#the way he made me drive ten hours in one day when it was like less than a week after my fathers funeral like bro hello

[milo-is-rambling]

Just remembered how one of my dedicated to people last roadtrip literally was like “oh actually I don’t think you can stay here tonight I have work early tomorrow :(“ after driving like seven and a half hours to him (and he texted me this when I was an hour away from his house and we had literally talked about my plans to stay there all day) like hello red flag red flag red flag

[falling-hand-in-unlovable-hand]

i'm so tired of fucking dealing with people today. i'm the only one awake in my house rn and somehow i'm still dealing with people

[winterzsurprise]

Change My Mind [2]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 8.6k

I posted this a day later than the one on ao3 because I forgor :''DD

Seeing the support and comments from both website got me off my ass to fix the storyline, even made a lot of changes on the chapters I've had preserved.

this chapter got rewritten a LOT, and was longer than it initially was so I hope y'all don't mind long chapters.

<<<Prev || MASTERLIST || Next>>>

__________

There's been times where your heart has truly fluttered for a man throughout your lifetime. Too many times has it been because some of your bosses (read: Jimin) flirted with you but you have never felt anything remotely giddy for anyone else outside the group.

Except for the man now sitting in front of you, flashing you a dimpled smile after handing out his card with an ease you only see in your friends and male leads in dramas. An action more attractive than any kabaedon or flexed muscles.

He's attractive but you don't like like him.

Yoo Guwon came to you as a bashful giant, rubbing the back of his head whenever he’s flustered and a constant sheepish smile featuring his deep set of dimples indented on both cheeks. He’s charming and articulate with his words just like a lawyer would be. Everything about him reminds you of another gentle and clumsy giant probably hunched over his music equipment back in the BigHit building.

It’s only been a few hours but you surprisingly covered most of the basic grounds of first meeting conversations during the short time you drove around Han River in a two seated bicycle. From the meager questions of ‘what dreams do you have?’ to the more complex and deeper ‘If the world falls into ruin, will you burn my body when I die?’. 

Too graphic for a first date but you wanted to test the waters and you concluded that he’s too perfect.

He knows the right words to say, the proper way to act and it makes you suspicious. Your mother has never recommended you to a good guy before, having a track record of ten shitty suitors who all ran their mouths about their mediocre achievements, and dared to ask you about your purity before ranting about how dirty you are for not saving yourself for your husband the moment they find out you're not a virgin anymore. Then all of a sudden, she led you to good boy Guwon.

And it makes your skin crawl.

What did that woman eat? Has your father fed her something bad this time? What is she planning? It’s scary how she has finally advocated for an actual nice guy.

After taking you to a museum you're sure Namjoon has visited once, he drove you both to the Han River to rent a double seated bike to drive around with before ending the night with a nice reservation somewhere in the Seocho district.

The place is as sophisticated as fine dining areas usually are. With an intimate lighting, marbled tabletops matched with soft cushioned seats and high ceilings to make space for modern glass chandeliers, the restaurant was no doubt expensive, the type you have to reserve a spot two months prior to be able to experience its greatness. The point was driven home when you saw the amount of zeros it cost for one can of soda. 

You asked him how he managed to get a table and he went down the rabbit hole of the many advantages he got from successful cases, ranging from a free monthly subscription to fruit baskets to a free week-long voucher to a five star hotel somewhere in Busan. 

Going back to the butterflies, while not as wild as it got when Hoseok possessively wrapped an arm thrown around your waist to pretend as your boyfriend to ward off a persistent suitor, they're there, albeit subtle.

Very subtle.

Maybe it's in the way he didn't think twice to hand out his card towards the waiter in the most suave way with the thick golden watch decorating his wrist, sleeves neatly folded up to reveal the thick cords of veins on his forearms with his hair strewn messily and a dimpled smile that made you react like that.

You ignore the voice comparing his uncannily similar traits to someone else.

Meeting Guwon wasn't like how the movies illustrated love at first sights. They talked of fireworks exploding in the background and hearing the sweet chimes of wedding bells upon eye contact but for him, it's just that. A meeting far more formal than you'd like. He has a lot of qualities that check your list of husband material traits yet instead of butterflies, you could only feel an echoing hollowness in your chest as you listen to him list out his future plans. 

It felt like surrendering to the fate the divinities had weaved out for you which is being an untethered forced to love someone you don't even feel any spark with.

He's a nice man who’s offering a comfortable future and you're just a woman who wishes to live a lavish life at home while your husband wastes his years away in the office. You might be a hopeless romantic who wished for soulmates and the like but you're not blind to the opportunity Guwon offers you.

You haven't texted the gc anything during the date other than the selfie you took before you left for the date but there's been constant vibrations in your purse and it's no doubt the guys asking for updates but for a moment you wanted to try to focus on the man before you.

Not that it wasn't hard to try with Guwon anyways.

Whenever the man spoke of his achievements and hobbies with a humble approach, he never forgot to ask you for your opinion or input on the topic. You also noted how he has never cut you off and let you speak whenever you wanted, listening with an eagerness only your friends usually show. He asked relevant questions with a genuine curiosity, eager to know more about you. 

So when he asked if you wanted to go on a second date that night, it came to no surprise for anyone when you accepted it albeit the heaviness in your heart.

It was funny how eagerly you searched for a husband you could bring to your parents' doorsteps but the moment someone with all the qualities you seeked came, it felt disappointing. Boring even.

But you can learn, this man is your ticket to living without working anymore.

It came to no one's surprise that your mother was overjoyed, she wasted no time calling you before you could even change to squeeze the memory of today out of you.

The shrill scream of victory she let out that night was unforgettable because finally, a suitor you actually liked. Your dad even congratulated her off-screen for her matchmaking achievements before telling you to bring Guwon home to meet them.

Logically, you’re aware you've won the love roulette—Guwon has it all, he checked every box on your list, yet it felt like defeat and it tasted foul, bitter on your tongue.

You couldn't tell them that it was you deciding to settle, that would break her heart.

Tapping the end call button felt like the dam breaking and all the water held onto for so long flowed out. You fall lifelessly on your bed with a heavy sigh. Taking a couple evening breaths, you finally opened the group chat with an overwhelming number of unread messages.

[Today, 08:49]

[08:49] Mimi: I'd run my bank dry to take you on dates if you'd dress so pretty like that, noona~

[08:49]Tete: We're really seeing this for free when the poor guy has to pay for it. #livingapriviledgedlife😁👍

[08:49] Hobi: Wow noona🤯

[08:50] Yoongs: 👍

[08:55] Tete: Wait, I don't think those shoes fit you, go back home and change it😁

[08:56] Jinnie: Hey, you're showing too much skin on the first date! Go back and change!

[08:57] Joonie: Ignore these haters noona, I hope you enjoy your day😊

[Today, 21:48]

[21:48] Jinnie: are you home yet? You haven't seen our messages in HOURS.

[21:48] Tete: NOONA DID YOU GET MURDERED?!😱

[21:50] Joonie: Let's be rational guys, don't jump to conclusions. The date might just be going great if she's busy enough to not check her phone😊.

[21:51] Mimi: doing great? don't scare me like that hyung😵‍💫

[21:51] Tete: BUT WHAT IF SHE GOT KIDNAPPED HYUNG????

[21:51] Hobi: please reply soon, we're worried🥲

Jungkook's absence from the conversation didn't come to you as a shock, the kid doesn't even reply to you for a week despite being one of the people who raised him. Nonetheless, you sat up from your bed to record a quick video of you giving them a thumbs up and turning the camera to show your room.

The latter was an assurance to Taehyung that no, you also didn't get kidnapped into someone else's house to be someone's housekeeper, and no, it wasn't a clone either.

The moment your message gets sent, the replies blow up your phone almost instantaneously.

[22:28] Mimi: noona you're alive!

[22:28] Joonie: How did the date go?😊

[22:28] Jinnie: how nice of you to remember to update us PEASANTS.

[22:28] Mimi: How was Guwon?

[22:29] Tete: I KNEW WE SHOULD'VE WENT WITH YOU ANYWAYS

[22:29] You: Shockingly, he's a pretty nice guy. Not too bad on the eyes, and pretty smart. I think you'd get along well with him, joon. He's a lawyer so he covered most of the expenses today😁

[22:29] You: Overall, it was great, we're gonna go on a second one. He's pretty cool.

Instantly, messages from the members, even Jungkook’s to your surprise, flooded your screen.

[22:30] Tete: Noona you've been cursed! We need to bring you to the nearest shaman to break it!!

[22:30] Mimi: don't joke with us noona

[22:30] Mimi: I just got goosebumps!

[22:30] Joonie: Congratulations are in order then? Will we be expecting him around you soon?

[22:31] Yoongs: I need to meet him, need to know if he's good enough

[22:31] Yoongs: men are trash, I need to see him for myself before I decide

[22:32] Yoongs: and you know what they say about lawyers, they LIE. I wouldn't trust him 

[22:32] Jinnie: WE need to meet the man who managed to steal your heart! I want to talk to him😊

[22:32] Mimi: don't use that emoji again, hyung

[22:32] Hobi: SCARY JWANN😱

[22:32] Joonie: Let’s not threaten anyone please.

[22:32] Joonie: But I'm really happy for you 😁.

[22:33] Tete: Those periods really scares me hyung…

[22:33] Tete: Somehow, I don't think you mean it…

[22:33] Joonie: What makes you think that, tae?😁.

[22:33] Tete: 😰

[22:34] Ggukie: a few drinks will fix you up, noona😁

[22:34]  Mimi: you'll invite me this time right?

[22:34] You: I don't know, you already used your mischief hours this week, I doubt Sejin would be so kind next time.

[22:34] Hobi: if he does that right now during practice, I also wouldn't be so kind to him😊

[22:34] Mimi: you are scaring me hyung…

[22:34] Hobi: good😊

[22:34] Tete: Hyung, are you just gonna ignore Jungkook leaving?!?!!?

The messages continued for a good five minutes, mostly consisting of holding Jimin back from leaving practice and him sending pictures of the infamous Hoseok death glare from across the room before your doorbell chime rang, making you shoot up straight.

A beat. Then it continues in three quick successions, the knocks almost in sing-song and sounded like two hands were used to produce the tune, giving you an inkling on who might be visiting you at this late hours of night.

Padding out of your room, the front door suddenly swings open without warning and you yelp. By the doorsteps stands the intruder, a tall man in a black coat with his face hidden by a mask and a cap. Your body would've frozen a thousand times over if you didn't know this stranger who's hugging two paper bags, one overflowing with snacks and the other a breeze away from tearing apart from the weight and water drenching the material of the bag.

"Hi noona!"

After today, seeing Jungkook felt like a cure, his presence alone repelling the heaviness in your shoulders and you ushered him inside and he wandered into your home with ease, approaching the coffee table to place down the shopping bags. 

Suddenly you remembered what he had scheduled prior.

"You're putting me on Hoba’s punishment rotation, what are you doing here?" 

He giggled. “We both know he won't, hyung loves you more than me.”

He falls on your couch with the ease of someone who has visited your space numerous times throughout the years, propping up his feet on the back support and folding his arms underneath his head before staring up at you, expectantly.

"Anyways, I brought us food and drinks, don't I deserve a little praise?" 

Sometimes it's easy to forget how young Jungkook really is, forced to grow and act mature to blend in with his surroundings, you've always seen him stand with pride alongside his hyungs. Seeing him awaiting for your praise so eagerly like a pup fills your heart with awe.

"Yeah yeah, good job. Now move over, let me sit down."

You tapped his arm, motioning him to move over so you could sit next to him, something he obeyed without resistance, busying himself in removing the contents from the soiled paper bag instead.

“Couldn't you have put some effort into it? At least sound grateful.” He pouts. Placing down the cluster of beer cans, you turned to him and pinched his cheeks.

“Oh my dearest darling, thank you for saving this noona of yours. Such an amazing baby I have here.”

Despite being the one who asked for it, Jungkook only rolled his eyes with a barely held back grin as he slapped your hands away, making you laugh, and turned to the bag holding the snacks he bought. You didn't miss the redness dusting his cheeks or the cheeky grin that tugged his lips wide as he spilled the contents of the last bag onto the table.

There's a significant amount of sweets and snacks laid before you, as well as stacks of canned beers and you turned to him with furrowed brows.

"Wouldn't this ruin your diet?"

He waved you off with a huff. "I work out enough to eat all of these in one sitting."

Instantly, your mind brings you back to white walls and gray furniture, faced with manager Sejin who warned you about interfering with the idols' diet at the start of your career. If it wasn't for Bang PD waving off their concerns, saying they needed to be rewarded for their hard work anyways, you would've been long booted out of the company.

It's a matter long settled yet it remains to weigh heavily in your head.

Seeing the hesitation in your eyes, Jungkook continues.

"I can show you proof of my efforts," 

He then reached down to the fabric of his shirt tucked into his jeans and tugged it up, flashing you the tightly corded muscles in forming on his abdomen and the thin happy trail you often see when patting his sweat down during concerts and you hastily pulled it back down with a yelp, cheeks growing hot while he laughed.

As he throws his head back in his mirth, you couldn't help but notice the way adulthood has taken away the fullness of his cheeks and has sharpened his features. A far cry from the sensitive young boy who cried his eyes out every time his hyungs got hurt. 

There was no denying that Jungkook had grown without you noticing and it makes your chest swell with pride knowing he's been raised well by the others, in extension, although not so much, you as well.

"Don't worry so much about me, noona. I can handle the consequences now, you leave the reprimanding to me."

Under the warm overhead light of your living room, even with the exaggerated puff of his chest and his nose turnt up high, Jungkook's shoulder had never looked sturdier, reliable, in your eyes. You smiled, reaching to pinch both his cheeks making him grin wider than he already was.

"Look at you acting so cool, when did you grow so much?"

He rolled his eyes, pulling your hands away from his cheeks and entangling it with his. “I've always been cool, you just don't pay attention to me, noona.”

Before you could reply, he's already moved to reach for the beverages on the coffee table, popping two of them open and handing you one can, immediately you take a swig.

The beer fizzled in your tongue and left a trail of burns down your throat. The sensation is refreshing nonetheless and you place it down next to him before picking up the large bags of chips and standing up.

"I'll go put these in a bowl, go put something on the tv."

"Can I play anime?"

You waved at him dismissively, unable to find it in yourself to say no to him as you head towards your kitchen to transfer the junk into a bowl when a shrill tune from your bedroom cuts through the air, someone was calling you. You look over to Jungkook, scrolling through his phone, no doubt looking for a movie online.

"Gguk, can you pick up the call for me? My hands are busy right now."

There's a shuffle of feet behind you and in a moment, your phone quietens down. Finished with filling one bowl, you turn to find Jungkook leaving your room with a deep look and your phone in hand. His jaw set tight as he stood there with furrowed brows, eyes lit with irritation.

Looking at his reaction, you asked about your mysterious caller.

"Who was it?"

When he turned to you, the tick in his jaw dispersed. All of a sudden, he's smiling at you with mischief twinkling in his eyes, the change giving you a whiplash.

"It was the others, didn’t answer their calls cause I want you for myself tonight, noona."

(Later on, you'd find yourself staring at the many unread messages and two missed calls from Guwon, wondering in your drunken state if you've muted your phone at some point earlier.)

Hearing it from his lips now, your body locks, heart stuttering in your chest and butterflies exploding in your stomach, spreading a tingly feeling throughout your body and you laugh. 

"Where did you hear that line from, brat? You just activated my fight or flight!"

"Taehyung says that and gets thanked but when I do it, I'm punished?" He pouts, stomping as he approaches the island counters and crossing his arms on the marble surface.

It reminded you of a bunny you saw from a video on the internet, angrily thumping their feet at their owner when it was being purposely ignored.

“In his defense, he does it while he’s acting like my crazy ‘exes’ and saves me from dates.”

“That’s just favoritism! I saved you once from a date!”

You threw him a deadpan stare. "Throwing me over your shoulders and kidnapping me isn’t the same as Tae and Jimin acting crazy enough to make the other guy uncomfortable to save me.”

Hoseok had your favorite troublemakers kneeled on the floor with both their hands up and facing the wall at the time, punishing them for being an hour late to their practice. He had called you in, asking if they had been accompanying you during —they weren’t. 

Long story short, you didn't risk sharing Hoseok’s wrath with the two and took Jungkook instead, a decision you quickly regretted later on in the night when instead of approaching to act like one of your exes when you gave him a signal, he hoisted you up onto his shoulder and ran away while your date only watched in terror.

“Now that’s blatant favoritism! I didn’t kidnap you, we ran away together into the sunset! It was romantic!"

"Not for the other guy, no! He was shitting bricks when he called my mom. She got me squatting the entire afternoon when we met again."

Mentioning it alone made phantom pains throb in your knees and thighs, you shivered. If torture wasn't a socially unacceptable and punishable offense in the modern world, you were sure your mother would have stripped you down to your underwear and made you squat under the sun in front of your family house instead. 

The absolute fury she unleashed on you that day is enough proof that she would've done it with no hesitation if it was lawfully appropriate.

"That's too much for a failed date."

"No reason to dwell on it. Main point is, don't take notes from dramas anymore."

With a last roll of his eye, Jungkook then picked up the bowls and brought them to the coffee table following you who had returned to your seat ahead of him. Once the two of you are situated back on the couch, he navigates through the streaming app for an interesting title before eventually settling on the romance anime he claimed to have heard amazing reviews about.

Without hesitation, Jungkook navigates himself into a familiar between your legs and leaned back on your chest, head finding his rightful space under your chin with a precision gained from doing so for years.

It goes without saying that Bangtan is affectionate. With the pressure they had during their rise to fame, it wasn't shocking that they comfortably seeked each other's comfort and spared no skinship. As one of the only staff within constant exposure that's close to their age, you too became one of their pillars of serenity. 

It was the reason you had crushes on everyone at least twice during your time as their make-up artist, not that any of the boys knew nor does it matter.

Stability and work takes precedence over something as shaky as love.

There's only so much comfort another man can offer, your mother says from years before.

Jungkook more than anyone else in the group. 

As a boy who sacrificed his childhood and time with his parents to pursue his dream, you felt more inclined to watch over him than the others who were adults by the time you joined. You were there for his first heartbreak, his first drink, his high school graduation; the point is, you were there and you held him every time he struggled with problems—mostly girl problems—he's too shy to seek his hyungs for.

But now with his growth spurt, cuddling up to you like he used to when he was younger with his gangly legs awkwardly hanging from the couch, carelessly leaning his head in between the mounds of your breast while his large hand mindlessly drew circles on your knee, you found yourself wondering about the appropriateness of it all.

A man and a woman alone in a room at night in close proximity, body leaning against each other. Society would argue they wouldn’t end the night as friends anymore after the encounter.

You paused mid-drink and grimaced.

It must be the beer talking.

"Noona."

"Yeah?"

"Wrap your arms around me, it's cold."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "It's not though? I always keep my house warm." 

He let out an exasperated groan before reaching behind to grab your arm and roughly slinging it on his shoulders.

As time continued its cycle and episodes started to fly across the screen, the pile of opened beer cans on the table expanded. You really tried to focus on the movie but the feeling of his fingers tracing stars on your bare thigh left you oddly bothered. Jungkook has shifted his position higher at some point during the movie, his body now turned sideways, successfully squeezing himself into the small space between you and the back of the couch, legs entangling itself with yours while an arm is thrown across your body.

This position puts his nose closer to your ears and it makes you shiver. The feel of his hot breath fanning across your skin has given you more goosebumps in under an hour more than you've had throughout your life.

Even drunk, you could feel the building tension thickening around you and the will to tell him to off ebbs away with every caress of his fingers.

Gone were the innocent traces of stars and hearts on your thigh, his hand now grabbed onto your waist almost possessively, thumb rolling slow circles on your bare stomach; the motion conjuring the most unholiest of thoughts known to mankind.

When the credits started rolling, you knew you had to draw the line before you lost yourself to intoxicated thoughts and end the night with regrets.

"Time for you to go home now, your hyungs must be looking for you."

You tried prying his hand from your waist so you could reach for your phone on the table only for him to tighten around you, stopping you from moving away. He groaned, head nuzzling closer into your neck and his lips grazed your skin. 

Instantly, electric jolts shoot through your body.

"Jungkook, I need to get my phone and tell someone to fetch you from here."

"Can't I just stay the night? I'm too comfortable right now…"

The gruff in his voice and the sensation of his lips moving on your skin has your stomach fluttering and you're too drunk to address the growing heat in your abdomen but thanked the sense of professionalism seeping through the fogs of your intoxicated mind.

Managing to pry him off, you reached for your phone and opened up SMS to tell Jin to pick their youngest up.

           [01:21] You: Jwannn

           [01:21] You: can you pick up your kid from my house? He's drunk and stinkyyy

           [01:23] Jinnie: your knight in shining armor is on the way!

“Just let me stay the nighttt,” he whined into your skin.

"I don't have any more spare beds other than this couch for you to sleep in, Gguk. I turned the other room into a closet, remember?"

"I can just sleep with you on the bed, we used to do that, didn't we?"

He attempted to reach around you again but you pushed his limbs away once more before slapping his arm.

You tried not noticing how thicker and harder the muscles felt, you really did. 

"But it's different now, Gguk. Come on, go wash up and drink water, I've already told someo—"

The moment you rose to stand, his arms shot around your waist in record speed and pulled you flush to his front, nuzzling his nose on the back of your neck before he sighed. When the first hot exhale hits your skin, you flinch away but the limbs wounded tightly around your middle restrict you from moving.

You try to ignore the heat simmering under your skin but it was hard when you felt the press of his plush lips on your nape as he leans closer into your skin. 

“You always smell so nice, noona.” He whispered breathily, the sensation of his moving mouth sending shivers down your spine and you shivered.

“I-I can give you my lotion brand later, let me go so I can get it.”

“But I'm comfortable here…”

Mustering every strength left in your body, you manage to pull an arm out of the death grip he had on your body and slapped his hand. Jungkook easily ignores it.

“Come on Gguk, let me out now. This isn't appropriate.”

"How is it different now?"

The alcohol intoxicating your system loosened your grip on your inhibitions and your lips regrettably moved faster than your brain.

"You're a man now, Gguk. Honestly, we shouldn't be even doing this right now. It's inappropriate."

You try to stand once more, managing to pry him from your waist and standing up before his arms hooked around you once more and tugging you back down, this time on his lap as he burrows his head onto your back.

"Gguk?"

"Yo-you see me as a man, noona?"

As a child your mother has taught you how words could heavily influence and drastically change a situation, now as an adult, you've mastered the art of speech. But as you sit still on his thighs, body warm and inhibitions blurred by the alcohol, your loose lips have led you back to the very thing you try to avoid.

"It's hard not to think so when you've grown up this much."

In a flash, Jungkook is now hovering over your face as he places you back down on the couch, his nose a hair's width from touching yours and his hands planted on each side of your head. 

There's a feral hunger swimming in his eyes as it stared into yours, desperate and intense before it fell to the plush of your parted lips and his gaze darkens. All of a sudden, you're a prey pinned down by an apex predator who's ready to devour you at any given moment.

Fire alarms blared in your mind and you regained control over your senses.

“Jungkook.”

"Noona."

You tried wriggling out of his grasp but it was no use, he's stronger. "Get off of me, kid."

“How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not a kid anymore?”

“I'm not hearing anything out when you're acting like this, Gguk.”

