Questions?? Keysmashes???

Section III will post on Friday, January 27th - hope to see you there!

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[mattoidmeerkat]

@911Creators Event 04: Blorbo(s) from my show ↪ Athena & Bobby

[Image ID: two gifs (black and white) from Athena's conversation with Aaron in Trapped framing five Bathena gifs (color)

GIF 1: In Trapped, Athena is having dinner with Aaron and tells him "I'm not looking to jump into another relationship."

GIF 2: In Trapped, the 118 arrive at one of Athena's scenes. Bobby greats her reaching his hand out and the does the same. Their hands almost touch. The gif is slightly too fast and overlaid with the word "FRIENDS" in a font that symbolizes speed.

GIF 3: In A Whole New You, Athena and Bobby are sitting on a street curb after a a traumatizing call. Bobby asks Athena if she would go somewhere with her she touches his arm in return. The gif is slightly too fast and overlaid with the word "TO" in a font that symbolizes speed.

GIF 4: In A Whole New You, Athena and Bobby meet in a restaurant for their first date and smile at each other brightly. The gif is slightly too fast and overlaid with the word "LOVERS" in a font that symbolizes speed.

GIF 5: In Under Pressure, Athena and Bobby are making out against a fire truck while on a call. The gif is slightly too fast and overlaid with the word "SPEED" in a font that symbolizes speed.

GIF 6: In Under Pressure, Athena kisses Bobby in the firehouse kitchen in front of his team. The gif is slightly too fast and overlaid with the word "RUN" in a font that symbolizes speed.

GIF 7: In Trapped, Aaron reacts to Athena's declaration in disbelieve.

/end ID]

[obxone]

Marmoris (Chapter Eight)

Edited-ish. ~1.5k words

Master Page

You giggle at Mike’s very bad dad joke while Kiara scolds him, and Anna joins you in laughter. It is a slow early evening, but that is expected for a middle of the week day. The sound of the door opening has you all turning, and the laughter fades as you separate and get back to work. You move forward to welcome an early dinner customer but pause when JJ steps into view.

“Hey,” he flashes a grin at you. Those ocean blue eyes of his drag down the length of you, and your heart speeds up a little. He looked different today, disheveled still, but different in a way you could not put your finger on.

“Hi,” you murmur. It is awkward, and you both can feel it as JJ stands with about six feet of space between you. “You came.”

“I said I would.”

You smile a little just as Kiara calls his name, and he glances over your shoulder. She moves forward, eyeing him as he stands there. “What are you doing here JayJ?”

“I came to see her,” he says, pointing at you. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and you clasp your hands behind your back to try to hide the nerves clawing up inside you.

Kiara looks confused but does not say anything. You stay silent, waiting for him to figure out how to fix it since it was his idea to come here in the first place.

He rolls his shoulders, pulling his cap off his head and squeezing the bill between his hands. “Do you have a second Princess? To talk? Alone?”

You tip your head, enjoying the awkward pressure on him more than you should. “Why?”

He groans, scrubbing his hand through his messy blond locks. He peeks at you through his lashes, and you roll your eyes at his attempt to be sauve with you. “Just to talk.”

“I’ll be around if either of you needs me,” Kiara muses before turning and going to finish cleaning up the tables on the far wall.

“You figure out the rules?” His attention is fixated on you now.

“Yes.”

He smiles a little, not surprised in the least that the kook princess has her shit together. He looks down at the tops of his boots. “Cool.”

“I’m about to take my break, meet me outside after you talk to Kie?”

He nods, and you flash him a smile before getting a fresh cup of water for your break.

You wait a few minutes for JJ after finding a spot outside in the shade on the curb lining the parking lot. He groans as he drops onto the curb next to you before taking the large Styrofoam cup from you.

“That is my water.”

He shrugs before taking a sip. “You’re my girlfriend, we can share.”

You huff a breath before opening the notes app on your phone. “I’ve only got fifteen minutes, so let’s get through this.”

“All ears, Princess.”

You clear your throat as you adjust to face him better while balancing on the lip of the curb. “All right, rule #1: the real reason we are dating stays between us, no one, and I mean no one knows. Not the pogues and not Sarah.”

He nods, lips pressing into a temporary line to show no argument from him.

“Rule #2: No seeing other people. To sell this and keep the secret, we have to be exclusive.”

“Fair.”

“Thanks,” you murmur before clearing your throat again. “Rule #3: No PDA.”

“What?!” His head snaps up, and he is staring at you with wide eyes. “How is that going to work?”

“You really aren’t going to like rule four then...”