He scoffed. “I just want to sleep here, in the same bed, nothing else is gonna happen. Why is it such a bad thing?”

“It's different now, Gguk. Come on, let me go.”

“How is it so different? You and Jimin hyung cuddle sometimes, I've seen you fall asleep next to Hobi hyung once, why is it different with me?”

“It's different because we're both drunk and things could happen.”

“I wouldn't mind it.” Jungkook responds with a cheeky smile. His grip on one of your wrist loosened enough that you were able to hit his arm and he giggled in response.

“But I do. It wouldn't be fair.”

Even something as small as letting one member stay at your home without the others can be the loudest announcement for the rest of the group. All those times you've rejected your friends, with reasons like ‘I don’t want to risk everything’, and ‘I don't want to hurt the others’, to turn back around to accept their youngest would be hypocritical of you.

He scoffs. "You tell us about all your stupid dates, don't you think it's more unfair for us?”

A familiar weight grows in your chest. Guilt tasted like rust on your tongue and dug into your heart with a ribbed knife. Your own late night thoughts manifesting before you and you pushed him away.

After everything, you were all friends, you trusted them more than you do with your other circle. There's not a secret left undiscussed between the eight of you so it was no surprise that you had indulged them with the details of your quest for a husband. Nobody ever raised any complaints with you sharing your days so you never thought twice about it.

It's been five years since Jin had confessed, three for Taehyung. Their eldest had confessed for the sake of him finally being able to move on after your rejection and with how he acted after, you had believed him. It was different for Taehyung who had continued to act like normal after his confession, neither dejected nor did he show signs of letting go but he did introduce a date to your group once, a year later, so you had assumed the same.

Were you wrong after all?

“Jungkook, we're drunk. Let’s talk about this tom—”

“I've never been more sober in my life than I am right now, noona.”

You didn't respond, couldn't reply.

What were you supposed to even say?

Jungkook usually obeyed you and his hyungs without hesitation, happily offering his aid whenever he could. He's the type of friend who's run himself dry just to fetch you a cup of water from the other side of the world but now as he hovers over you, he became a whole new person.

Greed has always been an irritating parasite that eats away at a person's morals but somehow in your drunken mind, you thought it looked so good on him. It fits him and his generous character the way one light clothing molds well with the dark fabrics. His familiar scent of vanilla and coconut clouded your senses, calming your panicking mind into a hush, leaving nothing but the thoughts of how his lips tasted and wondering if he’s as sweet as he smelled.

He let out a shaky exhale from through his mouth as he watched your parted lips with a rapt attention as if hypnotized by the way they subtly trembled with every breath that passed through.

In the pregnant silence of your room, his voice cuts through like a knife.

“Can I kiss you?”

He whispers against your lips, voice breaking in the middle from the weight of his request, honeyed and pleading, as if your kiss holds the answer to the problems of the world and holds the power to break him.

His hand travels up to cup your cheek oh so carefully like you're fragile china yet you feel yourself shatter under his touch.

You are losing grasp on your sober thoughts as lust starts to cloud your already compromised judgment, his request far too tempting to ignore.

Maybe a kiss wouldn’t hurt. 

But wouldn’t it be unfair for the others who have expressed their romantic intentions to you since years ago? 

It was a last ditch effort to reason with your mind and your body froze from the cold wave of realization. In the short time after his question, you recall the confessions you turned down to not ruin the relationship Bangtan has established for themselves and the bitter taste it left on your tongue.

“Jungkook… we can’t.”

Watching his expression contort into confused hurt almost made you want to take your words back, but your mind takes you to memories of apologetic and understanding smiles you’ve received throughout the years and the aches from those moments resurfaces, squeezing your heart in a tight grip.

“I-I’m sorry I can’t control my feelings, I just wanted to tell you about it… Thought that maybe after this, I could move on.” An apologetic voice whispers, the memory of premature confessions in the middle of a cleanup resurfacing.

“I can’t—I can’t do it to them, it’d be unfair.”

You pushed him back and he relented, letting himself be sat back onto the other side of the couch defeatedly. Despite it, his tight grip on your waist remained, pulling you flush to him and burying his face in your chest as if trying to hear the lie in your words through the beatings of your heart.

“I’m also seeing Guwon now.”

“Then don’t let me meet him. I-I don’t know if I can take it.”

It was heart wrenching and at the same time, left an uncomfortable twist in your stomach. Jungkook never had to beg since you first met him, everything he could ever want was given to him by you and his hyungs without hesitation. Hearing him plead for you to never bring Guwon around if fate had actually paired you both, it was a different kind of pain.

It felt like thorns growing and rooting its stems of pointy ends into the deepest parts of your heart. You hated this, but you don’t want to hurt any of your boys by accepting one.

Relief comes in the form of Taehyung when he busted into your apartment while Jungkook has excused himself to your bathroom to sober up just a moment before. Seokjin trails behind him, calmer than the younger man who declared his arrival with a deep voice and a loud bang of the door. You immediately thought of the elderly couple and the new family of three living next to you and internally facepalmed.

“Noona! We’ve come to take Jungkook away!”

Kim Seokjin’s face has never been more handsome when he closed the door behind him, and you verbalized your thought, leading his ears to glow red in embarrassment.

“Am I only handsome to you when I’m closing the doors?! This face that people fawn over all over the world?!”

“It’s your true calling, door guy.”

“Oh shut it hyung, you’re making my head hurt.” Jungkook mutters as he reentered the living room, looking far better than when he left.

The tension was palpable, the effect of a rejected profession still raw and thick in the small joined space of the living room and kitchen and you caught Jin's eyes as the two youngest bickered, there’s a knowing look passed between you, an unsaid ‘let’s talk later’ hanging in the air.

“Hey, just because you got to escape Hoba’s practice without scratch doesn't mean you're hot shit, show me some respect!”

Seokjin scolds, accompanied by a playful kick to their youngest’s butt. Immediately the stuffy air dissipates and Jungkook responds in kind; by kicking him in the shin, hard enough to launch Seokjin into another lengthy nag.

It was a quick retrieval after his rant. Jungkook lets himself be towed out of your apartment by an oddly enthusiastic Taehyung who's going on about a new game trailer he saw online while Jin has offered to be left behind to clean up the mess. It was no doubt obvious, the familiar awkwardness and tenseness brought by a rejected confession lingered in the air when they arrived, it only took him one look at you and he already knew. 

The moment the door slams shut behind the boys, he immediately began:

“Did he admit it?”

His voice was soft yet it rang loudly in the pindrop silence of your living room. The sigh he let out echoed more when you nodded.

“I told him to not do it, you know? But you know how stubborn he gets.”

You didn’t reply. You simply move, walking to the trash bin to put the empty beer cans in and Jin follows close with the bowls stacked on top of each other to place in the sink. It was a brief moment of reprieve. He let the moment from earlier simmer in your stomach, let the smoke from it fill your lungs and weigh your heart till you burst.

Out of the seven boys, you've always turned to either him or Yoongi as they're older than you, so it came to nobody's shock when you break and told him.

“It just never gets better, I always feel guilty even if I didn’t choose. I’m just lucky I didn’t have to suffer through seven of these, I don’t think I could take it and just quit.”

It was a thought you’ve entertained when Taehyung came to you with his heart in his hand, giving it to you carelessly despite knowing how you’ve handled the other confessions. He was all dopey smiles and flushed cheeks, it continued even when you’ve pushed his heart back to him with an apologetic look.

Seeing the happy creases in his eyes iron out despite the huge boxy smile continuing to play on his lips, the existing pressuring guilt reawakened. Taehyung’s heart that gleamed and glowed gold, vulnerable for you to take and use from where it settled in the middle of his offering palms. You could’ve taken advantage of it all as they were rising in fame, when they were facing discrimination from the other companies and had found comfort in you but you didn’t.

Even with the attraction you've felt for them, you were nothing but a makeup artist to the company. Another asset to deploy and replace if it got annoying to handle. You couldn't risk your career on uncertainties, this is your dream job.

You loved them all equally and held them in the same regards as the others, they’re your best friends, chosen soul companions even without the marks to solidify it. 

They loved you and you loved them all but you wouldn't bet your life on an uncertain future.

“You should give us more credit, you know?” 

He says from the kitchen sink, the sound of water slowing into a halt. Seokjin didn’t move for a while. When he did, it was to place down the plates, washing his hands before turning around to face you.

“We’re grown adults now, we can handle rejection so don’t feel too bad about it. You can choose and we’d even help you keep it a secret from everyone besides us eight.”

It was genuine. Even in the haze of your intoxication, those words felt like a cool balm for your aching heart. While Namjoon’s words were cited research, formal and factual and Yoongi’s were calming droughts to ease the discomfort of sadness brought by gloomy thoughts, Seokjin speaks from the heart, true and unbiased but says it with a gentleness and care. 

Guilt sets like a boulder on your heart. Being able to feel, to experience such a privilege when all you've done is break his heart since your hunt for a husband, the weight in your chest multiplied and tears sprung from your eyes.

You wanted them but you couldn't risk your dream job, couldn't risk a friendship as precious as theirs for kisses and hugs that eventually has its ends.

You didn’t even notice it when he crossed the distance between you both and pulled you plush to his chest but you recognized the familiar sensation of plush lips pressing against your forehead.

If it lingered a few seconds past what's platonically allowed, you didn’t mention it.

Seokjin’s muted scent of freshly baked cakes brought silence to the rampaging waves of thoughts in your mind and if you pressed your nose flush to his chest to bury yourself in his fragrance, he didn’t say anything, bringing one hand behind your head protectively.

“I'm sorry to put you through this pain, Jinnie. I-I didn’t know.”

“I knew you didn’t know but I'll be fine... eventually.” He breathes out before leaning down to bury himself into the nest of your hair. "As long as you're happy, then I am too."

It was heavy, being loved and held so preciously even after you’ve turned him down, it felt cruel, sadistic even. But like the selfish woman you are, you accepted it. Soaked in his affections greedily.

“You know, he asked me to never show Guwon around you guys.”

He sighed. “I knew he would.”

“Do you want that as well?

Silence followed but you heard his answer loud and clear.

The second date happened after the first leg of the tour in Seoul.

Although planned suddenly, you appreciated the downtime after being lost in the haze of rushed outfit changes, reapplying makeup, and patting sweat from foreheads. If anything, you were thankful you could loosen up after earlier. The awkward tension didn’t go amiss, it only took Namjoon and Yoongi one look between you and Jungkook before taking charge on how the night progresses.

Yoongi didn't waste any time waving you over to ask for help for his makeup, even when he was already being prepped by one of your older colleagues, Ji hae. Thankfully, the woman lets you take over, saying she wanted a snack anyways.

The man didn't bother asking you what happened and settled comfortably in his chair but not before offering you the snack he bought earlier and was laying neglected on his lap. Yoongi asked about Guwon in a hushed voice, because while you were living in a reverse harem with most of his brothers, he was genuinely curious about your boyfriend-to-be.

Maybe it was the fact he has never admitted his affections for you that made it comfortable to discuss topics you could never talk about with the others with him, but you let your tongue a little loose.

And he listened.

Yoongi has always been a man of action not words, his love language has always been opening water bottles, blankets appearing from nowhere when you're passed out on their couch, and listening attentively. Despite what the world says about his nonchalance and silence, in your eyes, he's the sweetest guy on the roster—not that you'd tell Jimin that of course, he'd riot if he were to find out.

By the end of the concert, Guwon asks you on an impromptu date. A simple late night walk on a market nearby because there's apparently a food fair, and as usual, the expenses are on him. Hungry with a principle of never turning down free food, of course you accepted. 

Though you had a long time deciding whether to go or not with Jungkook’s confession still fresh.

Minutes later, he's waiting for you by the exit. The scene of him leaning on his Mercedes, waiting for you to reach him at the bottom of the stairs looks like it was pulled out of a kdrama.

Oddly enough, they didn’t question your lack of updates in the group chat but Jimin reached out later on and you suspect he told everyone your whereabouts instead, hopefully minus the date part to spare the others (read: Jungkook) from heartbreak.

The fair looked like a mirage of a paradise in the night hidden away in a small gently-lit up alley. The path was lightened up with gentle lanterns hung above you, the warm colors setting a more intimate scene. It wasn’t as luxurious as dinner from yesterday or as calming as the bike ride around the Han river but you appreciated it nonetheless.

You’re ready to drop dead but you pushed through, you wanted this relationship to work. Because then, maybe the monsters—your mother and her wide selection of personalities as well as aunties, her friends, trying to refer you to their horrible sons—haunting you from under your bed will finally leave you alone.

It was cruel that you’re using someone else to erase the memory of being professed to by one of your best friends.

Guwon was happy enough to take charge the whole date, leading you from food stall after food stall, ordering whatever your eyes lingered at which is half of what the fair offers. He understands your lack of responses as it is, tired from work, and talked enough for the both of you. Which you are grateful for.

He talked about his job and what happened that day, willingly telling you about the story of how he and his co-workers clicked back in College, never to part till now in the field they wanted. He spoke of his dreams, how he envisioned his dream home by the province surrounded by nature and the cat named Nabi waiting for him at home.

There's nothing more blatant of a signal than the last part, whether you accept it or not depends on you.

Normally, you would've frowned at the thought, immediately thinking of running away but as the night deepens and stalls start to close, the idea grows more and more tempting despite the logical voice in your head disagreeing. Seeking a distraction and possibly leading on a kind man is cruel, both to him and you.

But at the end of the day, it’s just an escape from the reality you're stuck in, a temporary answer to a long time problem. 

How harmful can it be? 

People had hookups before, you’ve had hookups before your mother has started a hunt for your husband this year so what are you so reluctant for? 

If this man is to be your husband, you should check your physical compatibility right?

You shivered. God, you sounded like one of those shitty guys you’ve dated before.

"Hey, the stalls just closed. Are you fine with me driving you back to your house?"

His voice cuts through your deep thoughts and you turn to him. Even in the dimly lit corner of the alley, Guwon looked attractive as ever with his dimpled smile and laid back attitude, his soft eyes gleaming under the lanterns, affections overflowing from his gaze and you. shuddered from its weight. 

Staring at the man, you wondered if you'd ever fall in love with him as he seemed right now.

Soon enough, you both arrive in front of your apartment building. However, not every plan goes through as you thought it'd go and you find two familiar figures rushing down to meet you. 

Taehyung didn't hesitate to run up to you with open arms and a wide smile. He didn't even care that you both almost toppled over if it wasn't for Guwon hand supporting you from the back.

"Wh-why are you two here? Shouldn't you guys be resting?"

Jimin shrugged but you caught the mischievous glint in his eyes as a small smile tugs his lips. "Hyung got so worried and wanted us to make sure you got home safely."

"Even a thumbs up would be great but you ignored every text and call! Jin hyung panicked and sent us out, if you didn't come home, he would've had a huge manhunt for you." Taehyung chimed in, pulling away but keeping his hands on your shoulders as he stared deep into your eyes, as if trying to hypnotize you into believing them.

Jimin snickered. “Yoongi hyung was an hour away from declaring you missing so the good dongsaengs we are, we decided to camp outside your apartment.”

You would've accepted his explanation, it was logically sound yet the dark glint of mischief and something else in his eyes as his gaze bounced from you to Guwon told you a different story.

They've always had to interrupt your dates when it becomes sour but this was the first time they've confronted a potential partner outside the intentions of ruining a date because you wanted it to suck.

This was them laying their claim over their own, a silent statement. A declaration you try not to think so much about, fearing you'd dig yourself deep and fall to your death.

“These must be one of your kids?” Guwon asks from behind, reminding you of his presence and you turn to him with an apologetic look.

“Yeah, Taehyung and Jimin. I practically raised them.”

Jimin scoffs and your head snapped to him, widening your eyes in warning to which he ignored. “Just because you’re a year older, doesn’t mean you could say you raised us you know?”

“See what I deal with everyday?” 

Guwon laughs lightheartedly before patting your head to get your attention. “Since your kids are here to protect you, I should get going now.”

“Drive safely.”

“See you soon?”

“Definitely.”

Then he placed a haste kiss on the edge of your lips, catching you off guard and you froze. Guwon was already in his car by the time you realized what happened and turned to chastise him. You couldn't even knock on the passenger window when the arms coiled around your shoulders tightened and tugged you close.

Letting Guwon kiss you in front of one of the men who confessed to you once was the first mistake, second was looking up at Taehyung whose hug is starting to hurt.

Gone were the usual giddiness and child-like enthusiasm that would pour from his eyes. It was replaced by a colder glare, almost blank and emotionless as it narrowed behind you and jaw locked tight. There was something primal in the way his hand behind your head was pushing you closer to him as if he was hounding over his game from another predator.

Goosebumps prickled your skin awake.

If butterflies exploded in your stomach and ignited a molten heat in your abdomen at that very moment, it's a secret you’d take to your grave.

“Tae?”

“Noona, I think we should head inside. It's getting cold.” Jimin’s sweet voice sounded forced and you resisted the urge to look at him.

While their reaction to being challenged is obvious, you couldn't, for the life of you, figure out why he should feel like that when he’s been seeing other people since his confession. From your past dates where he attended as one of your escape plans, he’s  never expressed such an intense show of displeasure so you thought his fleeting crush had passed.

Until tonight.

When Taehyung pulled away, the traces of his hostility were gone and you had to double take at how vastly different he's appearing now. He has his lower lip pushed out into a pout, eyes wide with mirth as he reaches up to cup your cheeks, his warm palms heating your cold-nipped skin.

“Aigoo, you're so cold noona. Let's go in and binge that foreign show you've been following.”

With hands now intertwined, he leads you inside the building where Jimin was already standing inside and was holding the door open for you both. You were being tugged into your own home yet you couldn’t help but feel tense as Taehyung and Jimin welcomed you back in with the same dark look you saw earlier.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

THE DRIVE- L. HOWLETT

Pairing- Older! Logan x Mutant! Fem! Reader (Enemies to Lovers)

Word Count: 2.6k (an introduction to the series)

Summary: After being put on the goverments watchlist for being an "unsafe" mutant, Logan 'jumps' (tackles) to the rescue, taking you to the X-Mansion. However, you and Logan do not get along... at all.

Warnings: mentions of violence and guns, swearing, logan and y/n not getting along, crying, reader kinda thristing over logan (as one does)

**authors note/ things to note: this may not be lore accurate/ canon because i haven't watched the x-men movies since i was younger, so its roughly based off what i can kinda remember hehe. y/n has jean greys powers, and jean does not exist in this universe, this is nemies to lovers- but a slowww burn :)

"all this sympathy is just a knife, why I can't even grit my teeth and lie? ifeel all these feelings i can't control..."- sympathy is a knife, charli xcx

“I don’t like you.” you stated plainly, crossing your arms with a huff. This was the most blunt you had been with anyone, ever. But you couldn’t help it.

You had known Logan Howlett now for an hour, and it was an hour you would never get back.

“You’re not s’possed to like me kid. You’re supposed to listen to me, which you’re failing miserably at.” the older man growled, barely looking over at you from the driver's seat. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he slammed down on the gas.

You were thankful in that moment seatbelts were invented.

You bet ten dollars Logan was around when they came up with the idea.

He was an asshole.

He was tasked with the mission to get you to safety- as you were a “rogue” quote on quote mutant as the public called your kind. It made your head spin, not only from Logan’s driving but the sheer weight of it all.

One morning you were pouring your orange juice, the next the national guard was surrounding your house, and a man who happened to have claws shoot out of his knuckles had dived and tackled you as the gunfire started.

Now you were here, in an old rusty truck- speeding down a back road through the woods with an old man who seemed to hate everything. On the run, on your way to the mutant academy- to start over, and to learn how to control your powers.

Or so you hoped.

Logan wasn’t making the trip there very pleasant though.

“I’m listening to you. And even if I wasn’t- do you blame me?! After what just happened I don’t know- maybe an hour ago?!” you rolled your eyes, glaring at him hard enough to leave laser beams through his skin.

“You’re a mutant. Get used to it.”

“Get used to it?!”

He shrugged. “That’s what I said, ain’t it bub? I was tasked to take care of you and get you to safety, so I’m doing that. Doesn’t mean you have to like me.”

You huffed, staring out the window at the trees that blurred together, dark leaves falling on the ground as you whipped by. “I don’t like you.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that kid.”

“I’m not a kid, you know.”

He snorted, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Sure.” It was silent in the car for a few minutes, minus the crackly radio, the station starting to cut out as you ventured deeper into the woods.

You leaned forward, turning it off. Silence.

“So… are you actually two hundred?” you asked meekly, darting your eyes over to stare at him. Even if he was a dick, he was handsome as hell. You couldn’t even deny that.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask someone their age?” he mocked.

“Sorry, I forgot elders were sensitive to that kind of thing. Let me know if you need help getting your walker from the back.” you snapped back, as he showed teeth at you- growling.

Good. Piss him off as much as you could, so when you got to the academy he would leave you alone.

He muttered something under his breath, something about how kids these days have no respect (despite you very much not being a child), and you tuned out.

With a sigh, you leaned your head against the window, the events of today taking a toll on your body. You looked up at the clouds rolling by, until they faded away to black.

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

Strong arms carried you, and you curled into the warmth they provided, hands clinging to a rock hard chest. You yawned, savouring the rocking motion, until it stopped.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking quickly as you adjusted to the dimming light. It was dark out, stars replacing the clouds from earlier- and two dark orbs stared at you intensely.

You squeaked, stumbling down to your feet, backing away from Logan quickly.

“Good morning.” he smirked at your sudden reaction, your frown lines deeply etched in your forehead compared to how they were a few seconds previous.

“What are you doing?!”

“Walking you to our room.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head.

“Our room?! And I can walk by myself, thank you very much.” He snorted, jangling the keys in his pocket. “Really? I didn’t know you could sleep walk.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Can’t. Already tried.” he said, unlocking the door with a click. 106 was scrawled across the wooden door, and the strong smell of lemon cleaning supplies nearly suffocated you as he stepped inside.

He must have stopped at a motel somewhere along the route- in the middle of nowhere. It was older, not as old as him- but aged. It must have been quiet, you assumed- because Logan didn’t seem like the type of guy to willingly choose to be around people, especially not when on the run.

As shitty as the situation was, you were thankful for a place to sleep, and for a proper bed. The car seatbelt and window was not very comfortable, your neck aching from it rolling down during your nap.

You stepped inside, noting the very obvious couples room, a large bed in the middle of the room, with no pull out couch. You gulped.

“I’ll take the floor.” you stated, as he closed and locked the door behind you. Unease lingered in your stomach.

Please god, do not make me sleep with the Wolverine. I do not have the strength, nor patience today.

“Don’t be stupid girl.” And that was that. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it on a little table, flickering on a little side lamp.

You were stunned into silence. You tried so hard not to look.

So. Damn. Hard.

But his muscles were on display, so much so they might as well be their own art exhibit.

His white tank top clinged to his tan skin tightly, and you watched his muscles flex, dog tags jangling on his chest as he snagged a pillow from the bed and tossed it on the floor.

You quickly looked away before he caught you staring, and taunted you for it.

“I’m going to shower.”

No reply. You bit your lip, turning around quietly and tugged your skirt down as you walked in the bathroom and shut the door.

No amount of scrubbing of the shit hotel loofa could get the grime of the day off your skin- soap foaming as quickly as it sputtered down the drain. You tried to stay in the shower as long as you could- dreading the awkwardness that the night would entail- but soon the water turned ice cold.

Shivering, you rinsed off your hair, cranking the taps until water dripped faintly. Wiping the mirror, you stared at yourself in the reflection.

A long scratch darted up your neck, little ones dotting across your arm. You wished you had Logan’s healing abilities. They were ugly, harsh and jagged- standing out like a sore thumb.

You hoped your pjs covered it, you thought, as you wrapped a thin towel across your body, acting as a corset the way it caused your breasts to pop.

Then it hit you. You didn’t have pjs. You didn’t have anything but the clothes on your back (bathroom floor).

Fuck. Could this get any worse?

Not only did you have to sleep in the same room as Logan, you had to ask him for clothes?! Taking a deep breath, you opened the door a sliver, its loud creak echoing throughout the entire room.

“Uh… Logan?”

“Mhgm.”

You poked your head out, eyes darting to survey the space- seeing your bed untouched, long legs poking out from the other end on the floor.

“I- uh.. kinda forgot pjs.”

Nothing, and then a loud laugh emerged from him, his body shaking from the sheer sound of it. “Course you did kid. Here.” he tossed a black t-shirt your way, and it landed on the carpet with a plop.

It would be massive on you, you could already tell- but it was something. Usually you had to go on a few dates and sleep with a guy a few times before you got to this stage. Not an option this time.

You quickly stepped out and grabbed it before he could look up at your (barely) covered body, shrugging it on in the bathroom.

It smelt like him, like whisky and smoke, cider and fresh cut grass. It was comforting, in this moment of chaos. You breathed in the fabric, resting your head against the wall.

Your lip wobbled, hot, salty tears slipping down your cheeks as you gasped for air.

It hurt. Everything hurts.

You were exhausted, hungry and more anxious and overwhelmed than anything. The shock had started to fade, your hands had started to shake and you couldn’t help but break down.

You didn’t care if Logan heard you. The tears continued to fall, body heaving as sobs tore through your body. How was life so unfair? So cruel? Things had changed so fast- and you hadn’t asked for your abilities. You didn’t even know how to control them yet.

But that was what made you dangerous to the government. You thought, growing even more angry with yourself. But how was it your fault?

It made you sick. You just wanted to go home, lay in your own bed and eat your own food, to see your friends and go to work. You never thought those words would leave your lips- but it was true. It was routine, and it was normal.

You felt normal, when you were filing paperwork, talking on the phone to clients. As boring as it could be at times, it was steady.

And now?

You were bouncing around like a ping-pong ball. A coin had been flipped, your fate plastered on either side- and you had lost the draw. Taking a shaky breath, you attempted to regain your composure before facing the judgemental beast outside.

Your eyes were puffy, cheeks sticky and warm with drying tears. Wiping your face, you found the courage to slink back into the main room, flicking off the side lamp Logan had left on. If he had to shower, he could find his way in the dark.

You were sure he could see in the dark- all wolves could- couldn’t they?

Slouching into bed, you gripped the thin sheets tightly- cocooning yourself to try and stay warm. The air was on full blast, despite it being chill outside- and you assumed you had Logan to thank for that.

Great. I’m going to get hypothermia before I even get to the fucking school.

“Do you have to have the air on full blast?” you asked, looking over the side of the bed, watching as Logan crankly peered an eye open.

“Yes.”

“Well could you I don’t know, survey the scene and see it’s cold outside already?”

He huffed.

“I’m warm. I’m always warm.”

“Well that’s not my problem. Be considerate wolf.” you rolled your eyes, hugging the sheets tighter to your body.

“Deal with it kid. It’s staying on- if you don’t like it, sleep outside.”

Well that made you sit up.

“You’re such a dick.”

“Yeah getting a motel room and letting you have the bed- real dick move eh?”

You huffed, gritting your teeth together. This man was pushing your buttons more than they had ever been pushed before. You hated how much he got under your skin. It was like you had your own set of claws, that only he could set off.

“Well I shouldn’t even be in this situation.”

“Yeah we all think that. Shut up and sleep.” he growled, rolling over to face away from the bed.

“You could at least have some respect.”

That was all you asked for, anyways. You had shown him it even when you were in deaths way, thankful for him for saving you. He didn’t show an ounce of it back.

“I’m not giving you any sympathy, if that’s what your asking.”

It felt like a knife had stabbed you in the back, twisting your insides. You whipped up again, throwing a pillow at his face.

“I’m not asking for your fucking sympathy you old piece of shit!” you yelled, earning nothing but silence in return.

He was over you.

Fine. You could do the exact same thing- but better.

Turning your back to him (a dangerous thing to do, you thought), you squeezed your eyes shut and listened to the hum of the air conditioning unit.

Not long after, the weight of the day pulled you back under the waves of sleep again.

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

“Wake up kid.” a gruff voice called out to you, a firm hand shaking you. You awoke with a start, blinking until the room came into focus.

Two beaded eyes stared at you narrowly from above you, rolling as you mumbled. It was still dark out, as no light showed through the thin curtains.

The clock read 5:00 and you sighed.

“Breakfast on the table. Get dressed and we’re leaving.”

“Good morning to you too.” you grumbled, rubbing sleep out of your eye. A very stale looking muffin sat on the table, next to Logan’s black coffee.

“Why are you feeding me?” you asked, walking over to take a dry bite. You were famished. Eating anything completely slipped your mind.

“Because Charles would kill me if I didn’t. I said I’d look after you. You can’t starve.”

“Jeez I thought that was the plan all along.”

It tasted like sand in your mouth as you took a bite. You were grateful for it, nonetheless. “I never said I wanted you to starve.” he grumbled to himself, taking a long sip from his mug.

“It was heavily implied.” you spat, turning over the mini coffee bar, finding a kettle and a bag of earl grey. You waited for the water to come to a boil, the kettle screaming at you while you poured it.

You were ready for this day to be over and it hadn’t even begun yet. You had a feeling you would have to get used to it- or else it would eat you alive.

Just like how Logan looked right now- like he’d tear your limbs from you and chew them. You wouldn’t put it past him.

“When you finish that we’re leaving. You got five minutes.” he said, grabbing the truck keys from the table. “Five minutes? I haven’t even had a chance to wake up yet!”

“Too bad. We gotta go kid.” He slammed the door hard behind him, rattling the frame as he unlocked the vehicle.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, asshole.” you mumbled under your breath, chugging down the rest of your tea as fast as you could. If you were back home you would have the morning to lounge around in a bathrobe, sipping your tea slowly with a book and some fresh fruit.

The odd time you would use your powers to move the toast to the toaster, or to move your slippers to your feet. But that was no longer the case.

The tea tasted bitter as you chugged it, burning your throat. You shrugged on yesterday's clothes, running into the bathroom to splash cold water on your face.

The front door swung open and before Logan could protest- you bolted out the room. “I’m out, I’m out. Jesus.” Scrambling to the front seat, you watched as Logan glared over his shoulder, slamming the door.

It was going to be an extremely long drive.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Right Answer

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: none

Summary: What you need is a road trip with your crush, aka your older brother’s best friend, to get your mind off your problems and stress. When he goes to get gas, a woman shows up and starts to flirt with Bucky, causing you to be jealous. How do you show Bucky that you want him without actually telling him that?

Squares Filled: road trip (2020) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

It’s been one of those days. Your brother is out of town with his girlfriend so you have the house to yourself, but you hate being alone. You hear every creak the house makes, you think someone is watching you, and you hate sleeping inside an empty house. He’s only been gone for a week but he still has two more weeks before he’s back from vacation. He made his best friend promise to look after you while he’s gone but he’s been over once since he left.

Not that you minded much. You have a major crush on Bucky but the last thing you’re going to do is tell him that. You’re eight years younger than him and Steve, so you’re afraid all he’ll ever see you as is his best friend’s little sister. You and Bucky have a good relationship since he’s always over to hang with Steve, but you two rarely hang out together. You might have the opportunity now since Steve is gone, but you’re having such a bad day that you’re not sure Bucky will be able to cheer you up.

However, it would be nice to hang with Bucky after the shitty day you’ve had at work. You pace the empty living room silently with your phone in your hand, debating whether or not you should call Bucky. It would be nice to talk about your day with someone. You dial Bucky’s number before you can talk yourself out of it and put the phone to your ear.

He doesn’t let it ring past the second one.

“Hey, Doll,” he drawls.

“Hey. Are you busy?”

“I’m free for you.” Your cheeks heat up and butterflies erupt in your stomach. “What’s up?”

“Do you want to go for a drive? I need out of this house.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”

Bucky is there in ten. He even shows up with flowers in hand which make the butterflies double in size. After putting them in water, you two get in the sleek black muscle car that he loves so much. He has always wanted a 1970 Chevy Camaro and was only able to get his hands on a convertible. He doesn’t use it much unless you’re in the car with him because he knows how much you love the wind in your hair.

You tie your hair in a low ponytail to keep it down, and he puts the top down before pulling out of your driveway. There are plenty of backroads to avoid traffic which Bucky takes instead of the main highway.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asks after ten minutes into the drive.

“I think my boss wants to fire me or wants me to quit. He’s been cutting my hours and taking responsibility away from me even though I’m working my ass off for him. I work harder than everyone else and put in more hours than everyone, and he still treats me this way. I don’t want to quit because I finally do something in my field. I’m a good photographer but he either doesn’t see it or doesn’t like me.”

“You’re one of the best photographers I know.”

“I’m the only photographer I know,” you chuckle.

“Still. I’ve seen your work. You’re natural talent. I think I might want pictures of this car.”

This causes you to laugh at the thought of Bucky with pictures of his car hanging on his walls. He doesn’t have a girlfriend to hang so may as well hang his car. Bucky looks over at you and admires the smile on your face. He loves seeing you smile.

“I like seeing you smile.”

Heat spreads across your cheeks and you look away while trying to hide your smile. Stop. He’s your older brother’s best friend. He is nearly a decade older than you. He’s just trying to be nice. Whatever he’s doing is working. It’s getting your mind off your shitty day. Bucky continues to drive for another hour with the wind in your hair and music blasting through the speakers.

“Hey, I have to stop at the gas station.”

“Sure,” you nod.

Bucky pulls into the closest gas station and gets out while you stay seated. You pull out your phone and begin browsing your social media. The gas tank is on your side so Bucky walks around the car and starts filling her up.

“Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Oh, I do?” you chuckle and look up at him.

“Yeah. I know for a fact that you haven’t eaten anything all day so I know you’re hungry. If you don’t get food in you now, you’ll be cranky and wake up with a stomach ache. Now, do you want taquitos or hot dogs?”

What…? How does he know that? The only two things you eat from a gas station are taquitos or hot dogs. The pizza always tastes like cardboard, and you don’t want to dine on junk food all the time.

“Taquitos.”

“Be right back.”

Bucky goes inside the gas station and returns two minutes later with some blue Powerade and three taquitos. The pump is still going so he leans back and crosses his arms while waiting for the gas pump to stop.

“Hey, nice car.”

You look over your phone and see a skinny blonde woman walk up to Bucky with flirty eyes.

“Thanks.”

“Makes sense you would own something like that. Fitting for your type.”

His type? Who the hell does she think she is? She doesn’t know Bucky.

“My type? What type would that be?”

“Gym rat, maybe a motorcycle driver, always wanting to show off what he has, but loyal to the ones he loves. Am I getting close?” she smiles.

“Yeah, you are.”

Bucky shifts his weight to his other foot which you take for him being uncomfortable. He puts his hand on top of the window and since the top is still down, you can easily grab it if you want to. Grab it. Show her that he’s yours. Bucky isn’t yours. He only sees you as a little sister. Suddenly, you’re not so hungry. The little green monster known as jealousy sits on your shoulder even though you have no reason to be jealous. Bucky isn't yours and he would never go for you.

Still, you can’t help but reach up and grab his hand. You don’t have to look at Bucky to know he’s smirking.

“So, look, I’m free this Friday and you’re very cute. Want to do something with me? Get to know each other?” she boldly asks.

You squeeze his hand instinctively and he moves his hands in further to grip your hand more. She hasn’t looked in the car since arriving otherwise she’d see you sitting there.

“Sorry, but I gotta go. My girl’s in the car.”

You take your hand away from Bucky as he turns to the pump that has stopped. The woman finally looks at you but you can’t meet her eyes. She nods and walks off without saying a word, and Bucky gets back behind the wheel. You can’t seem to look at him because not only do you have a bunch of butterflies, but you’re kind of embarrassed. You didn’t mean to take him from what you’re sure was a heartfelt moment but you don’t want to think about Bucky with anyone but you.

Does that make you selfish? Maybe.

He pulls out of the gas station and returns to the back roads to get home. The ride is silent for the first ten minutes before Bucky turns the music down.

“So, are we gonna talk about that?”

“Talk about what?”

“You really playing dumb now?”

“What? That woman clearly wanted in your pants. There’s nothing to talk about it.”

“Oh no, there’s clearly something to talk about.”

Bucky reaches over and grabs your hand before pulling it into his lap. You try to yank it away but he has a strong grip on your hand.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Just take me home.”

“Whatever you say, Doll.”

The rest of the ride is spent in complete silence. As soon as Bucky parks the car in front of your house, you’re bolting out of it. Bucky is quicker than you are so he chases after you to the front of the house. You shove the key inside the lock and twist it, pushing the door open to get inside before he can get to you. Luck is not on your side, unfortunately, and he pushes his way in before you can close the door.

“Where are you going, Doll? We’re talking about this.”

“For the hundredth time, there’s nothing to talk about. She was clearly annoying you. I was just trying to save you.”

Bucky keeps the door open and walks you backward into the wall.

“Nope, you’re going to tell me the truth.”

“What truth is there to tell?”

“You were jealous,” he smirks.

“What?! No, I wasn’t.”

“Wrong answer. You didn’t want me going out with her.”

“No. You can do whatever you want.”

“Wrong answer.” Bucky presses you more into the wall and puts his hand on it right next to your head, caging you in. “I’m gonna ask you one more time. Were you jealous?”

“Please, if the roles were reversed, you would have been fine,” you scoff.

You try to ignore how hard your heart is beating or how sweaty your palms get.

“No, I wouldn’t have. Every guy who touches you, talks to you, or looks at you makes me rage. So, no I wouldn’t have been okay. I would’ve been jealous, and I would’ve been able to tell you that.”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know. You might be Steve’s little sister but you’re more than that to me. I don’t give just anyone rides in my car, and I hate the top being down but I do it because you love it. So, were you jealous?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Right answer,” he smirks.

He closes the distance between you two and kisses you, and he slides his fingers through your hair. This is the moment that changes everything. Everything you’ve ever wanted is right here kissing you, and there’s no way you’re gonna let him go now.

x

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[probablyintensemuses]

Dating Armando Aretas Would Include:

Grumpy x Sunshine Edition

🎧- Enchanted: Taylor Swift

pairing: Armando Aretas x black fem! reader

themes: grumpy x sunshine w/drabble

warnings: mentions of trauma & abuse, strong language, and a bit of gore.

authors note: I saw Bad Boys 4 again last night and it’s really refueled my Armando obsession, so more headcannons, drabbles, and fics on the way.

✨First Encounters✨

You and Armando meet in the worst of circumstances.

He, his father, and Marcus were on the run as wanted men, and you were the first person Mike thought to turn to after the attack at Tabatha’s.

Which he wasn’t wrong, you’d give your left kidney to Mike he’s saved you so many times.

You had let them into your small apartment, offering them clothes, food, and shelter until they could get in touch with the rest of the Ammo team and sort this shit out.

Armando had taken an interest to you then. Your house was warm and cozy, lived in. A small, plush couch, next to a coffee table littered with medical books. A kitchen stacked with teas and espressos , a dresser with vintage vinyls and a record player beside it. This was the kind of house he’d like to live in if he lead a different life.

You remember walking over to him, a picture of your parents and you when you were young in his hands.

“Those are my parents,’ you say. “I was ten then.”

Armando’s gruff exterior takes over though, and he doesn’t give you as much as a word back, let alone a thank you for feeding and housing literal fugitives.

You figured it was just him though and let it roll off you back like water.

You all got some sleep and the next day Mike asks you to drive them out to Dorn’s house on the dock. You agree and begin to load up the truck with guns, water, food, and extra clothes for the drive.

This is when Armando starts to question who you are and the legitimacy of your actions. Last person Mike trusted fucked them over, and he wasn’t having that shit again.

So he pulls his father aside and confronts him on the situation: you.

“How can we trust her?” Armando says, not far out of earshot of you.

“She’s good for it, trust me.”

“Didn’t you say that the last time and we got sold out. Don’t forget there is fucking five million dollar bounty on our heads. We can’t trust no one!” He whisper-shouted.

Mikes shoulders dropped. “I saved her life when she was younger, and I used to work with her parents. Trust me, she’s not going to pull a fast one. Because if she was, she would have done it already.”

Armando looked over at you, you’re dressed in a tank top, and that’s when he notices the cuts and burns littering your left arm. He sucks in a deep breath eyeing Mike who looks at you with sympathy too. There’s a story there, he’ll piece it together later, but for now he guesses you’re his only hope of getting out alive.

✨Post-fallout ✨

After you didn’t screw them over, and got them safety to Dorn’s, Armando found himself limping towards your apartment, blood trailing behind his feet.

Mike had sent him, and for some reason, at that moment, your place felt like exactly what he needed.

With the last of his energy, he banged on your door. Shortly, you answered and immediately went into panic mode.

The moment you let him inside, Armando crashes to the floor, passing out.

You screech and get every first aide equipment you have on hand and begin to bandage him up and stop the bleeding.

It took two bloody, sweaty hours, but you eventually got him all closed up.

Armando woke the next morning in a bed he didn’t recognize. This sent him into a frenzy. He went to shoot up out of the bed, but the soreness of his injuries knocked him back down.

“Fuck,” he moaned, grabbing at his torso.

From the living room, you turn down your headphones at the sound of movement. Armando must be awake.

Two days of rest, not bad.

You move towards the microwave and reheat the breakfast you had made him, pour some orange juice, and bring a whole heck of a lot of water and pain-pills.

Tray in hand, you kick open the door and slip inside your bedroom.

“Good morning.” You smile, setting the tray on the bed by his side. “How do you feel?”

“What the fuck did you put in this.” Armando asks, eyeing the food.

“Eggs, bacon, and toast.” You snicker.

Armando lifts a piece of toast, taking a bite. “If I die from this, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted, Sarg.” You salute.

You watch Armando eat his food with a smile on your face.

Eventually he looks up at you scowling. “Why are you staring at me.”

You shrug. “I’m just happy you’re okay.” You say truthfully.

“Well,’ Armando takes a swig of water, downing the pills. “Go be happy somewhere else.”

Your shoulders drop and you let out a sigh, you knew Armando was tough, but geez, you practically saved his life. Would it kill him to be a little nice?

But still you smile when you say, “okay, well if you need me, I’ll be out in the living room studying. Feel free to roam around, I don’t mind.”

It was a couple hours before Armando had come out of your room, limping over to the kitchen and rummaging through your fridge.

“I’m making dinner right now,’ you say, pausing your television show. “It’s a roast with veggies.”

“I want a beer.” He grumbles.

“Well I don’t have beer, but I do have wine.” You say, pointing to you collection of reds and whites.

“ I don’t want wine.”

“Okay, so what do you want me to do?”

Armando comes over to you, cornering you into the tiny space between your sink and the counter. “Get me a beer.”

“Let’s start over,’ you stick out your hand for a shake. “I think we’re at a misunderstanding of our situation.”

Armando frowns at your response, grumbling Spanish curses under his breath and walking away, slamming your door like a toddler.

The roast was done, and eventually you got Armando to come and have dinner with you…kind of.

He sat on the couch and watched the news, for updates on the status for his search, and you sat at the table, contemplating what to do with him next.

✨Enemies, Friends, Roomates✨

Mike had told you harboring Armando would only be for a short while until he could figure something out with the D.A’s office….that was three months ago.

Eventually you got your bed back, Armando taking the couch, but not your sanity.

Living with Armando wasn’t easy. He was brash, stand-offish, stubborn, and mean.

You did everything to try and form some kind of bond with him, even buying him gym equipment offline, but it just never clicked for him.

Not until one night when you’re studying late for an exam and happen to fall asleep at the kitchen table, books all around you.

That’s when you fall into a nightmare. The man who ruined your life the star of the show, again.

It always starts the same. You and your parents living happily at the park. Your parents watch you as you swing higher and higher, giggles filling the air. Then a man appears at the edge of the park, beckoning your parents over. You scream and shout for them but they never turn back, they keep going to the man. And when he has your parents in his grip, he brandishes a knife, slicing them open.

You let out a blood curling scream, slamming awake and falling to the group. Sweat sticks your curls to your face as you cry and gasp for breath.

Armando’s up in a second, swarming you.

“Estás bien?’ He pats you down, checking you out. “What’s happened to you?”

You can’t do anything but cry. The man who’s ruined your life, he’ll never leave you…he made sure of that in many ways. His latching to you is so deep that you can’t even escape him when you sleep.

You finally are able to get some words out, tell Armando, “I had a nightmare. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,’ he helps you stand. “Maybe you should get some sleep in your bed.”

You’re shocked by his response, but you’re even more shocked by the way he helps you to your room.

“What are you doing?” You asks, confused.

“You just flew out your chair from a nightmare, what do you mean what am I doing? I’m helping you.”

“Yeah, I get that…but you never help me.”

Armando sighs, holding his hands at his hips. “You gonna tell me what it was about, or should I leave.”

You sigh. “When I was younger, my parents worked for the Miami Police Department. They were detectives and before I was born they ended up helping catch this serial killer. His name was Gunter Bennett but the media called him “The Gutter” because that’s how he killed. Years later, somehow he escaped prison. That’s when he came for my parents. He killed them in the middle of the night.’ You take an uneasy breath, finding birth relief and shock when Armando’s hand slips into yours. “And I was sure he was going to kill me too, but he didn’t…he did worse. He kidnapped me and kept me at some shithole for three years. Three.”

You rile up your sleeves and show all your burns and cuts. Armando remembers them from the first day he met you.

“It’s how I got these. That sadistic bastard,’ you cry. “He tortured me.”

Armando feels something in him snap hearing your story and seeing the ways it’s effected you, even now. He knows what it’s like to be harmed and loose the people closest to you.

So he shocks even himself with what does next, scooping you up like a wounded bird and nuzzling under the blankets with you.

You whimper and sniffle in his arms and he just hushes you, stroking your curls.

“It’s going to be alright, niña bonita, he’s gone now.”

Slowly, the exhaustion of work, school, and your tears overcome you and you both drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

✨My Lover✨

Armando was jealous.

You two had just spent the day out shopping, laughing and talking. Hell, you two live together! And yet you’re grinding on another man at the bar?!

The glass in Armando’s hand shakes and chips as he squeezes it further.

“Relax, muscle milk. You’ll break the glass.” Marcus says.

Armando scowls at him.

“I’m just saying, if you love her, tell her.” Marcus shrugs, walking away.

Armando scoffs. Love? Yeah right.

Did he feel close to you, yes.

Want to spend every breathing moment with you, yes.

Touch himself in the shower thinking about you, yes .

Oh fuck…he did love you.

Fuck! He loved you and you’re grinding another man!

Armando pushed out of his chair, it clattering to the ground in his wake.

He stalked over to you, grabbing your wrist and putting room between you and the man you danced on.

“ ‘Mando, what are you doing?” You stumble, clearly drunk.