“What is it?” He asks, leaning closer. “No sex?”

“Well, yeah.”

“God, woman,” he groans, removing his ballcap again. You watch him squeeze the bill between his hands again. “You’re killing me.”

“I want to be careful,” you shrug and look back at your notes. “No excessive physical contact significantly reduces the potential risk of someone developing feelings. Okay, rule #5-”

“Oh no!” He gets up and starts to pace in front of you while putting his ballcap on backward. “We aren’t done with rule three or even four.”

You stare at him, watching him pace back and forth. “What aren’t we done with?”

“I’m not going to date you and never touch you! The pogues will see right through it. I’m a man, I have needs, and they know that!” He shakes his head. "I have a reputation you know."

"Oh, believe me, JJ, that I am aware of."

He snorts before licking his bottom lip. "So you understand. To sell it, then I am planning to touch and kiss my girlfriend... a lot."

You groan, pressing your hands to your face before lifting your head after a beat. “Fine. PDA is allowed, but no sex. I’m not changing my mind on that. This isn’t a real relationship, and I cannot sleep around like that.”

He studies you; lips parting, and you arch an eyebrow daring him to voice his thoughts.

“Are you a virgin?”

“No,” you mutter, fidgeting with your necklace. “Remember Kasey?”

“Ah,” he clues in before he nods. “Okay, deal. No sex.”

“Great,” you huff, ignoring the burn coloring your cheeks. “Rule #5: we keep it under wraps at the Island Club.”

He openly stares at you with confusion. 

“Be reasonable, J. I’m a kook, and you’re a pogue that works there. You think they’ll be nice to you if they think you are screwing one of their own?”

“But we aren’t screwing, rule four.”

“But they don’t know that.”

He shrugs. “Whatever.”

“Great,” you repeat and get to your feet while tucking your phone in your back pocket. “I have to go back to work.”

“I’ll walk you in,” he says, retrieving the cup from the curb. You walk side by side towards the employee entrance, and he takes the opportunity to glance over at you. “Is a perk of dating you free food?”

You laugh and nudge him with your elbow. “Sure. Let me grab you something.”

“Sweet!”

That dimpled smile makes you smile back at him as you lead him into the restaurant. You punch in a quick to-go order before refilling the cup for him.

“What’s going on?” Kiara asks, passing by with a bin full of dirty dishes.

You turn to her while wiping down the counter. “Getting JJ food, he is like a starved animal.”

She laughs. “Glad to see you guys are finally getting along.”

“That’s us, getting along,” JJ muses, leaning against the counter with his elbows as he stares at the mostly empty floor. You wait for him to tell her the news, but he does not.

You roll your eyes at him being too scared to tell his best friend before you grab his order after they put it in the window. “Here, J.”

“That was fast, thank you, Princess.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Got to run, meeting John B for some fishing,” he says, his free hand brushing up your wrist to your forearm. You nod with a tight smile on your face. “Text you later?”

“Yeah, sounds good. Have fun night fishing.”

He grins, flashing that dimple. “Planning on it, Baby.”

You laugh before attempting a step back away from him, but he grabs your arm, pulling you back to him. His lips brush yours, and you inhale sharply before he winks at you.

"You are going to leave me to clean up this mess, aren't you?"

He chuckles softly, hand cupping your face before he drags the pad of this thumb across your jaw. "Yeah, I am."

He kisses you. You cannot help yourself, and you kiss him back. He smirks into it before ending it and taking a step back. A blush colors your cheeks, and mischief shines in his blue eyes.

“See you later, Princess.”

“What the hell?” Kiara’s voice is behind you, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

JJ laughs at your expense. “Have fun explaining to her.”

“You suck, JJ.”

“Love you too, Baby.”

You gap at him as he turns on his heel and leaves the restaurant without looking back. You turn, and Kiara is staring at you, arms crossed over her waist with a concerned look.

“Okay…” you murmur and move to take a seat at the bar. She follows and takes a seat as well. “After that day surfing, umm… well, JJ and I kind of agreed that something is there, and we decided to do something about it.” You play with your fingers.

“So, you’re dating?”

“Correct.”

She blows out a breath before speaking again. “Man, when you go to the 'dark' side you go all out.”

Laughter escapes you, and she joins you before patting your knee.

“Don’t worry, I think you are good for him and him for you. But promise me something?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t hurt him. He’s not as tough as he seems.”

“Not planning on it.”

She grins before swiveling her barstool around. “Let’s get ready for the dinner rush so you can see your boyfriend later.”

(Chapter Nine)