“Let’s go.” He grabs you, chest heaving.

“Hey, wait!” You swat at him as he drags you through the bar and out the exit. “Why would you do that?” You whine.

“Because you’re drunk.” He rolls his eyes, slinging his leather jacket over your naked shoulders.

“I’m not!’ You whine, stumbling, luckily Armando catches you with ease. “I am.”

“You are. Let’s go.” He says, slinging you and carrying you bridal shower.

“Ah,’ you say, wrapping your arms around Armando’s neck and snuggling into him. “My knight in shining armor always takes such good care of me.’ You lean over, smacking his butt with a giggle.

“Shut up.” Armando says, resisting the urge to crack a smile.

Home, Armando tucks you into bed. He’s just about to walk away when you snatch his wrist, pulling him on top of you.

“Let’s play a game,” you whisper.

Armando rolls his eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Truth for truth. I tell you a truth and you do the same. “I’ll start.” You giggle.

“Tonight went exactly how I planned.”

Armando pulls back. “What do you mean by that?”

You shake your head and pout. “Uh uh. You’re turn.”

Armando sighs. “I don’t actually find you that annoying…anymore.”

“Ah, I knew it!” You laugh.

“Knew what?”

“Game over.’ You slump and snore, pretending to sleep.

“Stop it, you knew what?” Armando lifts you.

You bop his nose. “I knew that you loved me.”

Armando’s eyes get big. “What?”

“Me and kelly paid that guy to dance with me. We knew you’d get mad and that was all the proof I needed.”

“You’re a dick.” He starts to walk away, but you grab him by his belt loop.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You pull him back. “But you don’t have to be shy.” You hiccup.

Armando grumbles, nuzzling his face into your stomach. “And why’s that?”

You lift his head, angling it to face you. “Because I love you too.” You lean forward, placing a firm kiss onto his plump lips.

Armando reciprocates, opening his mouth turning the kiss fierce and hot. He climbs on top of you, mumbling against your lips. “And I thought you were supposed to be the nice one.”

You giggle. “Feels good to be bad for a change.”

[dreamdrbbles]

so here’s my first drabble! interpreted from a very fun dream i had. it’s definitely a fantasy, so if you don’t mind suspended reality a little bit with me.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve finally convinced yourself to go back to school and get your degree, you’re late to your first class and your professor doesn’t take too kindly to tardiness. or, does he?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: aaron pierre as dr. pierre & the black!fem reader as you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: heavy smut, power imbalance, daddy kink, crude language, a bunch of grown folks things. minors do not interact.

Going back to school was your greatest accomplishment to date. At thirty, it wasn’t easy to take the leap and register for classes. You were terrified of being seen as the old freshman, but your dreams held more weight than your ego. You were proud of the life you’d built, sacrificing your own education to work and save so your younger brother could have the college experience he deserved. At just eighteen, you stepped up for your family, getting a full-time job to help fund his education. Now, ten years later, your baby brother was well on his way to earning a master’s degree. It was finally time to center yourself for once.

“Shit!” you yelped, bolting upright in bed. Your alarm hadn’t gone off, and the panic was immediate. You were supposed to be up an hour ago, but now you were going to be late for your very first college class. The one everyone told you not to take because it was at 8 a.m. You’d brushed them off, thinking, I used to wake up earlier than that for work. I got this. Clearly, you didn’t. It was 7:15, and you had 45 minutes to pull yourself together and get to Magnolia A&M University, your local HBCU.

Luckily, you’d picked out your outfit the night before. You had work later at the country club, and tennis lessons were on the schedule. That meant your Nike tennis skirt and matching top would have to do. After a rushed shower, skincare routine, and throwing your hair into a curly pineapple, you grabbed your keys. It was a ten-minute drive to campus, but with your luck today, who knew if you’d make it on time?

Magnolia A&M wasn’t just a school; it was a deliberate choice. Your family had always valued community and Black excellence, so an HBCU was a no-brainer. Every time you stepped on campus, you wished you’d started right after high school. Now, at thirty, you felt too old for frat parties or the Battle of the Bands, but you still loved the sense of unity. The royal blue and orange school colors? You wore them with pride.

You sped to campus like you had a getaway driver’s license, thanking the ancestors you didn’t get a ticket. After finding the right building, you made it to the lecture hall only 15 minutes late. African-American History was your first class of the day—and your minor. It had been the first course you registered for, the one you were most excited about.

As you pushed open the lecture hall doors, all eyes turned toward you, including those of your professor. You couldn’t see him clearly from the back of the room, but his posture alone radiated disapproval. Your stomach sank as you scanned the rows of seats. Of course, the only open spot was smack dab in the front row. Middle seat.

You braced yourself for the walk of tardy shame. Muttering “excuse me” and “sorry” at least ten times, you maneuvered your thick frame between tables and chairs. The awkward ordeal felt like it dragged on forever, but finally, you slid into the empty seat, heart racing.

The professor’s voice was what caught your attention first—deep, rich, and laced with a smooth British accent. You froze mid-search in your bag for a notebook and pen. When your gaze finally lifted to meet his, you nearly forgot to breathe.

Goddamn.

The word echoed in your mind before you could stop it. Beautiful wasn’t a word you usually reserved for men, but no other word fit. His sharp, masculine features contrasted with a pair of thick lashes framing aquamarine eyes. His neat facial hair outlined full, pink lips, and you couldn’t stop your thighs from pressing together as a very salacious thought crept into your mind. one that started with his wet duo on your first set of lips, and ending on your second.

Focus, girl. Eyes off the man and on the syllabus.

You forced yourself to listen, trying to ignore the low hum of his voice that made your spine tingle. Curiosity bubbled up as you wondered what a man from London was doing teaching African-American Studies in Texas. Almost as if reading your mind, he began explaining.

He told the class how reading The Autobiography of Malcolm X in middle school ignited his fascination with race relations in the West. That fascination led him to pursue a bachelor’s, master’s, and doctorate in African-American Studies. The name “Dr. Aaron Pierre” on your schedule had conjured an image of an older, graying professor who had more experience than book knowledge. You weren’t expecting a thirty year old Adonis who looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ.

The class went on like normal, an introductory first day of school. The hour ticked by as you gawked at your professor’s arms in the fitted black polo shirt he wore. It wasn’t until everyone around you had gotten up that you realized class had been dismissed. You followed suit, only to have your name called out in that deep baritone. How had he remembered it? Your introduction was one of the first of at least seventy-five.

“Can I see you in my office? You missed the first few minutes of class, just want to make sure you’re up to speed.”

Your throat was suddenly rivalry for the Sahara desert, your stomach hollowed. You were about to get kicked out of your first college course, all because your stupid alarm didn’t sound. You followed him to his office in silence, he opened the heavy wooden door for you and you ambled inside. Once the door closed behind you, you turned on your heels with an explanation at the ready. Until you realized his eyes were scanning your frame.

“The outfit… it’s different.” His comment caught you off guard, making your brows knit together. Was he picking on you? You glanced down at your tennis skirt. It hugged your curves, sure, but it wasn’t like you’d rolled out of bed in pajamas.

“I work after class,” you explained, tone sharp but polite. “I’m a tennis instructor.” His eyebrows lifted slightly, a flicker of interest flashing across his face. “Tennis?” He asked as he walked past you, to the other side of the cherry wood desk.

“Yeah, tennis.” You straightened your back, meeting his gaze. You’d been playing since elementary school. Your parents always joked that you could’ve been the next Venus or Serena, but you were realistic. You weren’t that good, just good enough to teach seven and eight year olds the basics.

Dr. Pierre leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms. “Let me be clear. Lateness will not be tolerated in my class. I take my work very seriously, and I expect my students to do the same.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He really expected a room full of teenagers and young adults to be on time for an 8 a.m. lecture? Cute, and delusional. “Dr. Pierre,” you said, softening your voice. “I apologize. My alarm didn’t go off, and I worked late last night. I promise, it won’t happen again.”

His gaze lingered on you, and then he said, with absolute confidence, “I know.”

Your head tilted slightly, trying to figure out what he meant. He didn’t know you. And he sure as hell wasn’t your daddy. “Uh, okay. Whatever that means,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him.

He smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of his lips—and then, to your utter shock, said, “You’re beautiful.”

“Tha-thank you,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Pierre’s expression remained unreadable as he began to close the distance between you. Each deliberate step sent a jolt of electricity racing down your spine, rooting you to the spot. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think—completely stunned by his actions. By the time he was within arm’s reach, your breath was shaky, uneven. His hand reached out, wrapping gently but firmly around your wrist. The warmth of his touch sent a spark up your arm, and before you could process it, he pulled you closer.

Your chest brushed against his, and the faint, intoxicating scent of teakwood and cedar enveloped you. The combination was rich and grounding, but it wasn’t just the cologne—he smelled good. Too good.

He leaned down slowly, his aquamarine eyes locking onto yours, heavy with intent. You were hyperaware of everything in that moment; the way his grip lingered, the heat radiating from his body, and the way his lashes framed those impossible eyes. Your faces were so close now that your noses barely brushed. The faintest touch, but enough to make your heart race like you’d run a marathon.“Can I?” he murmured, his voice low and velvet-smooth, like a secret meant only for you. The words hung in the air, and without hesitation, you gave him what he needed, your consent.

The moment his lips met yours, the world seemed to fade away. His kiss was slow, deliberate, and impossibly soft. He moved with care, as though savoring every second, every touch. You felt your knees weaken, and for a fleeting moment, you feared you might melt into the floor right where you stood. The scent of him, the warmth of his lips, the way his hand slid down to cradle the small of your back—it was all-consuming. Time slowed, and the only thing that existed was him. When he pulled back, just enough to let your noses brush again, his eyes searched yours as if waiting for a sign. Your lips still tingled from his kiss, and your heart thundered in your chest.

“I-I’m going to be late for work.” You stumbled, he laughed, amusement of the irony coming from the depths of his diaphragm. “You didn’t give a fuck about being late to my class, am I not just as important? Hm?” He inquired, tilting your head up so that you were staring in those oceanic orbs. He subtly pushed you backwards until the bend of your knees collided with his desk. With ease, he picked you up and sat you on top of it. He kneeled down before you, as if your body was an altar he would pray to. “You smell so good.” He uttered as he leaned in and pressed his nose to the center of your now soaked panty, taking in your aroma. It was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to you.

“I can’t believe this…” You meant to keep that inside, but clearly your mind had other plans.

“Believe it.” He responded with a laugh. “I wanted you the moment I saw you walk in my class, baby.” Skillfully he pulled your panties off completely, opening the drawer next to him and dropping them in there as his own personal souvenir. He pushed your skirt up onto your body until it was damn near a belt, balling up the pleats in his hands as he devoured your center, lick by lick.

He feasted on you as if he would never be nourished again, sipping your waters as if they came from the finest of natural spring. hell, clearly they had. “Oh my fucking God!” You squeaked as his lips wrapped around your pulsating clit, giving it a sweet, sloppy french kiss. His middle and index finger grazing your drenched slit as he slipped both inside. his thick digits filled you up, causing your muscles to tighten around him. He grunted against your pussy, imagining how tightly you would grip his manhood.

“That’s not my name princess, I’m not God.” He was to you, in this moment. he had sucked your free will right out of your coochie. What was his fucking name? “What’s my name?” He inquired as if he was reading your mind once again. His fingers continued to please you, grazing his smooth tips against your ribbed g-spot. This nigga had a Ph.d in more than just some history. “Doctorrrrrrrrr….” You whined out, dragging out the profession as he pressed sweet kisses right above your gushing mound while you smothered his digits in your sweetness.

“Doctor….daddy!” You cried out, hoping that there was no one in the near vicinity that would’ve heard your outburst. Another laugh as he slowly slid his fingers out of you, now covered and dripping in your cum. “Doctor daddy..I like that.” He retorted before slipping his fingers into his mouth, cleaning you off of him one by one as you watched in awe. Stunned by his insistence of eye contact. Removing his fingers, he used the same two to beckon you to come close to him, once you sat up he leaned over you, his lips ghosting yours before he spat the mixture of your cum and his saliva into your mouth before engaging you in a messy lip lock.

The kiss was the distraction. You had completely missed the unbuckling of his belt, the sound of his zipper or him removing his hard inches out of his dress pants. Before you realized it, he pulled you to the edge of the desk and slipped inside of you. Your walls reacted before your brain could, gripping onto him for dear life. So surprised by the intrusion that it felt like you would push him out all together. Your breathing hitched, in a way to relax your body so that he could continue exploring the depths of you.

“Augh!” You groaned out as he worked the first few inches of himself in and out of your throbbing center. He pressed his lips to yours repeatedly, whispering for you to hush every now and again. “Be a good girl, take this dick…if you can be late to my class, surely you can handle dick.” He mumbled, his accent causing a chill to run up your spine. He was gentle, despite his rough approach. He fed you little by little until your pelvises collided and you were completely full of him. He laid you on the desk, hands on each side of your head, eyes connected as he began to stroke, deep and powerful. “Look at you, such a pretty girl. Wrapped around me like you love me.”

‘I DO.’ You wanted to scream. But instead melodic moans escaped your warm lips, words were inconveniently absent. You can tell your lack of verbal participation was bothering him just a bit, by the way the swing of his hips picked up with every new thrust. After a moment or two, he was fucking you relentlessly. His thick crown had found your spot and was no longer caressing it with care. He was beating your shit.

“Are you gonna’ be late again?” he asked, every syllable being drilled into your guts. Your stomach twisted and turned with each pump, but he peered down at you like he expected an answer, like your brain could comprehend what he was even saying.

You parted your lips to speak, but failed once again, a moan being the only verbalization you could produce. the strokes came to an abrupt stop, he pulled out of you without so much as a warning. “Wait!” you called out, desperately, holding your hands out like you could put him back in your damn self. he chuckled darkly. “You think you can ignore me and cum?”

You couldn’t realistically promise you’d never be late again, you didn’t control traffic, or flat tires, or bad hair days but you would’ve said anything to feel him again. “I’ll never be late again, Doctor. I promise. Just please…let me cum all over you.” You purred, making empty promises.

“I don’t believe you.” He added curtly, slapping the head of his massive erection against your clit, watching his pre-cum glaze your bulb. “But your pussy feels too good for me to argue.” He concluded as he entered you again, continuing his euphoric pillage of your body. The knots in your belly felt permanent, your toes curled as your legs wrapped around him. Your climax approaching with the volt of a thousand watts. His wood throbbed inside of you, pulsating with the same intensity. He was meeting you at your peak. “Fuck…” He grunted, proving your theory right. You draped your arms across his neck, leaning in and pressing your lips to his jawline, placing kisses until you reached his ear. “Cum with me, Dr. Pierre…I wanna feel you dripping out of me.” Your salacious words seemed to do the trick as both of you unraveled at the very same time.

You should’ve felt shame, or even disillusioned. But you felt nothing short of satisfied and empowered. Your legs were shaking and you were full of a strangers seed, but dammit was your first day of school memorable.

“8:00 AM, Wednesday. Don’t be late…” He spoke as he buckled his belt, looking up at you with those piercing orbs. “Oh, and that seat in front of me is now your assigned seat.” He added, prompting a laugh to fall from your lips.

“See you Wednesday, Dr. Pierre.” You concluded as you exited his office and back into the real world.

Fuck, you were late for work.

[lcriedlastnight]

coming home after a shitty day and napping with lando is all a girl needs. you both wake up at midnight rambling, barely even awake, then go straight back to sleep again cause god what i would DO to be wrapped up in his arms all cosy and warm mmfghds

ugh so true anon! i need me some of this pls. also i might've gotten carried away with this one teehee, she was only supposed to be a baby blurb!

tw: fem!reader, swears maybe, lmk if you want me to add anything.

w/c: 1.3k

this day was seriously one from hell, you were sure of it. throught no fault of his own, lando had made you late for work this morning. you were too busy admiring his sleeping face to realise that an hour had passed and you were not even out of bed yet. you had rushed around trying to get ready. your makeup was not sitting right on your face, so it took you twice as long to get ready because you had to take it off and start again.

then last night, when you had put your uniform into the dryer, you did not even notice that the machine was not even plugged in, so your clothes were still wet and you had no time to dry them. lando had told you not to go to work in wet clothes or you would end up with a cold but you had snapped at him, asking what he thought you should do seeing as you were already running late and had no other options.

lando knew about how stressed being late made you, he knew it made you freak out, even though you would be fine, so he offered to run your hairdryer over them to see if he could make it any better seeing as you told him you had no time to plug the actual dryer in. lando forced you to quickly eat some breakfast, so you do that then brush your teeth. by the time you pull your uniform on, it was still wet but it was a little bit better. you kiss lando goodbye and rush out the door.

you had called the cafe you worked in while you were driving there, explaining that you were on your way and how sorry you were for running late. you made up some bullshit excuse that your car would not start and they had believed it. the first good thing to happen today.

once you had actually gotten to work the place was swarming with people, you had never, ever seen it like this before. it was so difficult trying to force your way through the crowd to even get inside.

you saw your coworker and had asked what was going on and she just shrugged. the rush had lasted three hours. you and all the staff were rushed off your feet the whole time, and then for an hour afterwards because the place was a dump and it was a five man job to clean it up.

the one thing that you usually looked forward to on the days you were working and lando was with you was having lunch together, but of course today that hadn't gone to plan either. because of the rush you had completely missed your usual break time by hours and that had made you miss your usual meeting with your boyfriend. today was one of those days where you felt like you needed it the most too. you had taken a sneaky ten minutes to cry in the stockroom. whoever was watching the cameras then would have had a great laugh.

lando also usually brought your lunch to you so you never brought food with you to work when lando was at home so that caused you to have to go down the street and buy food, which you hated because it rubbed in the fact that you were not sitting with you boyfriend, laughing about something funny he had seen on instagram right now.

an hour before your shift had ended you had ended up with a hole in your trousers. you were so embarrassed because the sound of the fabric ripping apart was so loud you were sure they could hear it down the street. you had asked your manager if you could new ones but she had told you the new uniform shipment was not due for another three weeks, so you had to go the next three weeks with ripped trousers. 'this day cannot get any worse' you had thought to yourself. it did.

once your shift had finally ended, you jumped into your car and did not look back. turns out you had left your phone in your locker so you had to turn back.

walking through the doors of your shared flat with lando had felt like literal heaven. it was fleeting as seconds later, you heard laughs and shouts coming from lando's gaming room. he was busy. the only thing you wanted after your shift from hell was to come home in lay in lando's arms. you felt bad interrupting him and you did not even know if he was streaming or not so you left him to it. you peel your clothes off and jump in for the quickest shower you had probably ever been in.

you had no motivation to made dinner for yourself so you treat yourself to the leftovers from whatever lando had made himself and collapse onto the couch.

"hi honey! you're home?" lando asks. you did not know when he had came through but you mumble your reply into the couch pillow anyways. it does not take a genius to work out you were upset and lando being lando, well he did what he knew best. he saunters over and crawls up behind you, arms pulling you into his chest. it takes a little shuffling to make it work but once you were both comfortable and content wrapped in each others arms, you let out a content sigh.

"bad day, pretty?" lando mumbles into your neck, pressing light, innocent kisses in his wake. you groan as his words remind you about your nightmare of a day.

"just kept getting worse." you pout, reflecting on the worst parts of your day. lando coos against your skin, it tickles and brings a smile to your once moody face.

"my poor girl, you're so brave." lando jokes. "i think someone needs a little nap, hm?" lando suggests. usually you would protest, who goes for a nap at seven thirty at night but you knew that this time, there was not a bone in your body that was saying no. in lieu of answering you just move yourself so that lando's chin was resting on your head, and you were hiding in his chest. "just for a little bit." you mumble. lando hums then you are asleep minutes later.

when you come to it is dark in the living room. you had not slept for a little while, like what you had told lando. it seems that he had also fallen asleep. you barely feel like you have woken up, but you know you have because of the discomfort of the two of you falling asleep on the couch.

"lan, wake up." you grumble with a less than gentle tap to his cheek.

"lan, we need to go to bed." you try again.

"m'already in bed. go back to sleep." lando mutters as he tries to shush you by pulling your head back into his chest. your next words are muffled by lando's hoodie. you fight a little against the hand on the back of your head, keeping it where lando wants it, trying to get him to move to the bed.

lando groans, one hand moving to sling over the back of the couch to grab the throw cover you keep there. he then, in one quick move your half asleep brain cannot even begin to compute, he pulls you on top of him and wraps the fluffy cover over the top of you.

"there, y'comfy now so jus' go t'sleep please, baby." lando pleads, bringing a hand to move under your pyjama top to run across the plain of your back. you keen at his soft, warm touch.

"kay." lando grins and tangles his legs with yours, wanting to be as close to you as he possibly could be.

"don't bitch tomorrow when you have a sore back." you warn him, words slurred with the sleep that was seconds away.

lando huffs. "worth it."

[felinecyan]

I Still Believe

[Shota Aizawa and Student!Reader]

Synopsis: All it takes is one person. One person to tell you something you’ve done right. One person to believe in you when no one else will. And that one person could change everything.

WC: 1994

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Platonic, Dadzawa✨

I thought it would be beneficial to start of my Aizawa route with Dadzawa. Hurt/Comfort tropes align with me AND him so well.

『••✎••』

The door of class 1-A's dormitories swung open, the wood and glass making a loud banging noise as it collided with the wall, a cloud of dust appearing and a small dent created in the plaster. Your head hung low, your body leaning on the door, as you stood there, panting, with tears streaming down your face.

You avoided everyone's eyes as you made your way to the common room. You tried to hide your body, pulling your hoodie over your face as you shuffled over, trying not to look at anyone as if they could see right through you. None of them noticed, too preoccupied by your classmate Bakugou's daily tantrum.

You slipped past unnoticed, walking over to the staircase. The class chatter turned to a dull murmur as you went upstairs, your feet taking you to your dorm without a second thought. It was only when you opened the door and looked around your dark and dingy bedroom that the weight came crashing down on you.

Your body crumbled, your knees falling from underneath you as your tears stained the carpet. Your body shook as you sobbed, your hands clutching onto the fabric beneath you as if you'd fall off the earth otherwise.

You knew U.A. was going to be hard; you came prepared, but nothing could have prepared you for this. You felt absolutely horrible. Compared to everyone, it was a slap in the face to say that you weren't good enough. You weren't smart enough; you weren't strong enough.

You weren't good enough.

Everyone in your class was so much better than you. Midoriya was a powerhouse; his Quirk was so powerful it would've made you laugh. Bakugou was a force to be reckoned with; his intelligence and his drive were unmatched. Iida, Todoroki, Yaoyorozu... all of them had amazing Quirks and were incredible at fighting, and yet here you were, at the bottom of the class, not even worthy of being called a hero.

Your parents were right. You weren't fit for this. They had warned you. They told you that even if you were in the top ten in the exam, you weren't meant for U.A., but you didn't listen. You wanted to become a hero; you had the opportunity, so why wouldn't you take it?

You should've listened.

The day was awful. Aizawa had kept his entire attention on you, watching every single move, every single mistake, like a hawk. Being outside the classroom, working on techniques, and using your Quirk was humiliating. The more he watched, the more frustrated he seemed, and the more frustrated he seemed, the worse you were. Even when you'd wake up at ridiculous hours, practicing until your muscles screamed at you, the improvement was not visible.

How would you be a pro if you couldn't even get the basics down?

You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. You were a mess. You couldn't even breathe properly; your head was pounding, and you felt light-headed. The tears were flowing down your cheeks like a river. Your arms shook as you tried to push yourself up. Your legs felt weak, and you were scared that you would fall again.

Then, a soft knock on your door. You froze.

"Go away," you croaked, your voice hoarse and scratchy. "Please."

The door opened, the hinges creaking softly. You looked over, trying to make out a figure in the darkness, and found yourself staring into two glowing red eyes.

Ah, shit.

You completely forgot about the roll call.

You quickly scrambled to stand, your legs wobbling beneath you as you struggled to stay upright. You tried to wipe away the tears and snot running down your face, not wanting him to see you in such a weak state, but he had already seen everything.

Mr. Aizawa stood there in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, a look of concern written on his face while those beaming red eyes stared into yours, preventing you from doing anything. Still, he said nothing, just waiting. Waiting for you to speak. Waiting for an explanation. Waiting for an excuse.

The silence was suffocating. You hated the way his gaze burned a hole through you. The tension was almost unbearable, and you weren't sure how much longer you could hold it together.

"I... I'm sorry," you managed to say after a few seconds, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

Your body began to shake as the tears started to flow freely again. You tried to hide your face in your hands, ashamed that you were showing so much weakness. You tried to calm yourself, taking deep breaths and wiping your nose, before looking back up to meet his gaze.

The red eyes dissipated, returning to their normal black color. The light from the hallway filtered in through the door and the window, and you were thankful. Now, you didn't have to see the disappointment in his eyes.

"What are you sorry for?"

The question caught you off guard. You blinked, unsure what to say because, truthfully, you had a lot of things to apologize for. You were sorry for your Quirk, sorry for not trying hard enough, sorry for being a disappointment, sorry for wasting his time.

"For... missing roll call." You figured this was a safe answer, the answer that he most likely wanted.

But, oddly enough, you could see a hint of annoyance flash across his face. His hands fell out of his pockets, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Oh, no. This wasn't the answer he wanted, and now you were really in for it.

"And why would that be a problem?"

"Because it's part of the rules, and it shows I'm irresponsible and disrespectful," you muttered, staring at the ground.

"That... might have some validity." He was clearly trying to be polite, but his words stung nonetheless. "However, that's not the real issue, is it?"

His voice was calm, yet it was firm and unyielding. He was expecting an answer.

"Well..." you started, not really knowing how to proceed.

"Do you want to be a hero?"

The question made you freeze, and you had to stop and think. Did you want to be a hero? Of course you did. That was why you were here. It was why you had left your parents, it was why you had trained so hard, why you had studied late at night, why you had worked so hard to be accepted into U.A.

But...

Did you deserve it?

No.

"Of course I do," you replied, nodding your head vigorously. "More than anything."

"Then why do you act like you don't?" He raised an eyebrow, his expression serious. "By your attitude, it seems as if you don't feel you belong here. As if you don't want to be here."

His words struck you harder than any punch ever could. The tears returned, and you fought the urge to sob. You felt so stupid. So pathetic. Here you were, crying when there were other students who had real issues, who had real problems, and yet you couldn't hold it together for a second.

"I..." You struggled to find the right words, the words that would convey just how much you wanted this. How much do you want to become a hero? How much it hurt. How much it killed you inside. "I don't know."

He frowned, his brow furrowing. "You don't know? What kind of answer is that?"

You shook your head, biting your lip. You couldn't bear to look at him.

"I don't... I don't deserve to be here." The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your eyes widened, and your hands flew to your mouth. You couldn't believe you had just said that.

He looked surprised, but he didn't seem shocked. He seemed almost resigned as if he had expected something along those lines.

"Is that what you think?" he asked quietly. You tried your hardest to read his expression, but his face was completely unreadable.

"I..." You hesitated, unsure if you should say what you really thought, but the stern look he gave you pushed you forward. "Yes."

He let out a deep sigh. "Why?"

You didn't want to answer. You didn't want to tell him that you were afraid, that you weren't good enough.

He waited patiently, his expression neutral. He wasn't going to leave until he had his answer.

"I... I can't do this," you admitted, tears blurring your vision. "I can't keep up. Everyone else is so much better than me, and I just don't see why I should even bother anymore. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I practice, I just end up disappointing everyone."

Aizawa's expression softened slightly, and he uncrossed his arms. He walked closer, and you backed away, not wanting him to see how weak you were—not wanting him to see how vulnerable you were. But he followed, moving closer and closer until he was standing in front of you, inches away from your trembling form.

That's when he bent down, and his hands cupped your chin, forcing you to look up.

"You don't disappoint me." His eyes were kind, and there was a hint of a smile on his lips. "You're trying. That's more than I can say about many other students in this class."

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head. "That's not true! You saw today, I—"

"I saw a student who is willing to do whatever it takes to be the best they can be," he cut in, his voice calm and steady. "That's all anyone can ask for. If you're not giving your all, then what's the point?"

"But... I'm not good enough," you whispered, your lip quivering. "I can't do it."

"Who said that?" His gaze was intense, and his hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek. "Who told you that you couldn't do it?"

The only people who had ever told you that were your parents, but you couldn't tell him that. You couldn't bear to have him look at you with pity. You couldn't bear to have him look at you at all.

You didn't answer. You couldn't answer.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice dropping lower as he took note of your expression. "There's no such thing as not good enough. There's only enough. You are enough. More than enough."

"But-"

"Don't argue with me," he said, shaking his head. "I know what I'm talking about. If you weren't enough, if you weren't worth it, you would've never been accepted into U.A. to begin with. But you're here, and that means you're more than enough. You're worth it. Never forget that."

His words were like a knife through your heart, and the tears flowed freely now. You couldn't stop them even if you tried. You felt so overwhelmed. He was saying all the right things, all the things you had wanted to hear, and it was too much.

You let out a strangled sob, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. His hands ran through your hair, and his voice was soft as he murmured in your ear.

"I've seen potential in you from the start," he said, his words filling you with hope. "I still believe in you. I still see that potential. You just need to believe in yourself, and then you'll start to see that progress within yourself."

You clung to him, your face buried in his chest. His arms were strong, and they felt so safe like nothing could ever hurt you. Like you could never disappoint him.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. It was all you could say.

Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for not giving up on me.

Thank you for being the first one to tell me I was good enough.

[inkdrinkerworld]

hi babe! would you be interested in writing something for remus where his gf is totally badass and kind of like a spitfire but the second she's home from work, she's kinda melting into remus and he eats it up?

"No, I am not coming back in! Are you kidding me?" You blow a kiss to Remus as you shoulder the door shut, dropping your keys into the plate near your door.

"No. I'm not leaving my house again, driving two hours in this traffic to come back to sign some papers. Leave it there or come by my place to drop it."

Remus shakes his head, a hidden smile on his face as he pulls dinner from the oven. He knows exactly what is going to happen after this

“Are you kidding me? I gave specific instructions on what to do, how could they possibly mess that up?” You’re seething as you step into your front door. 

You’d had a day at the office and even on the drive home you’d been on the phone giving directives and discussing strategies for a project you’re working on. 

You’re exhausted and you just want a hot bath with your boyfriend and a slice of that apple cake you’d made over the weekend for dessert. 

“No, I’m not coming back to have a meeting. We can meet tonight if it’s necessary, but I’ll be in office tomorrow.” 

Remus is sitting in the living room, reading one of his novels as you make your way over to him. 

He quirks a brow at your tone and you point to your phone rolling your eyes to get him to smile. 

He does and beckons you over, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you set your bag down and pull a pen and book from it, already scribbling some notes for the meeting- whenever it happens. 

“Okay goodbye, enjoy the rest of your day.” You’re abrupt as you end the phone call, head pounding as you sigh. 

“Hi baby,” he coos, eyes crinkling as you flop into his arms, burying your face in his chest. “Long day?” 

You nod, mewling as you say, “So long Remmy.” Remus always wants to laugh at the way you sort of melt like ice cream on a hot day when you’re home from work. 

He’s well aware of your bright, no-nonsense attitude at work and in general, but when it’s you and him you’re his baby and he loves it. 

Remus eats it up, loves every second of you needing him like you do. 

“I’ve made beef stir-fry for tea. And I ordered the saucy shrimp you like.” 

He feels you smile against his chest, then you lift your chin and kiss the underside of his jaw. 

“Thanks Rem.” Your phone rings again and you groan. Remus beats you to checking the caller ID and sucks at his teeth. 

“Would ignoring Devin be a bad thing to do?” He asks, nose running along your hairline as you deliberate. 

“No,” Remus doesn’t hesitate. He clicks your phone locked and helps you further into his lap. 

“Don’t take the meeting tonight. You need an early night, you didn’t sleep till three this morning.” You look a bit bashful with your legs hooked to each of his hips and Remus laughs. You’d thought you were doing a good job at being quiet even though you’d been awake long after Remus and you had gone to bed. 

“But it’ll be so much faster because then we’ll have to decide meeting times and where’s the most ideal place.” 

Remus raises an eyebrow, “Let them do it then. You need your rest and I don’t particularly care if they struggle to fit the meeting in their schedule.” You sigh, reaching for your phone. “Just let me text them then, otherwise it’ll keep ringing.” 

He shakes his head, taking your phone from you and unlocking it. 

“Go have a shower, I’ll plate up dinner and send the text to them. Tomorrow at ten is fine for the meeting?” He asks and you nod, pressing another kiss to his lips. 

“Thanks, Remmy.” Remus pats your bum as you go, watching you with a little smile as he thinks of how he’s going to get you to bed by nine.

[medullamindset]

Steb on sex

NSFW

Content: Stebs relationship with sex, before meeting you and now (•‿•) tried to make Reader as GN as possible so everyone can read tyty for coming tonight hehe *checks mic*

Steb didn't really think about sex until he met you. It just didn't rattle him. It's not that he was against the idea, he just.. had better things to do. Sure he'd masturbated from time to time.. But not as much as you'd expect from a male teenager/young adult. Then he met you, and you always initiated, makeout sessions, over the clothes stuff, it was always you. Its not that Steb didn't care or that he didn't find you attractive, cuz he did, ofcourse he did.. He was just.. A liiittle stiff about it.

As time passed tho, Steb started to realize how down bad he really was for you. After a few months of getting to know eachother intimately, you'd started giving him boners.. Oftentimes you were actually in his lap, making him feel good. Which made sense. But other times he could just watch you move about, fixing yourself up after taking a shower. Lotioning your body, drying your hair with a towel, wearing something light like a t-shirt and underwear.. And his pants would get tight from just the sight alone, the sight of you.

He'd start thinking about you the nights he slept alone. Your pretty face, your satistfying voice, the way it hitched when he ran his fingers up and down your side the other day, humping you sensually. The way you looked with kiss bitten lips when he pulled away, red and glossy, eyes glazed over with need. He'd think about what you might look like with his cum painted all over that same pretty face- fuck. Hes down bad now.

Jerking off in the shower while you were cooking him something nice, his vocals masked by the sound of water droplets thudding against the bathtub harshly. Prior, you had reached over the table to grab something rather than walking around it. Steb glanced over at just the right time to see your shirt ride up, exposing your slightly arched back as you made a sound of effort. A little "mnh." As you settled back on your heels, returning to your task. Steb gulped and exused himself to "go take a shower" right then and there.

When you guys finally do have sex, Steb finally gets it. He gets it. The sight of you beneath him, face twisted into a look of pleasure, eyebrows knit together, eyes pleading and oh,.. The noises that fell from your lips will be engraved in his mind forever. The little gasps and "Ah's" as he picked up the pace, he replays them in his head every night when he cant sleep, rutting into his hand almost pathetically.. It couldn't ever compete with the way you felt wrapped around him tho, gummy walls sucking him in so eagerly, tighter with the more pleasure he gave you. In just half a year, Steb's sex drive went from a one to a solid seven out of ten. He craves you, and only you. In the shower, on the kitchen counter, cuddled up on the couch, fucking under the blankets like its a secret. And in your bed ofcourse....

You've probably had hours of sex in every room of your place when you think about it..

And Steb isn't one for "quickies", whats the point if he can't take his time with you?? give you his all. Draw as many orgasms from you as he can with teeth, tongue and fingers, preparing you for his ACHING cock. He gets so hard it nearly hurts, spending hours between your legs will do that to him, watching your reactions, ears flicking at the desparate noises you make, grabbing eagerly at your flesh, licking your sex up and down and all over, getting drunk off your juices. A quickie just wouldn't feel right..

Steb isn't that big on PDA either, he perfers doing it in the comfort of your home, hes got an image to maintain, hes an enforcer. He can't be known as that one fish officer who humped his fine shyt silly in a broom closet.. Even if it did actually happen. Cuz it does don't get me wrong, as long as you aren't somewhere literal children will see you, and hes horny enough.. Pull him away to somewhere you wont be interrupted and hes handsy straight away, pulling your shirt over your head and attacking your chest and neck with his wet tongue, lifting you and pressing you up against the wall zero effort. (...Maybe a little effort, hes kinda skinny) Steb is a stolid enforcer of few words, but behind closed doors, hes a moaning mess who likes it stickyyyy

In conclusion, Steb loves sex now, sex with YOU.

thank u and goodnight (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

Reblogs r appreciated.. Gulp.

[grogwrites]

Stranger - O.P. 81

Part One

part one • part two • part three

Summary: When someone returns to Oscar’s life after years apart, he has a hard time finding common ground with her to reconcile the feud between them. That is, until she signs on as a driver for the upcoming F1 season. Then he can’t seem to get her out of his mind.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Female OC

CW: Dual POV series, but part one is all in Oscar’s POV. Part one has some swearing, alcohol consumption, death of a parent which leads to OC becoming an orphan, a lot of angst. This series will contain a lot of angst, and some references to PTSD and death of a loved one—each topics very close to me personally. PTSD is a difficult thing to write and to read, so please take my warnings seriously before continuing on xx

A/N: this is part one in a three part mini series! As usual, I do not use YN on my page, so OC is a named character 😊

Word Count: 4.6k

* DISCLAIMER: I do not know any of the people in this fanfiction personally, these are all just the works of my imagination.

TWELVE YEARS AGO

The first time Oscar saw her was when he was eleven. The race tracks near his house were having a karting event for young drivers, so naturally, his parents signed him up. It was a windy December day, and Oscar’s frustration was at about a ten. He fidgeted with his race suit, as the new material scratched against his skin, overstimulating him with every slight movement that was made. She had been watching him, unbeknownst to Oscar, and made her way over.

“What are you doing?” The young girl demanded from him as he tugged at the collar of the suit. He furrowed his eyebrows at her. She was driving with the league below him, so she was younger by at least a few years. In eleven years old Oscar’s mind, he didn’t know what could’ve possibly possessed a second grader to antagonize a sixth grader. But he was annoyed at the scratchy lilt her that voice contained. He was at the age right now where girls were gross—she was gross.

“What’s it to you?” He barked back. “Don’t you have a race to worry about?” It shocked Oscar when she swept her hand forward, yanking his hand away from the zipper that was currently rubbing against his neck. What surprised him even more was the amount of strength in her tiny hand as her grip tightened around his wrist.

“Stop messing with it,” she hissed. “You’re going to make it worse, you know.” He ripped his arm out of her grasp, then sneered down at her. She had light blonde hair that could’ve been mistaken for white with how bright it was. It was tied back in a small ponytail that was draped over her shoulder—her eyes a vibrant blue, which seemed to accompany the bright pink racing suit she wore.

“You’re, like, what? Five?” Oscar mocked. “What do you know about karting?” The girl took a step back, as if to assess him—to study him. Even if she was younger, she had an overwhelming sense of authority. He shifted uncomfortably as her gaze burned holes through him. Her bossiness and straightforward nature intimidated him slightly. He had never been a confrontational person—he actually tried to avoid it at all costs, usually. If his friends knew some seven or eight year old was getting at him like this, he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“I know I’m smart enough to wash a suit before wearing it for the first time,” she quipped. “Wearing a brand new suit without breaking in the material is stupid, moron.” Before Oscar could argue with the kid, she turned around and stomped back to her league. His eyes widened at the fact that she just blatantly insulted him. Moron? What normal person even used that term?

As the hours passed, Oscar found himself curious at who the fiery young girl was. After he finished his race, he found himself looking for her at the tracks. When he realized her league was up, he pushed his way towards the front of the crowd to watch her. His eyes eagerly scanned for her prominent pink suit, when he realized she was in the lead. She was fast, too. For being so young, the way she controlled the car was incredible—it was like she was a machine. The crowd seemed to think so as well, as each time she passed by, they were erupting in applause. One man in particular, was cheering like crazy. Oscar looked up, tapping on his arm. The man looked down to him, and smiled. He wore square-framed glasses that laid low on his nose. His hair was dirty blonde, and he wore a pink sweatshirt that correlated with her race suit.

“You won in the league earlier this morning!” The man happily observed. “Congratulations, Mr Piastri.” Oscar frowned.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“I’m Simon Nguyen,” the gentleman introduced. “I went to school with your mother, Nicole.” Oscar nodded slowly, ignoring what he said, then pointed to the track.

“Who is the girl in pink?” He questioned. The man, Simon, laughed at Oscar’s curiosity. He turned to the track again, where the girl sped past once more. He knelt down to his level, pointing to her.

“That is my daughter, Claire,” he explained. His voice was comforting. He spoke about her with so much pride. “She said she met you earlier. She has trouble with manners sometimes, but we’re working on it.”

Oscar turned with Simon to watch the race come to an end, with Claire leading the way. He wondered how he had never met her before at these events, or why his mom never mentioned Simon. But regardless of the questions that seemed to spiral in his head, all he knew was he wanted to be better than her. He hoped that he would get to race one day against her, and show that he knew what he was doing—especially since she seemed to think otherwise.

.

As Oscar hung the last ornament in the box on their tree, he heard the doorbell echo through their house. His sisters continued decorating with miscellaneous supplies such as garland or lights, while he climbed off the chair he stood on, hurrying towards the door. His dad was playing some soft Christmas music in the background, sorting through old photos by the fireplace. The smell of turkey lingered in the air. Christmas was Oscar’s favorite time of year, and he was excited to see who all would be joining them tonight. The Piastri’s hosted a great dinner every year on Christmas Eve—a family exclusive tradition.

“I got it, mom!” He called through the house. He quickly unlocked the door, then opened it. While he was expecting his grandparents or his cousins, he was quite taken aback seeing Simon and Claire standing there. Claire’s hair was down, and she wore a red velvety Christmas dress. She held on to a bag full of presents. Simon smiled.

“Hello again, Oscar,” he beamed. “You look nice.”

They weren’t family. They weren’t supposed to be here tonight. Oscar furrowed his eyebrows as he let go of the door handle.

“Mom!” Oscar called over his shoulder. “The Nguyen’s are here?” It was supposed to be a statement, but Oscar couldn’t hide his confusion very well. He didn’t know why they’d be here. Sure, Simon said he knew his mom, but he didn’t think it was well enough for them to come over for their family Christmas Eve. Claire would just ruin it, probably. She already has by being here.

His mom appeared quickly, and seemed to grow excited when she saw them. The rest of his family—his sisters and his dad—hurried in to say their hello’s. Claire even reciprocated, and ran towards his mom. Oscar’s chest grew hot with anger. Who were these people to just barge in on their traditions like this?

“Hi Claire Bear!” His mom exclaimed, engulfing the bratty girl in a hug. She picked her up, and pushed some of the hair out of her face. “You look beautiful, darling!” Claire was giggling as her arms wrapped around his mom’s neck, hugging her back. He had decided he’d seen enough, and hurried over to her.

“Mom who are they?” He blurted. “This is supposed to be family only.” Nicole laughed as she set Claire down again, then tussled his hair. She knelt down to look at him, and he felt guilty for being so rude. But at the same time, he felt like he had every right to be upset. Change didn’t suit him well.

“Simon is a very good friend of mine,” she explained gently. “They don’t have any other family, Oscar. They just moved here from South Korea, and I thought it would be nice that they joined us.” Oscar didn’t even know where South Korea was. He had fallen asleep during geography when they were learning about other countries. He watched as his mom stood up straight again.

“We met Oscar at the tracks a few weeks ago,” Simon commented. “He’s become quite good, Nicole. Not long until he makes his way to Formula 1, huh?”

Oscar’s rage suddenly dwindled at the stranger’s remarks. Now, he felt proud. He thought Oscar was good enough for Formula 1? His frown twisted into a smile as he watched his mom lead Simon into the kitchen to drop off their bags. His gaze lingered over to Claire. She folded her arms across her chest, staring back at him.

“We’re friends now,” she claimed confidently, taking a few steps towards him. “Our parents are friends, so that means we are.”

“That’s not how that works,” he scoffed. “But you’re still young, so you wouldn’t know.”

“You’re not much older,” she reminded him. Her arms fell to her sides, as she grabbed ahold of his wrist again. This time, with a much more gentle touch than she did at the tracks. “I brought something to show you. Your mom said you’d like it.” She turned, then marched the two of them into the living room where their bag full of presents sat. She let go of him, then knelt beside it. Oscar watched her intently as she rummaged through everything, when she pulled out two brand new remote control cars. His eyes widened. He had always wanted one, but his mom made him put it on his Christmas list. She found any excuse to not buy him one, despite his numerous attempts at asking for one.

“No way!” He exclaimed as she passed one to him. It was a shiny monster truck that had black and orange flames along the sides. His read THE DESTROYER, her’s read THE TERRORIZER. His eyebrows raised in amusement. “But girls don’t like these kinds of things.”

“Girls can like them too,” she remarked, as she flipped the switch to turn hers on. “Girls can like anything boys can, and boys can like anything girls can—just like how girls can race alongside boys, and boys can race alongside girls.”

Oscar had never really thought about it that way. He flipped the switch on his car, as her statement echoed in his mind. All of his friends at school were boys, so he didn’t really think about the fact that girls could like anything they liked. As they began racing their cars around the living room, he heard Claire laughing beside him. A grin flitted across his face, as he thought that maybe being friends with her wouldn’t be so bad.

.

FIVE YEARS AGO

It was raining outside. Oscar hated the rain, now. He figured Claire probably hated it just as much as he did, if not more. He was worried when she hadn’t cried all day—like all of her tears were gone, and replaced with a dormant, numb feeling in her heart. She exhaled next to him, as if she had been holding in a breath that she forgot about. He knew he should do something, or say something. But ultimately, he knew regardless of what he did or said, nothing would help. Simon was dead, and Claire was an orphan now.

The casket at the front of the church was closed. Oscar was grateful, because it made him sick to see Simon there—lifeless; he was always anything but. He quickly became a second father to him, much like how his parents became second parents for Claire. His mom told him yesterday that she would be living with them for a while, until her aunt could make it up from South Korea to take her back there. South Korea—away from him. He couldn’t really fathom not seeing her every day anymore. She had become so regular in his life and now she’s just…leaving. Just like how Simon was gone before any of them could blink.

The pastor droned on about how death is a celebration, when he heard Claire scoff beside him. He looked down at her, and saw a few tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. He tentatively reached out, taking her hand in his. He heard her catch a breath in her throat. She didn’t initially hold his in return, until he felt her nerves relax as her fingers curled around his hand. He gave hers a light squeeze, before looking towards the front again. He leaned over slightly.

“I’ll be celebrating when this funeral is over,” he whispered jokingly. This elicited a laugh from Claire—a genuine one—that made him smile. It was the first time he had heard her laugh in weeks since the car crash.

“You and me both,” she whispered in response, giving his hand a squeeze.

After the funeral and the burial, Oscar seemed to lose sight of Claire at the reception. He sat beside his parents and his sisters, as they all recounted memories of Simon and Claire. When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he didn’t even have to look to know who it was. Her nickname flashed across the screen.

Bear: where are you?

Oscar quickly excused himself from the table, then exited the reception hall. He wandered outside of the church, where Claire was sat on the sidewalk. It was still raining, so her hair and clothes were soaked. He wondered how long she had been out here, and worried she was going to get sick. She probably didn’t care about it, though. There wasn’t much she seemed to care about nowadays. He shrugged off his suit jacket, then wrapped it around her. He sat beside her.

“Life is a bitch,” she muttered. He was quiet, just being there to listen for now—in case she had anymore to say. She looked over to him. “I turned in my racing gear yesterday.”

Now he was officially worried. She was quitting racing? That was incredibly unlike her. No matter what was going on in her life, she always turned to the track to escape whatever was dragging her down. Now she was just…throwing it all away. She had plans to go into F3 with him—she was about to be signed, too.

“Why?” He finally spoke, though his singular word was strained. He hated seeing her so…lost. Claire was always so sure of herself—always so confident. And now she was here beside him just…defeated.

“What’s the point anymore?” She countered. “Dad taught me to race, Osc. He’s dead now. There isn’t much in South Korea for me to pursue for racing, so why bother?” In a weird way, he was relieved that her bluntness hadn’t completely dissipated despite the depression she was going through right now. Still, hearing her say the word ‘dead’ so nonchalantly felt a bit like a punch to the gut.

“Because you love it?” He suggested. He felt himself growing defensive. He couldn’t just sit and watch her ruin her own life. “Because it’s all you’ve ever known? Throwing it away because you feel this way now isn’t going to help you. It’s going to make things worse.”

“I can’t—“ she stopped, then sighed frustratedly. She carded a hand through her wet hair before continuing, “I can’t drive in the rain, Osc. Not when I know that dad died in the same conditions. He was a professional driver, and if he can’t withstand it then I’m scared I won’t be able to, either. I’m just scared.” She finally looked over at him, meeting his gaze. Oscar could’ve sworn that his heart was about to break seeing how much hurt was in her eyes right now. He wished he could take all of it away; anything to make her feel better.

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said gently, taking her hand again. “But fear has never stopped you before. You’re the most badass person I know, Bear. Why let fear control your life now, when you’ve never allowed it to do so before?”

That was when she started crying. For the first time in several days, she broke down. Oscar wasted no time pulling her in for a hug. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, as her whole body seemed to shake from the fit. He had never heard her cry this hard before, and it was difficult for him to keep his own composure. He blinked away his own tears as he softly rubbed her back.

“I’m so mad at the world,” she admitted in between sobs. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Oscar whispered in her ear. “Life just has a cruel way of playing out, sometimes. You didn’t do anything.”

She didn’t respond to him after that, but she didn’t need to. Oscar held on to her tightly as she continued crying, with the rain lightly falling on them. He closed his eyes, allowing a few tears to escape from his own eyes. Things were hard now, but he knew they would push through this. They always did—Simon would want them to not dwell on this, and he knew that. He just hoped and prayed that she knew that too.

.

FOUR YEARS AGO

“F2 Champion has a nice ring to it,” Claire hummed, as Oscar greeted her after the ceremonies. He looked down at the trophy in his hands, basking in his accomplishment.

“I guess it’s okay,” he shrugged sarcastically as he met her gaze again. He could tell she was trying to hold back a smile, but her own happiness betrayed her as it hinted in the corners of her lips. “I’m happy you could be here, you know.”

Now the smile was gone, and his friend shifted uncomfortably. Neither of them wanted to address the elephant in the room. They didn’t have the heart to, anyways. A year without Simon was difficult enough, but now she was leaving him, too. Oscar had researched South Korea. Seoul is over five thousand miles away from Melbourne. It made him sick the first time he read that.

“You know, um,” she cleared her throat as she began playing with the sleek, satin ribbon on her waist. Her dress looked beautiful tonight—pink had always been her color. He wasn’t sure he had really ever seen her like this before—so polished. So mature. He couldn’t recall when she grew up so fast. “My aunt said that you’re welcome to come and stay anytime and she has this really cozy spare room that—“

“Can we…not talk about you leaving?” Oscar interjected. He felt quite rude for saying it, but for one night he just wanted to feel like things were normal. They haven’t been normal since Simon died, and he wanted to spend time with his best friend without talking about something upsetting.

“I don’t want to talk about it just as much as you,” she replied, her expression twisting into one of hurt and disappointment, “but it’s reality, Osc. I’m leaving tomorrow. We can’t keep pushing it off and pretending that in twelve hours, I’ll still be in the room across the hall from you.”

It felt like she had stabbed him just then. Her reaction utterly wounded him. Having his best friend only fifteen feet away from him at all times was the best year ever—but she was right. She wouldn’t be there anymore. She would be almost eighteen hours away.

“I just wanted things to be normal for one night,” he replied softly. He set his trophy down by their feet, then stepped towards her. “I’m not ready to say goodbye, Bear.”

“We have to,” she took a step back, which only hurt him even more. “I’m not staying with you guys tonight. I, um, packed my things before I came here.” It was Oscar’s turn to feel disappointed—to feel hurt. Why wouldn’t she tell him sooner that she wouldn’t be there tonight? They told each other everything…or, used to, anyways.

“So that’s it?” He argued, his voice raising slightly. Nobody at the banquet seemed to be paying attention, though. “You’re just throwing me away? Throwing our friendship away like that? Why didn’t you tell me you wouldn’t be at home tonight?”

“I wanted you to enjoy your ceremony,” she gestured to the trophy on the ground. “I’m not throwing us away, I’m just facing the truth. You can’t live in your cocoon of delusions anymore—“

“God forbid I wanted to enjoy my time with you, Claire,” he angrily interrupted. He hadn’t used her real name in a few years. She had always been Bear to him, and he watched now how this affected her, with her stumbling away from him slightly. He sighed, running a hand through his hair; his tone softer. “It’s not a delusion. I just…don’t know what I’m going to do without you. I didn’t want tonight to be ruined by talking about it.”

When Claire didn’t respond, he knew he fucked up. When she backed up more, was when it solidified that he royally fucked up. He tried to reach for her, but she pulled away.

“I’m sorry I ruined your night, then,” she whispered, but her voice still wavered despite the lowered volume. The way she punctuated the word ‘ruined’ crushed him. He shouldn’t have said that. “I, um, wish you the best, Oscar.” She began gathering her dress in her hands. He hurried after her.

“Claire, please,” he begged. He was struggling with choking back his tears. “Please stay. I’m sorry, I don’t want to leave on these terms.”

It was too late. When she looked at him one last time, he saw that familiar look in her eyes that told him everything he needed to know: her mind was made up. She was leaving, and their friendship was now tainted—if you could even call it a friendship, anymore. They both knew it had been strained since she quit racing, but tonight was the breaking point. Tonight confirmed for them that she was no longer Claire Bear, and he was no longer Osc. They were strangers, and that made him sick. What made him feel even worse was watching her leave, and him not running after her. He let her get away, and that was a regret he would live with for forever.

.

PRESENT DAY

“Alpine is signing on a rookie next season,” Lando announced, lounging back on the boat. The thing bobbed slightly in the water as the waves crashed against it. It was a beautiful day in Monaco, and Oscar could feel the heat from the sun beating down on his closed eyelids.

“They need to get in line,” Oscar joked before taking a swig of the beer bottle in his hands. “Haas is, too. And Mercedes. Alpine isn’t special in that endeavor.”

“I’d disagree,” Oscar could hear the smile in Lando’s voice. He opened his eyes to look to his friend, who was currently lazily scrolling on his phone. “Heard it’s a super rookie. She did some karting stuff as a kid, but didn’t even participate in F3 or F2. No one knows how she managed to get signed.”

“I guess perks of having money?” Oscar suggested, lying down again. “I mean, look at Stroll. He’s only signed cause his dad owns the damn team.” This elicited a laugh from Lando. He set his phone down, then stood up from where he sat. He finished off the remainder of his beer, then set the bottle by his feet.

Their summer break had been rather lazy, but Oscar couldn’t complain too much. Lazy was nice, especially since it’s been a whirlwind of a season so far. With Lando getting his first win in Miami and Oscar getting his first win in Hungary, the two were exhausted.

“Shit, look over there.”

Oscar sat up to see what Lando was gesturing to, where he saw a group of girls on the beach lounging around. They were a bit too far away to make out their faces, but he couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Lando was often one to think with his dick. Oscar enjoyed gawking at the women in Monaco with him, but nothing ever lasted—nothing was ever genuine.

“You can’t even see their faces, dude,” Oscar grumbled. “All you see is their bikini colors.”

“Yeah, and I’m really liking the one with the baby pink bikini,” his friend whistled as he hurried behind the wheel of the boat. Oscar cringed slightly, mostly because pink was a color he hated now. Loathed, actually. Also, hearing the words ‘baby pink’ come from Lando’s mouth was nauseating. Regardless, he let him do his thing as he laid back down and closed his eyes once more. The engine of the boat turned, and he felt as Lando turned it around to begin steering it back to the docks. When it slowed in speed, he heard his friend hop off, and walk down the wooden boardwalk. He began chatting up the girls, with a few of them laughing cheekily at his cliche pickup lines. But one voice rang through Oscar’s veins furiously.

He thought he imagined it, initially. He hadn’t even thought about her for three years. Actually, he had forced himself to forget her completely when she stopped returning his calls. He chose to ignore it, but his heart betrayed him as it picked up speed.

“Lando Norris,” the familiar voice hummed in a flirtatious manner, “you’ve got a reputation, you know.” He heard Lando scoff. She sounded so much older, now.

“Remind me again?” Lando responded. He heard her step closer. He caught his breath. He knew the chair he was lounging on was blocked by the drivers seat of the boat, but if that voice came over here with Lando, he thought he’d probably puke.

“You sleep around,” she stated simply. There was an abrasiveness in her tone, one that practically confirmed it for Oscar that this was who he was afraid it would be. “You don’t call back, you can’t be tied down…tell me why I should go with you?”

Why would she be in Monaco? She had no ties here—or at least, she didn’t when he last saw her. She probably had an entirely new life, now. New friends, new hobbies, maybe even a new boyfriend…he didn’t realize he was panting until he grew lightheaded. This was anxiety, he knew it was.

“Maybe I want you to be the one to change my reputation?” Lando tutted. “Has anyone ever told you that pink looks really good on you?” The girl laughed, and Oscar wanted to cry. He hadn’t heard that laugh since Simon died. He forgot how intoxicating it was—how addicting she was to be around.

“I’m afraid I won’t meet your expectations,” she sighed as her laughter slowed. “I’m looking for commitment, Norris. Not a plaything.” Lando clicked his tongue in disapproval. Oscar could practically see him shaking his head, too. He had a routine when he flirted—one that Oscar had memorized by this point.

“One date,” Lando proposed, clearly feeling confident in his chances. “If you are still convinced I’m not serious, then you can block me and never call me back.” The last part made Oscar’s heart sting. He knew what it was like to be ghosted by Claire. Considering how practically unforgettable she was, he knew that her and Lando would be a recipe for disaster.

“Fine,” she said, giving in to his game. “But it has to be a real date.” Lando chuckled happily.

“Wonderful,” it was his turn to hum flirtatiously, now. “What is your name, darling?”

The next words out of her mouth knocked the air out of Oscar, “I’m Claire Nguyen.”

~

* None of my writing is available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated.

©️ grogwrites, 2024

[macfrog]

you shook me all night long sex on fire chapter one

requested by @whore-4-pedro (hope u enjoy lovely)

lived all my succession fantasies out writing this one icl. enjoy 🖤 check out my masterlist for more joel fun ‼️

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: as joel miller's assistant, you're expected to meet all his needs. some are a little more personal than others

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) creepy dude at the beginning, lotta teasing and touching, mentions of female masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, semi-public sex, daddy kink, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), alcohol and drug use, cursing, low-key inappropriate work relationship (if bad then why sexy?)

word count: 7.8k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more. You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin. “I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?” “Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

It’s Friday night.

You only got home from work an hour and a half ago. Tired, hungry, sore eyes from staring at a screen all night, sore back from sitting hunched over all day. Dumped your bags at the door, ripped your clothes off by your bed, dove straight into the shower. You’d picked an outfit, curled your hair in record time, and even done your makeup before Deb called to say she was out front.

It was a ten-minute drive from your place to the hotel – it’s only a couple blocks from work. The cab driver made light conversation, talked about his daughter and her new puppy, and you both nodded and uhuhed in all the breaks in his sentences. Deb made some comment about it being easier if you’d just stayed at the office until the party, and you’d hummed in agreement, looking out the window at the regal hotel.

Truth be told, you’d rather be doing anything other than attending a work function. You’ve had a long week. A lot of meetings, paperwork, emails to be answered, and most of all, running around after your boss. It’s not all fun and games being Joel Miller’s assistant, regardless of the pay, or the view from your desk over to his.

Your head’s elsewhere when you waltz through the revolving door, heels clicking along the marble floor. The elevator – gold, by the way – slides open and you both step inside, hitting the highest button before you’re swept up twenty floors to the penthouse.

“Did you send those documents over to us yet?” Deb asks.

“Nope,” you reply, slipping out when the elevator dings. “Had to sit in on a meeting with Joel and take the fucking minutes, spent all night writing them up.”

“He won’t be pissed at you?”

“If he hadn’t insisted I was in there with him, you’d have your reports, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugs, agreeing.

“Anyway,” you continue, “I can take angry Joel. He doesn’t scare me.”

Deb chuckles as you shoulder the doors to the penthouse open.

It’s a moody dull, lit only by the lights lining the bar and small lamps decorating mahogany tables, sat next to deep green velvet couches. There are clusters of people everywhere you look; stood near shelves filled with leather-bound books, examining the view from the floor to ceiling windows, sprawled out over luxurious chairs with champagne flutes in their hands. There’s a tree in the middle of the room, branches decorated in blinking string lights reaching to a glass dome in the ceiling.

It's, like, sickeningly pretentious. You know it. Hell, you all know it. Still, in your little black dress, you strut over and take a champagne of your own, sipping on the fizzing drink with one elbow resting on the wooden bar.

“There’s my girl,” his voice coos over your shoulder. “Been watchin’ for you all night, took your time.”

You lean back, bored expression on your face.

Joel’s broad chest pulls on the white shirt he’s wearing, same one you just saw him in little over three hours ago, only without a tie; the top couple of buttons are undone to reveal his chest hair peeking through. You try not to let your eyes linger on him too long.

“You look fuckin’ ecstatic to be here.”

He leans against the bar next to you, arms crossed. When you don’t reply, he nudges you. Your champagne jolts in its glass.

“I always look like this. I’m always ecstatic to be everywhere.”

He smiles. “Why aren’t you mingling?”

“Don’t wanna.”

“’s a work event. That’s the whole point.”

“Then why are you over here talkin’ to me?”

His eyes flash across your lips, and you swear they drop for a nanosecond to your chest.

“Come on,” he says, taking your wrist in his huge hand, “some people you oughta meet.”

Joel ignores your sigh and leads you over onto a plush rug, sidling between knees to sit you down on the soft couch between himself and some bald dude in a jet blue suit, whose shirt is also undone, though much further than Joel’s. He has a chest like a hairless cat.

Cue Ball snakes an arm over the back of the couch; his fingers dance across your back. You shimmy a little closer to Joel and he notices instantly, jaw turning slowly to glance over. When he sees your knees angled toward him, seeking protection, he leans back and wraps his left arm around your shoulders, his right coming down to cup your knee.

“This,” he shakes your leg, left arm pulling you tighter against him, “is my wonderful assistant. My right-hand lady. Couldn’t do anything without her, could I?”

“Could wipe your own ass, that’s about it,” you mumble into your glass, and a roar of laughter sounds from your audience.

Joel, still leaning back, pulls his arm from you but keeps his shoulder firmly behind yours, making sure whatever the creep on your left tries, he’ll feel first. Your elbow rests in the crook of his, and you keep it there, quietly enjoying the intimacy of his body caging yours.

His left hand is settled on your thigh. You realize it after a swig of champagne, and start counting in your head how many seconds his fingers stay gripped on your skin.

He talks with his hands – always has. Walks around his office, ranting and raving sometimes, arms swinging around in the air while you take notes, or file your nails, or just watch until he’s done. For the next half hour, though, he only talks with his right hand. Only sips his beer with his right hand. Only scratches his beard, or pulls his phone from his pocket, or reaches up and passes you a second drink, and then a third, with his right hand.

You stay rigid, legs unmoving, eyes barely leaving his knuckles, locked tight around your thigh. There’s heat from his touch siphoning from his palm down through your skin, rippling like waves all through your body and pooling somewhere south of your belly button. No matter how hard you try, you can’t shake it. Can’t stop thinking about it. You barely notice when Cue Ball’s hand ghosts across your back a second time.

But Joel notices, straight away. He flashes the guy a look, and you swear he’s baring his teeth. Eyes locked on the blue suit like it’s a target, never blinking. He doesn’t say anything when his prey excuses himself to the bathroom, and you don’t turn to watch him go, but you do notice three other sharp-suited pricks stand and wander off in that direction after him.

Probably not a coincidence.

Joel still has a hold on your leg. Your flute is empty, and you lean forward to place it on the wooden table at your knees, beginning to stand.

His grip loosens, but he looks up at you as you tower over him.

“Cocktail,” you tell him with a sweet smile, and he nods, letting you go.

You know he’s watching you as you slink away. Is it the alcohol in your system, or something darker, that makes you sway your hips a little more for his benefit?

Deb’s over at the bar with Martha, another of Joel’s assistants. She’s around his age, worked for him much longer than you have, but when he hired you, you took on most of the groundwork. Following Joel’s orders– sorry, requests, organizing meetings, filing paperwork for him. Martha sits at a desk outside Joel’s office, answers the phone and directs anyone who happens to wander up to the top floor of the building.

Did I say directs? I meant strikes coldblooded fear within them and sends them back running the way they came, with just one look and a nod in the opposite direction.

Unless they’re there for a meeting with Joel, that is. And if they are, that’s where you come in. Good morning, Mr. Salazar, Mr. Miller will be right with you. This way, he’s just finishing up a call.

Martha’s a tough nut. But she likes you enough, so she smiles warmly as you approach.

“I’m hearing all about your note-taking this afternoon,” she hums when you hop up onto a barstool, catching the bartender’s eye. He trots over.

You sigh to Martha, eyes wide. “I didn’t leave until, like, eight. What the fuck’s that about? Can I just get a cosmopolitan, please?” you ask, and the bartender nods. He looks about fifteen.

Martha shakes her head, laughing. “He did it to me when I was first startin’ out, too. Told him to stick his minutes where the sun don’t shine.”

“I’ve been here three years,” you mutter, and Deb snorts.

“You’d think Joel would’ve changed his ways in the, what, seven decades since you started, Martha?”

It earns her a slap across the shoulder. You stifle your laugh behind your glass, thanking the teenager who served you it with a nod.

“Twenty years next March, actually,” Martha says.

“That so? D’you think he’ll get you anything for it?”

“If I’m lucky,” she sighs, eyes travelling up to the ceiling in thought, “a lunch break where he doesn’t bother me once.”

“Knowing Joel, that means a lunch break where he bothers you twice.”

You smile, glancing past the pretentious tree to where Joel is, and notice he’s already staring right back. A swarm of butterflies flutter around your stomach, dancing over the heat his handprint left within you. They only grow more violent when he stands and walks over, broad shoulders swaying, eyes flitting up and down your body.

You lean back, sitting up straight, eyeing him right back as he joins the three of you.

“Speak of the devil,” Martha says, and Joel chuckles in response, but his eyes never leave you.

“We were just talkin’ about Martha’s twenty years,” says Deb, winking.

He finally turns to answer her. “Oh, yeah? When’s that, then, old-timer?”

“Dirtball!” Martha yells, and Joel smirks. It goes straight to your core.

“How many Manhattans tonight, then, Deb?”

Deb holds her glass up. “I am on my second, and I will not be exceeding three. We don’t need a repeat of Christmas.”

“Aw,” Joel complains, tutting, “I liked hammered Deb.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t have to deal with hungover Deb,” you mutter, and she shoots you a look.

Joel smiles at you, takes a step closer as Deb and Martha begin comparing past hangovers. He leans forward, waves the fifteen-year-old down, and asks for a beer. As he leans back, you notice the weight of his wrist on your right hip. Nicely done.

“You know there are four guys in the bathroom doing coke?”

“I hope to God that’s all they’re doin’. I don’t need another orgyhappenin’ at one of these things.”

You giggle like a fucking schoolgirl. He looks pleased with himself, and you instantly regret it. You try to play it off by lifting your glass back to your lips.

Joel’s studying you, though, mapping every inch of your face. Watching your mouth as it curves around the shape of the glass, your tongue licking your lips after your sip. He tracks the glass as you set it back down on the bar, then his eyes trail along your arm to your dress, and your stomach leaps.

He looks so fucking good, it sends another wave of energy through your body. Dark hair lined with grey, beard much the same. Strong jaw, lips wetting with every sip of beer he takes, dark eyes flitting across yours, holding your stare long enough to melt you a little, and then dipping just before you can read the thoughts behind them.

His skin a little tanned, his neck thick with muscle. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, you’re so close. Close enough that you could lean up, part your lips and sink your teeth under his ear, suck a mark there, taste him on your tongue.

Your head cocks after a few minutes silence, just the two of you enjoying the fucking look of each other. You lean a little against his arm, steady around your back.

“I hate work parties,” you sigh.

Joel scoffs. “Free alcohol, nice penthouse. Cocaine, if you want it. What’s not to like?”

You narrow your eyes and he laughs for real.

“I hate ‘em, too, baby. Gotta keep up appearances, though, don’t we?”

Baby. This fucker.

“Do we?” you squeak, after a few seconds dazed.

He shrugs. “’s what I hear.”

He’s so close you can smell the beer on his tongue. It makes your heart quicken, your body hum with energy. That could just be the alcohol in your system, though, right?

Who are you kidding? It’s fucking Joel doing it to you.

You have no idea how long he was here before you arrived. He left the office around six, and you presumed he’d come straight here to check everything was in order before guests started arriving. How many beers has he had? Is he just drunk, feeling up on you with liquid courage?

You’re mulling over the thought when a pair of hands clamp down on Joel’s shoulders and his hold on your waist loosens. He mumbles an apology as he’s dragged away by a couple of loose-collared, baggy-suit drunks. You shake your head in response, trying to be cool – It’s all good, man. I’m good. I’m not totally fawning over you right now, no way.

Deb swings her barstool around when she notices you’re on your own, inviting you back into their conversation. Thirty seconds into talking about childhood pets, you’re wishing Joel was back around you, igniting your skin and peaking your adrenaline. Max the Pomeranian is a nice picture; Joel’s nicer.

Martha says something with a hand motion, and Deb nods, elbow knocking into yours.

“What?”

She nods toward the balcony. “We’re headin’ out for a smoke, you comin’?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll save your seats.”

They nod and wander off between a crowd, swallowed up by bodies in the direction of the open sliding doors, the blinking lights of the skyline ahead.

You’re twirling the base of your empty glass around on its napkin when you feel that same heat behind you again, and a hand rests on the small of your back.

“Coat,” Joel mutters, pulling his suit jacket on.

“Huh?”

“Get your coat. Everyone’s headin’ across the street.”

“Why is everyone heading across the street?”

He shrugs. “Afterparty, I guess.”

“It’s a work function. It’s like–” you check your phone, “–oh, fuck, it’s almost midnight.” You screw your face up, watching as the small crowd slowly melts away through the suite doors.

“I know. I throw a good party, right?”

“So good, people are leaving it.”

He tuts. “Coat. Now.”

“I didn’t bring one.”

“You didn’t bring a coat?”

“You told me the party was here. I didn’t think we’d be walking all over town.”

“’s not all over town, baby,” Joel murmurs with a sigh. “Here.”

He peels the jacket off his shoulders and you hold a hand out to stop him.

“Joel, it’s fine, it’s–”

“Quit moanin’,” he groans as he throws it over your shoulders. He scoops your hair and pulls it softly out from under the collar. “Alright? C’mon.”

He takes your hand and leads you past some stragglers down the hall toward the elevator, where a group are waiting for the doors to open.

“Tight squeeze, Miller,” some dude chuckles as you follow Joel in, his hand still gripping yours.

He turns, backing into the corner, pulling you with him until your back is flush against his chest.

His hands drop to your hips. You swallow back a scream.

One of the accountants is stood in front of your – Harriet? Helen? Something beginning with H – anyway, she keeps knocking back into you, pushed by the sway of the packed elevator. It means you knock a little into Joel, and feel his chin on the crown of your head.

You turn ever so slightly to mumble an apology to him, but when you feel his breath on the shell of your ear, your words die in your throat.

“Hazel?” – That’s her fucking name – Joel reaches around you to tap her shoulder, and her bobbed haircut swings when she turns. “Did you get those balance sheets yet?”

“Not yet, Joel,” she tells him, and your face prickles with heat.

“No? That’s weird.” Joel’s grip tightens on your hips, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. In a low whisper, only to you, he says, “Thought I asked to have ‘em sent over by this afternoon.”

You muster up the courage to reply with a deep breath. From the corner of your mouth, through gritted teeth, you tell him, “That was before you forced me to sit in on a buyers’ meeting.”

You feel his chest rumble between your shoulder blades as he laughs. The elevator shudders to a stop and the doors slide open; the crowd spills out.

You step forward, ahead of Joel, and make it maybe three steps before he’s back on you, an arm draped over your shoulders. You reach up and take his hand, leaning against his strong torso to let him guide you toward the exit.

No idea what makes you do it. Maybe you’re drunk. Maybe not only on alcohol.

You’re the last of the pack, stumbling over air across the gleaming floor toward the revolving door, which Joel pushes open for you. The cool night breeze hits you as you slip out.

The crowd ahead are rushing across the street, yelling and whooping as they go. It’s juvenile, a little cringe. A bunch of rich corporates skipping across the street toward cheap alcohol and peanuts. You’d care more about the way it looks if you were sober.

Joel’s hand finds yours again and he’s leading you down the steps, cutting between parked cars toward the dive bar. You link your other arm around his elbow and he glances down, noting it. You wish the walk was longer.

A flickering fluorescent light drowns you both in a red glow, and Joel pushes the doors open. The place is flooded with half of your party, drowning booths, leaning against the bar, dancing in any open floorspace.

The floor is sticky, the bar dim. Joel takes you over to the same crowd he introduced you to earlier, and makes space for you to sit. You slide along the booth to the wall and he follows, squeezing up to you to let two more in after him.

“Beers?” a guy with a loose tie asks, to a chorus of yeses and a show of thumbs up. Mitch? Mark?

You tug Joel’s jacket from your shoulders – the movement nudges him and he turns to lift it from your back and tuck it behind you, brushing the hair off your shoulders. You smile in thanks, and his hand falls back onto your leg.

It takes you a few minutes to notice it this time. The gentle squeeze of his fingers around your thigh, the way it slowly bumps up each time he adjusts in his seat or shifts to allow space for someone else to join the booth.

His hand moves slowly, dangerously close to pulling your skirt up with it. Mitch or Mark returns with your beers and you take a massive swig, nerves and anticipation and fucking need for Joel to keep doing what he’s doing, taking over.

Under lights blurred by the alcohol in your system, the table buzzes with energy and chatter and laughter. There are posters and stickers all over the walls, graffiti of names and initials, numbers and dates scored into the walls. Joel traces them with his finger and you laugh at some of the messages.

“Lydia and Jack,” you mumble, “12-24-19. Wonder what happened then.”

“Bathroom sex,” Joel replies, eyes scanning the wall.

You scoff, beer to your lips. “On Christmas Eve?”

He nods, like it’s obvious. “Magical time ‘n all.”

You look past him with a smile to the opposite side of the bar where, through silhouetted bodies, you notice a jukebox.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your eyes widen, your mouth agape.

Joel follows your eyeline and then twists back around. “C’mon,” he says, taking your hand and motioning for the others to let you by. He drags you over to the machine, lighting your faces up in yellow light, and your drunk eyes scan the screen.

“Nope." You swipe Joel’s hand away right before he can pick some Pet Shop Boys song.

“Really?”

“Good, but not the vibe,” you tell him, and budge him out of the way with your hip. He sways off, laughing, and leans a palm against the jukebox, his chest on your back for the second time tonight. As your tired eyes scan the songs, Joel’s chin rests on your shoulder.

He’s judging every fucking song you linger on. “Queen? Little before your time.”

“Dick.”

“Fleetwood Mac. Definitely before your time.”

“The entire fucking jukebox is before my time, dude. Shut up. These are good songs.”

You settle on a track and turn to face him. He has you almost fucking pressed against the box.

“Change, please.”

“Oh, I’m payin’, am I?”

“Mhm. Your work party, your wallet.”

He sighs and pushes a fist into his pocket for coins, tossing a quarter into your outstretched palm. You turn back and select your song, put the money in, and the old machine barks out the intro.

Joel sighs, shaking his head. “AC/DC? That’s your thing?”

“It’s not yours?” You’re taking him by the hand between bodies, swaying as you go.

He’s laughing, following you until you’re in the middle of the cramped bar, chest to chest, moving together. His hands find your waist again and this time you don’t even flinch; your fingers trail up his shirt, across his chest, settle on his collar.

You fucking swear he’s leaning in, each beat of the song drawing his jaw closer to yours. If you weren’t in a room full of co-workers, you’d probably let him kiss you.

I mean, what you’re doing right now is hardly innocent anyway. His hands are splayed on your lower back, your hips flat against his, rubbing, dancing. Your head rolls back and your lips are under his chin, smiling up at him and singing along. Joel sings the words straight back, your breath meeting and mingling in the tiny gap between your lips.

As the song ends, it fades into another. And another, and another. It’s two in the morning before your group of partiers begin to call taxis. You stumble out of the sweaty bar with an arm linked through Deb’s, still singing along to Whitney as you catch your breath.

She staggers off to a quieter part of the street to call a cab, and you hang around under the red light waiting for her. Joel’s stood at the curb; the back door of his sleek black Rolls-Royce open.

“Where you goin’?” he asks.

“Deb’s callin’ a cab,” you reply, arms folded, shoulders hunched.

Joel shakes his head. “Get in.”

“It’s cool, I’m jumping in with those guys. Thanks, though–”

“Baby,” Joel holds a hand out, “get in.”

Your eyes trace from his palm all the way up his sleeve, to his tired, handsome face. You’re sobering up. He looks clearer. Maybe that’s just the streetlights.

“Get you home in five minutes. C’mon.”

You swivel around to look for Martha and Deb, but they’re nowhere to be seen. The cab will come, they’ll assume you’re staying a while, and get in. No big deal, right?

Well. Stepping into your boss’s car after a night of highly inappropriate touching is kind of a big fucking deal.

That’s why you do it. Waddle over to him, take his hand, let him guide you to the car. You swing a leg in and slip across the seats, admiring the ceiling dotted with hundreds of tiny white lights, like you’re staring straight up at the night sky.

They blur through your drunken gaze, which doesn’t pull from them until you feel the weight of Joel on your right and hear the door slam shut.

“Mind puttin’ the partition up, Rand?” Joel’s voice says, though you mostly hear the vibrations through his chest, where your head is lying. His arm slips around your back, pulling you closer into him as the two of you are granted privacy by the quiet whir of the screen closing.

“Good night?” Joel asks, lips on your hair.

You nod. “You?”

“Mhm.”

His fingers are drawing shapes on your left hip. His right hand intertwines with yours. Your left hand starts to wander.

You liked his hand on you. Liked feeling his grip there. Wanted him to keep moving it up, wanted to see how far he’d take it. So, you put your own hand on the inside of his thigh, just like he did. Starting at the knee, and slowly sliding north. Joel’s breath tightens, his chest lifts, his jaw ticks.

The movement knocks you sober for a couple seconds. You realize what you’re doing. You draw your hand back.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

He unlinks your hands and places a steady palm over your withdrawn fist.

“’s okay, baby. You can do that if you want to.”

The drawl of his voice makes your eyes roll back, your heart leap. Your fucking legs clench.

You let him replace your hand where it was, and his legs widen a little. His crotch more available. You’re watching what you’re doing like you’re not even in your own body; watching it how Joel must be, thinking Higher, higher, keep going, keep doing that.

You lift your heavy head, resting it on his shoulder, and look up into his brown eyes. He’s framed by the starlit ceiling of the car. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, face lined with his expression.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod lazily. “Tired.”

Just then his hand takes yours again and shifts it softly, stopping what was probably about to happen but still holding onto you, still wanting your fingers locked in his. Not halting the train, just switching tracks.

It’s not a long journey, certainly not as long as you’d like, until you’re parked on your street. Rand lowers the partition to call back, and Joel thanks him.

“You okay gettin’ to your apartment?”

“Yup,” you groan, hoisting yourself out of the comfortable car.

“Sure? I can walk you up if you want.”

You bend down, one arm on the roof of the car. “I’m good, thanks. Thanks for the ride, Miller.”

“Be safe, baby.”

“You be safe, too. Bye.”

You throw the door closed and meander off up the steps toward your building. Joel’s car doesn’t roll off until your elevator arrives and you disappear inside.

You spend all weekend in bed, recovering not only from the party but from the week of work you’d endured. You keep yourself busy, though. There’s a Desperate Housewives marathon on TV. And when you’re not watching that, your hand is stuffed down your pants, Joel on your mind.

All. Fucking. Weekend.

In the shower, you’re picturing him on his knees in front of you, lapping you up. Hands gripping your thighs, draped over his shoulders. Your hand plants firmly against the wet tile when you cum, your orgasm threatening to collapse you in a heap.

In bed, you’re on top of him, knees either side of his waist, letting him buck his hips up until you’re screaming, covering him in your wet. Your vibrator battery dies by Saturday night.

Monday morning, you’re getting ready to leave for the office, and need to take ten minutes out to relieve the ache between your legs again. This time, he has you pressed against your bedroom wall, fucking you quick and messy, cumming deep inside you before he’ll let you head out.

It’s just a crush, right? It’s just because of how touchy you guys were on Friday. When you were drunk. And in a cramped, dark dive bar. Everybody gets crushes. And who wouldn’t, on a six-foot-whatever man with a jawline that could cut glass, hands that take a grip of you with minimal effort, a cock probably the size of…

No. Nope. That’s enough. Cut that the fuck out.

It’s just a crush. That’s what you keep telling yourself in the elevator, lights counting down the floors until you’re going to see Joel again. Is the sparkling feeling in your chest fear, anticipation, or excitement?

And is your cunt beginning to throb again?

You give a curt nod to Martha as you arrive, hauling your bag a little further up your shoulder and adjusting the folders in your arms on your hips.

“Where’d you go?” she asks, eyes still on the computer in front of her. Her chin propped on her elbow, face inches from the screen, reading something intently.

“Huh?”

“On Friday. We couldn’t find you when the cab arrived.”

“Oh, I, uh,” you clear your throat, “Joel gave me a ride. Yeah.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Generous of ‘im.”

“Yup.”

“He’s in the conference room waitin’ for you.”

“Cool, thanks.”

You hover for a few seconds, then take your cue to leave. You hurry over to the conference room door, knocking twice before pushing it open.

Joel’s sat at the top of the table, leant back in his chair, feet up on the wood in front of him. You feel like you could collapse.

“Mornin’,” he says, over the dull droning from the phone. Your eyes flit down to it, a question, and he answers, “weekend update.”

“Anything good?”

He shakes his head, leaning forward to hit the unmute button, affirm whatever the hell the other dude had been saying, say his goodbyes, and then hang up.

“Feelin’ fresh?” he asks when he’s sat back.

You take a deep breath and wobble your head as an answer, laying files and folders out on the table in preparation for the meeting Joel has this morning.

“That bad, huh?”

“I was fine by Saturday afternoon. How were you?”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t that drunk.”

Yeah. Sure, Joel. Your fingers took the brunt of the alcohol.

He stands up, wanders around the table to join you. Your fingers begin to tremble at the thought of him so close. Your thighs heat.

“This all of it?” he asks. He’s closer than you thought.

“Y-yep. Some copies there, too, if anyone needs a spare.”

His hand slips up between your shoulder blades, patting you gently at the base of your neck.

“Good job, baby.”

You almost fucking shudder. Your stomach jolts, your chest tightens. The ache between your legs pangs, reminding you it’s there, even though you can’t fucking do anything about it.

You spin around, settling back against the table, ankles crossed. Tense.

“How long do you reckon it’ll go on?”

“No idea. Why? Somewhere you gotta be?”

You shake your head. “Just organizing lunch ‘n stuff for you.”

“That can wait until after.”

“I’ll have it ready for you comin’ out. Be easier.”

He steps forward. Your heart stutters.

“You’ll be in here with me.”

You cock your head. “Again? What– Why?”

“I need you in here. To take–”

“–minutes? Yeah, figured as much. You gonna have me up here all night again writing ‘em up?”

He smirks, dimples in his cheeks. There are two options here: either smack him, or jump his bones – he deserves the first and you deserve the latter.

“I like having you in my meetings, darlin’,” he says, as the door handle turns, “stops me wanting to blow my brains out.”

Martha enters and Joel slots in alongside you on the table. She sets a tray with a coffee pot and packets of sugar and milk on the sideboard.

Your head is fucking dizzy. There’s a ringing in your ears. Energy sparkling in waves from the tops of your thighs all through you. Joel’s shoulder brushing against yours, his eyes boring into the side of your face.

You won’t look at him. Won’t take your eyes off of Martha, laying paper coffee cups out in rows, her back to you guys.

Joel lays a palm flat on your thigh, rounding the curve until his hand is firm between your legs, threatening to push your skirt up. You feel his breath hot on your neck, his voice like honey in your ear.

“Makes for a nice view, too.”

You whip around to glare at him. He leans back, chuckling to himself.

Through gritted teeth, you whisper, “Can I talk to you? In private?”

Joel shrugs, excuses you both to Martha, and then follows at your heels out of the conference room and over to his office door. You waltz in without permission, shoving the door open and waiting for him to close it behind himself.

Joel’s office is bright, clean. Giant windows lining three walls, huge desk with an even bigger bookcase behind. Two black leather couches opposite, facing one another with a glass coffee table between. Soft white rugs, obnoxiously huge lampshades, small fern plants dotted here and there. You found and booked the interior designer for him, and not a day’s gone by since that you don’t remind him of how nice a job you did.

Today, though, you break that streak. You round on him as soon as he closes the tall, wooden door behind him.

“Will you fucking quit it?”

“Fucking quit what, baby?” He’s almost laughing, strolling around his desk and settling into his leather chair, leaning back. Casual. Fucking – arrogant.

You stammer, holding up a shaky finger. “Okay, first of all – that. Don’t call me baby, that’s not appropriate. Second – the teasing?”

“I don’t get it, you liked me callin’ you baby on Friday night.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and give him a furious stare. He holds his hands up.

“My mistake.”

You stalk over to the windows separating Joel’s office from the reception area. Martha’s still in the conference room, the door ajar. You haul the shades shut to give yourselves some privacy.

“Stop – fucking with me. Stop it. We were drunk on Friday night. It wasn’t– Stop.”

“’m not fucking with you.” He leans his head to scratch his eyebrow. He repeats it when you turn away, hands flying up in the air. “I’m not.”

“Let’s just forget Friday happened, can we do that?”

Wandering around Joel’s office isn’t doing anything to relieve the weight between your legs. If anything, it’s making it worse. You make your way back to his desk and place your hands down on the wood, leaning over.

“Wh…what’s next on the agenda?” you ask, almost panting, your eyes closing.

You hear Joel’s chair rock when his weight leaves it. His footsteps pad across soft carpet, around the desk. Nearing you. They come to a halt and you feel the air stop short, right behind you.

For someone not trying to fuck with you, he’s doing an awfully good job at it.

You surrender, leaning back, your shoulders making contact with his chest. Then his hands find your hips, light, gentle. No pressure on them, not until your ass presses against his crotch and your head tilts, allowing Joel to hook his chin over your shoulder.

He’s hard, under his pants. Against you. You can feel it, still, steady. Rock solid beneath four layers of clothing.

His hands lift from your waist and glide up your shirt front, your stomach tensing when they brush over it. They come to rest over your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples through your shirt. And you fucking let him; lifting your right arm to hook around his jaw and pull him closer into your neck, where his lips leave soft, wet marks.

It feels like the first gasp of fresh, sea air after being underwater. The first gulp of chilled water after a hike. The first wave of aircon in the car. It’s relief. It’s desperate, borderline orgasmic relief.

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more.

You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin.

“I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?”

“Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” you repeat, and he nods. You take a breath. “S-sounds good.”

Joel’s hands find the hem of your skirt and start to pull it up your legs, painfully slow, revealing more and more of your bare thighs as he goes. He’s rubbing them, massaging until your skirt sits on your hips, little black panties exposed. His hand comes down to cup you, fingers gently applying pressure to your clit through the lace.

You moan, finally being touched by him again, finally feeling his hands on you where you need it most. Already, he’s doing better, making you feel better than you could ever by yourself. Than you did, by yourself. Involuntarily, you breathe out, “Daddy…”

Joel’s fingers pick up the pace. He fucking loves it.

“That feel good, baby? Like it like that? Tell me how it feels.”

“So – fucking – good,” you whisper, legs parting more to grant him better access. He dips his hand lower, thumb staying planted on your lace-covered clit, fingers shifting the fabric under your entrance aside.

He toys with you first, middle finger swaying back and forth through your folds, collecting slick, spreading it around. Then, a second finger, pushing upward, dangerously close to entering you. You’re gasping, leaning into him, letting his strong form keep you upright.

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s whispering into your ear. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’, just enjoy.”

And then he pushes up, two thick, curled fingers entering your cunt in one motion. He has you down to his knuckles, limp against his chest, mouth wide open in a silent gasp. Your head rolls to the side to watch him as he feels you for the first time, and his expression mirrors yours.

“So fuckin’ wet, babygirl,” he whispers, lips on your forehead.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whimper as his fingers press hard inside your soft pussy, starting to pump gently before picking up the pace and fucking you good.

The office is silent, save for your gasps and moans, and the wet sounds of Joel’s fingers in your cunt. He hums into your neck, thumb pressing hard against your clit, drawing tiny circles over the swollen bud.

It doesn’t take fucking long before you’re collapsing, walls clenching, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. It’s all that’s been on your mind for almost three days, all you’ve imagined, dreamt about, thought of.

Joel feels you, knows you’re close.

“Wanna cum all over daddy’s fingers, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you bite back a yelp, “so – close.”

“Know you are, baby. It’s okay, you can cum. Let me feel you.”

That coil, slowly winding since approximately nine-thirty on Friday night, not relieved by your hands, your toys, or your fucking pillows, snaps in one second. The tension breaks across your stomach. Your legs give; Joel’s free hand wraps around your waist to hold you upright.

You throw your head back against his shoulder again, jaw slack with a moan you know you can’t give voice to. Joel fucks you all the way through it, fingers coated in your cum only to dive straight back in, wetter and slicker than before.

There are stars in your vision. You can’t feel between your legs. The office is slowly blinking back into view, but Joel gives you no time to recover.

He pushes you face down onto his desk roughly, hastily, like someone’s about to wander through his door any second. One ear pressed to the cold wood, you hear his belt clink, feel the teeth of his zipper graze your thighs. Hear his deep breaths as he drags his pants and boxershorts down to free his cock.

You’ve never seen him, obviously. You’ve pictured it, dreamt up what it would look like with your fingers deep inside yourself. And from this angle you still don’t see it, but when the weight of it springs against your ass, when Joel lines himself up and his tip dips between your cum-covered folds, you fucking feel it.

His thick head pushing slightly into your entrance, coating him in your slick. He’s big. You moan at the time he’s taking to just shove into you; it’s probably seconds, but it feels like fucking hours.

“I hear ya, I know,” he’s saying, but your hearing’s starting to fade. Blood pumping through your head, white noise rattling against your eardrums.

He pushes in, length separating your clenched walls, entering your wet, warm cunt with a deep growl from Joel’s lips and a gasp from yours. You open up around him, swelling as he pushes deeper and deeper.

“So – fuckin’ – tight for me, baby,” he groans, hands on your hips pulling you back onto his length. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are?”

“Mhm,” you reply, the stretch of his thick cock burning and igniting you in flame. Your eyes screw shut as he keeps pushing, further than you ever thought anyone could, until his tip kisses your cervix and you whine.

“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, pausing and placing a steady hand on the small of your back. “We don’t need anyone out there knowin’ what we’re doin’.”

“So good, daddy,” you whimper quietly, and he knows. He fucking knows.

He begins to draw back, hips leaving your ass, cock pulling out of your pussy. Your eyes roll closed, missing him the more he withdraws. Before he’s fully gone, he snaps back inside, entering you harder, faster, deeper.

You gasp, knuckles whitening with the grip of your balled fists. You bend one arm, biting into your sleeve to stop your whimpers from slipping under the door.

A couple more thrusts and Joel’s fucking you. Hard. He’s fucking huge, so huge it blurs the edges of your vision every time his cock hits against your cervix. He’s almost fucking whimpering behind you, growling your name with every stroke, groaning each time he bottoms out inside you and your tight hole wraps around his length.

You can feel the edge of the table bruising your pelvis, and it feels so fucking good. Everything about this feels good. Joel’s cock stretching you out, his hands gripping you roughly, your own hands outstretched to hold onto the desk for some sort of stability.

The only thought going through your head, only words your lips can part to utter: daddy daddy daddy.

“Good girl,” Joel hums, your moans like music to his ears. “Good fuckin’ girl. Know how naughty you are for me?”

You smile. “Yeah, daddy.”

This is the filthiest thing you’ve ever fucking done. Sure, you love sex, especially when it’s rough. But nothing you’ve ever done with anyone else, nothing you’ve ever had done to you by anyone else, compares to being bent over your boss’s desk and fucked dumb by him.

Calling him daddy, corporate managers slowly filing into a conference room just outside. Only an unlocked door separating them from you, writhing and throbbing under Joel’s cock, his rough hands on your hips, your name passing his lips in breathy moans.

Is it wrong? Yes. Do you care? Fuck no.

You know he’s close; his thrusts become sloppy, hips start hammering against you.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” he grunts, skin slapping.

You’re on the pill, and if you answered honestly, you’d tell him to finish inside you. But you know that if he wanted to do that, he’d just fucking do it. Wouldn’t ask. And you’re not prepared to waste time arguing.

“My m-mouth.”

“C’mere.” Joel slips out of you with no effort, you’re so fucking soaked for him, and spins you around. A gentle hand on your shoulder, he pushes you onto your knees, free hand jacking his cock over you.

It’s the first time you see him, fist tugging up and down a thick, veiny shaft; swollen, reddened tip spilling precum which his thumb collects and drags down his length, gleaming with your wet.

On instinct, you push forward, one hand coming to rest on his thigh, the other taking over from his on his dick. You pump him a few times, and then open your mouth wide enough to take him all the way until he’s brushing the back of your throat.

With a choke, you begin bobbing your head up and down, cheeks hollow, breathing deep through your nose. Joel moans, head rolling back, hand coming to hold your hair in a fist. He drags you back and forth a few times before he begins to shudder and you draw back, holding him steady on your swollen bottom lip.

He looks down at you and your eyes lock as he cums all over your tongue. You moan as your mouth fills with his warm, salty load. When his cock stills and he stops spilling all over you, you lean back and close your mouth, licking your lips and swallowing him.

“Aw, babygirl,” he coos, stroking your hair. “Good job. Such a good girl for me.”

You both take a few seconds to catch your breath before Joel’s hands hook under your arms and he pulls you back up, letting you lean against his desk.

Still in a daze, you feel him tug your skirt back down, fix your shirt. Tuck your hair behind your ears, wipe either saliva or cum from your lips.

“Good?” he asks, and you lace your fingers in his.

Your breath is still shaky, but through a sigh, you say, “Good.”

He nods. “Can hear Ken out front, must all be arrivin’.” He pulls you over to the door.

His fingers wrap around the handle, free hand coming up to cup your cheek. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. You open your mouth and let his tongue past, moaning into the wet, messy kiss.

Something in you almost wants to laugh, thinking about the fact you let him fuck you before you’d even kissed him.

When he pulls away, your hands take hold of his jaw, keeping him at your height.

“Have a good meeting,” you whisper, pecking him on the lips, “text me what you want for lunch.”

He growls, yanking the door open and passing by you, granting your wish to sit this one out. Something in you tells you not to wander far, though.

He’ll probably want to blow off some steam when he’s done.

----------

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[thewulf]

Good News || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: So i saw somewhere where a woman got into trouble for "destruction of government property" but it's just her giving her military husband hickies, and i think this would be so hilarious with Jake Seresin.

A/N: This one came so quickly to me. It's just pure fluff. All the Jake Seresin fluff! Short but sweet. Hope you all enjoy :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Y/N

Word Count: 2.3k +

Your eyes flipped back to the calendar on the wall with a big red circle around today. You’d probably looked at that calendar a thousand times over the last six months as you waited. Waited agonizingly every single day praying you wouldn’t get a knock on your door or the dreaded phone call.

Jake had been deployed on a carrier off the coast of Israel in the Mediterranean Sea for the last six months. You knew it came with the territory when you started dating him all those years ago. It terrified you every single time he came to tell you he was off on a mission or going on orders overseas. You’d never show it, only your utmost support and confidence in the man. But you knew how dangerous it was. He told you about all the men and women he’s seen gone down and some never making it home in his short span as a pilot in the Navy. It didn’t just terrify you, it rocked you all the way down to your core. What if he didn’t make it home? He was a hell of a pilot, one of the best that was flying, but things didn’t always go your way. He knew that. You knew it. Everybody seemed to know it.

But today was the day. He was coming home. After the months of shitty less than communication and trying your best to stay distracted it was here. He was safe. He was alive. You’d talked to him just a few hours ago. Waiting.

Jake’s parents picked you up from your shared home just off base that’d been eerily quiet in his absence. They didn’t want you driving in your hyper-fixated state. They never wanted you driving when it came to these kinds of events. They knew how much it tore you up when he was gone on deployment. If you didn’t fly down to Texas they made sure to fly to you. Just to keep you company. You hadn’t a clue how you’d gotten so lucky to have them in your life. And hopefully in the future as family. You never pushed it though. You didn’t want him to panic and ran. And truth be told you’d be fine never marrying him so long as he was like this in your life. Your best friend and love wrapped up in one.

“Are you excited?” His mom asked seeing you nearly bouncing out of the backseat once the car rolled onto base.

“Oh Nancy,” you could only nod your head in confirmation, “I’m more than excited.” Your cheeks were starting to burn from the big cheesy grin you were wearing.

His dad, David, spoke up, “I know Jake is just as excited.” He smiled just feeling the excitement in the air. These days were truly the best. Six months was a long time to be away. The longest deployment he’d been on in years.

The three of you made small talk as David drove to the base. Once parked, you happily led the older couple over to where the sailors would stand before they waited to be dismissed. You watched as the hundred or so men and women aboard the ship departed to their designated formation. Your eyes scanned for your loved one. Your Jake.

Finally spotting him you waited anxiously as the rest of the crew lined up. You just had to wait it out another ten minutes or so. They had to officially be dismissed before they could break for the family reunions. These last few minutes always seemed to draw on for decades trying to be as patient as possible.

You kept your eyes on him as he kept his forward. You hadn’t a clue that he already spotted you moments before you did him. But he had to keep his attention forward. No matter how anxious he was to see his favorite girl again.

They second they were dismissed Jake made a beeline right for you. Your face lit up in surprise as he headed right at you. Your body responding by moving forward you jumped right into his arms once he got close enough. He was more than ready. He wrapped his arms right around you securing you tightly to his chest while your feet locked behind him.

“Jakey.” You grinned hugging him tightly, afraid he’d be gone from your arms again you cherished every second like this. It made you realize how much you really did love the man you were holding so tightly. How much you craved him, everything about him. You’d rather not have had him gone for six months though. That was far too long for your liking. As if you had any say.

“Honey.” He cooed gently rocking you side to side. One arm snaked around your waist, one arm gently cradling your head in his hands, “You’re so fucking pretty. How’d you get even more beautiful? God I missed your face.” Jake leaned down capturing your lips in his. As gentle as he normally was with you this was hungrier. He really had missed you. Giving your hip as squeeze you felt him smile into the kiss as you squirmed away from his grasp.

Once you stopped giggling you looked right into his eyes smiling dopily, “And I missed yours, handsome man.” You gave him a wicked smirk before doing the unthinkable. Jake had warned you time and time again how he couldn’t show visible marks on the skin, or the Navy could have his ass. And maybe even yours if they were angry enough. You’d known they were empty threats, but you’d never dreamed of potentially hurting his flying in anyway. So, you’d never leave any marks.

Sliding his collar to the side you decided to throw caution to the wind seeing everybody lost in their own world with their own families. Jake’s parents were even admiring all the reunions around them instead of having their eyes fixated on the two of you. They loved watching all the joy every time. Nancy always made sure that every sailor was feeling the love. That was just one of the reasons you’d fallen in love not only with Jake but his entire family. His mom was as sweet as they came. His dad just as caring but even more tough. It was no wonder Jake was the way he was. Albeit a little more of an asshole than either of them even combined.

“Ma’am. That is abhorrent.” A vaguely familiar voice made you focus on your surroundings once more, “This is Destruction of Government Property.” You heard a cough from behind Jake drawing you away from your boyfriends neck. The look you sent could’ve killed him if it were at all possible. Bradley fucking Bradshaw. Was he actually serious right now?

You felt Jake’s laughter in his chest before you heard it. Flicking your eyes up momentarily at him you kissed him on his cheek before flipping Bradley off, “I don’t care Bradley.” You continued flipping him off while Jake held you tightly to his chest.

“Sweetheart…” Jake tried to warn you. The government really did own his ass. But his Commanding Officer was cool. He wasn’t expected to be back on base for another few weeks… what did a few hickies hurt? You knew the drill, but it didn’t seem to matter as you clung to him like he was about to vanish at any second. He looked down at your doe eyed expression, “I missed you.” He finished realizing just how hard deployment really was on you. The two of you were going on year five together. He’d been a pilot for all of them. He’d flown his hardest missions during that time. Your support never wavered. But seeing you like this? Like you’d never see him again… it hurt him. It hurt knowing you were feeling like that.

“You’ll care when there are Naval Officers on your doorstep.” Bradley tried. He really did. But you really didn’t care. You missed him more than anything. You didn’t care that his parents were there watching. You just missed him. Missed his corny ass jokes and the soft touches he always threw your way. You missed the sweet smiles and laughter that came with being around him. 

“So be it. Worth it.” You giggled as Jake pinched your sides again bringing your attention back to the man you’d dreamed about every day.

“Eyes over here darling.” He made sure to flip Bradley off before holding you back in his arms once again. He wouldn’t let you drop your hold on him. He wanted you close. He didn’t care either. He’d craved you for those months. He’d forgotten just how bad deployment got. Bradley mumbled some incoherent words before disappearing off into the crowd.

Kissing his cheek once more you nodded, “Sorry Jakey.” Brushing your hands through his hair it felt like it really was just the two of you there. Like nobody else was around.

“No need to apologize.” He whispered in your ear sending immediate chills down your spine, “You didn’t answer my question though. How’d you seem to get even more beautiful while I was gone?”

You truly felt like a little schoolgirl was a nasty crush on a boy way out of your league. He was so sweet to you and only you. Not having a clue why. You loved watching him interact with everyone else. He was so different than the man who came home to you every night. But that was Jake. Tough as they come. Sweet as can be. The biggest fight the two of you had was when he came home and told you about the six month long deployment a year ago. You didn’t even fight you were just sad. Sad that he volunteered to go. Volunteered and didn’t tell you. The two of you worked through it though. You always did.

“Shush. You’ve just been trapped on a big boat for so long I’d be offended if you didn’t think I was pretty.” You wanted to kiss him so bad. You didn’t even remember the kiss you gave him once you spotted him walk off the ship. You blacked out, truly.

“Never ever.” He grinned, “I’ll never stop complementing my beautiful girl.”

You squeezed your arms around him pulling him so much closer. You’d melt into him if you could, “You’re too sweet to me Mr. Seresin.”

He shook his head, “Not enough, I’d say.” He took the lead this time leaning down to give you a soft, sweet kiss that was far too short for your liking.

“I love you.” You whispered to him feeling oh so happy. So beyond excited he was holding you in his arms once again. You tried to step away to give his parents a chance to say hello, but he only held you tighter. Shaking his head.

“Love you too, gorgeous girl.” He hummed placing a soft kiss on your forehead, “That was it, by the way.”

You scrunched your eyes together in confusion, “What?”

He nodded his head with that larger than life smile on his face, “You’re looking at Captain Jake Seresin. Command Ground Officer.” He emphasized ground with wide eyes.

“Jake! Congrats. You didn’t tell me! Does this mean you’re here? Permanently?” Looking at him expectedly. It hit you just how good it could really get once you knew he’d be sleeping by your side every night.

He nodded his head in excitement, “At least for this job. I’ll still be flying but more on the leadership side. Training. Preparing them.”

You didn’t think your heart could swell any larger in love. But there it went. Only Jake could do that. You knew it. He knew it, “You’re not kidding right? Like you’re being serious?”

“Yes sweetheart. So serious.” He kissed your nose this time. He missed you more than you could’ve imagined. It was an impossible six months. He didn’t want to do that anymore. He couldn’t be away from you anymore. Lucky for him he had options. They let him choose. He choose to ground himself from missions. It was time to grow up and move on. He’d accomplished everything he sought out to and more already in the air. Now he was on a mission to rise to the top. Admiral Jake Seresin had a ring to it. 

You wanted to squeal but knew you had eyes all over you. Anybody could’ve been watching, “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a while J.”

“Just you wait.” He grinned ear to ear leaning down once more, whispering into your ear, “Won’t even be the best news you’ve heard all day.” Leaning all the way down he kissed you with a little bit more but keeping it PG. His parents were standing there a little annoyed that he’d chosen to be with you for so long before he even acknowledged them. But they knew. They knew the raw power of love. How much it could sway and dissuade. How deeply Jake was in love with you and how much you were with him.

“Oh? Do tell.” You pulled away looking at him curiously.

“You’ll see.” He wiggled his eyebrows just to egg you on.

You narrowed your eyebrows in on the man you loved so dearly, “You know how much I hate surprises.”

He laughed gleefully, “Oh darling, I know.” He pulled you back into him momentarily, “Promise, it’ll be worth the wait.”

“Promise?” You knew he’d keep true to his word, but you wanted to hear him confirm it.

“I promise you darling. Just you wait.” Squeezing your hand, he finally walked over to his parents bringing you right along with him. Only dropping your hand as he went in for the hug with his mom.

Taglist: @stuffingbuttsandshit @genius2050

[shortestcake]

SAFE WITH HER

(oneshot)

Pairing: Abby x reader

Pronouns used: she/her

Gendered terms: girl

Genre: angstish+fluff

// Owen(gross), description of violence / very mild gore

It was no secret that Abby was fiercely protective of the people she cared about, naturally assuming a guardian-like role. And when it came to you, that instinct intensified tenfold.

It could range from subtle things, such as a careful but shielding hand on the small of your back or around your waist when the two of you weren't in the comfort of your room. Or less subtle things, like her straight up refusal to you going on patrol without her.

Even before you two were together, she insisted on accompanying you on every patrol, unable to trust anyone else with your safety.

Her constant presence during your outings made this all the more terrifying. This was your first patrol without her in nearly three years, and every step you took made you want to scamper back to base. You knew you were competent—Abby knew this too—but it didn't make any of the situation feel any less wrong.

"Listen, you and Owen know the area the best, I need my most capable people for this. These items are no joke."

On top of it all- he just had to partner you up with Owen for this.

He told you about how there's an emergency trip he wanted done by you. There was an extreme medical supply shortage, he thought he'd be able to hold it off for about another month or so but was proven wrong.

"I wouldn't be asking you if I had better options, I know Abby won't be too happy with me when she finds this out." She, Manny, and Nora had been on their own reconnoitering trip for a week before this; hence why she couldn't join you instead of—or at least alongside—Owen.

As much as you hated to admit, Isaac was right. So you begrudgingly obliged and started preparing soon after, since it was a spontaneous patrol rather than the typical planned ones.

A few days later, your beloved girlfriend returned from her stupidly long journey. You'd usually already be waiting for her the second she walked in. When she didn't spot you immediately, she didn't take it personally, making her way to your shared 'apartment', solely wanting to melt in your embrace after a difficult ten days. Along the way, everyone she met paths with lacked both the heart and the courage to tell her you wouldn't be waiting for her when she reached her destination.

"Baby? I'm back." She spoke softly upon entering your shared space, but said space now felt empty and lifeless. Abby's only companion was a small note you had left on her nightstand. It was short and sweet- explaining the situation to her, complaining about it, and then doing your best to reassure her in written words.

But your gentle words did little to ease her. Saying she was pissed was an understatement, she nearly stormed up to Isaac to tell him off for going against their agreement. But she caught herself, knowing it would accomplish nothing. Even so, she made no effort to hide her displeasure for the rest of the day, shooting him a glare that could cut through steel whenever he was in view. The helplessness of waiting, unable to do anything but sit and pray to any deity that might listen for your safety, was driving her crazy.

The weight of uncertainty hung heavy on her shoulders, amplifying her anxiety with each passing hour. Some might call her dramatic, you'd been able to hold your own before, you'd be able to hold your own now. But that didn't change the fact she didn't trust others with your life, especially Owen, of all people. He wasn't necessarily a bad partner, however, he was definitely when it came to you. It wasn't a secret that the two of you never really got along. And that could only add to the whiplash of how seamlessly teamwork flowed between you and Abby.

The next day, which you estimated would be your last one on patrol, you and Owen were on your way back, only a few hours away from base. The air was thick with anticipation, and every minute felt like an hour.

"If you just—no, give it to me," you snapped, snatching the map from his grip. You mumbled under your breath about his incompetence, frustration bubbling to the surface.

"So fuckin' prissy," he rolled his eyes, the disdain in his voice unmistakable.

"Yeah, 'cause you're such a delight to be around," you scoffed, barely holding it together after the past few days of dealing with him. The tension between you had been simmering, and it seemed on the verge of boiling over. He shot back another snarky comment, and you retorted with your own. The back-and-forth bickering served as a temporary distraction from your surroundings.

The landscape outside blurred as you focused on the argument, each exchange of words feeling like a small release of pent-up stress. But the sharp crack of gunfire abruptly shattered your argument, the sound slicing through the air with terrifying clarity. Your heart jumped into your throat. Perfect, a fucking ambush.

Surprisingly, the threat forced you both to act in sync. Owen's foot slammed on the gas pedal, and the car surged forward. You quickly leaned out the window, scanning the area for targets. Your senses sharpened, the adrenaline coursing through your veins heightening your awareness. Despite being outnumbered, the speed and protection of the car gave you a fleeting sense of advantage. For a moment, you almost believed you had the upper hand.

You should've known better than to get ahead of yourself.

Your body reacted before your mind could process what had happened. Your muscles tensed involuntarily, and your gun slipped from your grip, clattering onto your lap. A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped your lips as the shock set in. "Shit—fuck," Owen muttered under his breath, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter, accelerating even more. The car lurched forward, tires screeching against the ground as he pushed it to its limits, trying to outrun the danger.

Then the pain hit, a searing agony radiating from the right side of your neck and spreading through every nerve in your body. It felt like fire, intense and all-consuming, making you momentarily dizzy. You pressed a trembling hand to your neck, your fingers coming away slick with blood. You’d been shot. The bullet had grazed your neck.

You weren't sure if you were lucky or unlucky—the bullet had only scuffed your neck, just a few centimeters deep. It hurt like hell and limited your movement, but it hadn't damaged your vocal cords or vital blood vessels. The realization brought a mix of relief and dread, the pain clouding your thoughts. You did your best to stay up and alert, but the adrenaline started fading, and your exhaustion caught up. Slowly, your head lulled and the world went black.

"And you didn't fucking think to patch her up?" Muffled screaming was all you heard when you woke up.

"Up already?" Nora's unmistakable voice asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "Well, I'm glad. She's been having a meltdown since you got back." The woman gestured towards the door, where you could still hear screaming from outside the room.

"So, you got shot." She started with the obvious. "It's nothing major—or shouldn't have been." Her voice was laced with slight annoyance. "Owen drove nearly two hours with you bleeding out beside him. Even with a small wound, it did some extra damage." She explained the do's and don'ts, giving you a little rundown of what you were in for.

"I'll bring Abby here, let her know you're awake and all," Nora said, patting your arm gently. You nodded, as much as you could manage. "Thanks a lot, Nora."

"'Course," she replied with a smile before opening the door. "Hey, your girl's up," was the last thing you heard before Nora was out of view and Abby rushed in.

When her all-too-recognizable form bustled to your side, you sat up properly, extending your arms for a long-overdue hug. At first, Abby wanted to examine you, to make sure you were alright, before allowing herself to indulge in the much-needed affection she craved from you. She hesitated, her eyes scanning for any signs of distress or pain. But the sweet look on your face when your eyes met, and your eagerness to just hold her, made her decide it was alright to give in to her wants. With a soft sigh, she melted into your embrace, wrapping her strong arms around you tightly, both of you savoring the comforting warmth of being together again.

After a few moments of satisfying each other's need for tenderness, you both let go, though she kept her hands on you, moving them to your shoulders. Her left hand slowly and ever so gently inched up your neck, studying the bandages wrapped around your wound.

"I'm fine, really. Nora did a good job patching me up," you reassured her with a smile, moving your own hand to rest on hers. You softly caressed up and down her arm, trying to comfort her. Her eyes were filled with concern, but your touch seemed to ease some of her worries.

"If I was there…" she started, but you didn't let her finish, pressing a gentle kiss on her lips. "I know, I know. I didn't like being out without you either, but I'm all good, 'kay?" The look on her face told you she wanted to say more. To tell you that it's not okay because she should've been there, to protect you. Instead, she settled on, "Owen's a dumbass." Which caused you to start giggling.

"Yeah, he really is," you agreed, the tension breaking as you both shared a lighthearted moment.

Abby stared at you laughing, it felt like a weight had just been lifted off her chest and she could finally breathe again. She leaned down, her blonde strands tickling your face slightly while she pressed gentle kisses to your lips and cheeks.

You let yourself soak in the quiet aftermath, in the adoration and security she showered you in. Finally safe in Abby's arms.

Yes, I'm back, again. Hope you guys missed me cause I missed you, might open requests soon too!

[prettyboytsum]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ first night back I iwaizumi hajime cw: afab! reader, dirty talk, oral (receiving) disclaimer: all characters are aged up! mdni! wc: 521

the first night iwaizumi was back in japan for good was surprising, to say the least. it was one of the few times where he didn’t have to cram a year’s worth of dates in two weeks or soak in your presence because he wouldn’t be able to see you for the next couple of months.

the plan was for him to stay over in your new tokyo apartment for a couple of weeks. he claimed that it would be a closer drive and it’d give him time to figure out when he wanted to go back to the prefecture. the added bonus of seeing you every day, even if only for a short period, was enticing enough for someone who spent the majority of the last four years calling the love of his life. so, as any loving partner would, you had assumed that he’d be tired from his roughly ten-hour flight from california to japan based on all his planning. the sheets were just changed, his favorite scented candles were lit and you made sure to cook up a feast for when he arrived home. you went above and beyond for his trip back. one thing you didn’t account for was that he missed you—in more ways than one. ”fucking missed this pussy,” iwaizumi groans to himself before he buries his face between your thighs. he eats you out like a starved man, your clothes strewn on the kitchen floor the moment he saw you. ”haji,” you whine, short pants escaping your soft lips as you gripped his hair. for all the things you had prepared for, you didn’t expect him to be needy as soon as he landed. ”nobody even came close to how gorgeous you are, baby,” iwaizumi says, pulling you closer to his lips as you grip the island counter. “can’t believe i was away from you for this long—god, i’m gonna fuck you every night.” ”haji,” you moan louder, throwing your head back in pleasure as he fucks you with his tongue. your body gets warmer—you’ve never seen your boyfriend this desperate and you’d be a liar if you said it wasn’t turning you on. ”yeah?” he whispers, planting quick kisses on your thighs before looking up at you. “bet you missed this dick, huh? fingers just weren’t big enough for your pretty cunt.” you nod, biting your lip as you take a proper look at him. his eyes were blown with lust, his voice husky with need and want—a tone that you haven’t heard from him in far too long. you felt yourself get wetter at the sight, squeezing your thighs together. a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. iwaizumi knows that he looks good, he’s tan from the seaside sun, he’s in the best shape of his life—and there’s nothing more dangerous than a man who knows how attractive he is. ”’s okay, princess,” he replies, giving you a boyish smile that only makes your heart stutter and knees buckle. “gonna make you feel so good that you’ll feel me inside of you for days, alright? jus’ let me spoil my girl.”

✩ author's note: me when i cut it off right before they get down and dirty </3 I SWEAR A FULL FLEDGE TOE CURLING SMUT IS IN THE WORKS ... in the meantime, enjoy a (potentially) part 1 drabble on pussy starved iwa! ⓒ prettyboytsum 2024. all works are posted under this account on tumblr.com and are protected by copyright laws. do not plagiarise these works on any other platform or account.