#If you leave plot-pointed decisions to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thinkblotted · 2 days ago

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Building a Better Star (aka, the Star Essay)

I like Star. I’m getting that shit out of the way right here at the beginning, just in case. I like Star, I like what she is, I think she deserves better writing.

Also - these are my takes. These takes may not be your takes. We can have different takes.

Okay? Okay. Let’s go.

For the purposes of this analysis and suggestion, I’m only going to be going off of movie canon Star, rather than book canon Star, because while they’re basically the same, there are a few background elements in the book that expand on Star’s internal thoughts and relationships with the boys that you could only get from exposition in the book, and that’s not as available a source as the movie, so.

Since I’m either posting this on tumblr for the four people who will read it, or filming myself talking about this like a normal person with normal hobbies, I won’t explain who canonically she is because that’s unnecessary for this audience of me and a discord server, but rather who she is as a character as presented.

The thing about The Lost Boys is that it exists as a double edged sword of characterization for all its characters. They’re all incredibly simple, and in that white space that’s left behind where deeper characterization would be put in other movies, here there’s just a void, leaving the audience to fill in the gaps however they see fit with whatever they can glean from the surrounding world.

The vampires are the prime example of this - of all the characters, they get the least amount of dialogue and have the most void to fill in who they are as characters. Star is the runner up, having more character, but the same amount of void in her backstory.

So who is Star?

Star is The Girl of the group, a trope wherein you have a group of characters who make up the core of your main cast and usually they’re all male, with one or occasionally two exceptions being girls - if it’s two, one will be the ‘nerdy’ or otherwise ‘not strictly desirable by main male cast’ role, and the other will be The Girl, who is almost always the love interest of the main male, who, even though she’s more of a main character then the secondary girl, typically does less than them. As presented, Star fits this trope easily, as well as filling out the subtropes that it consists of.

She’s soft-spoken, pretty, demure, stays out of most of the fights in the story, offers the protagonist advice but never tells him directly how to face the conflict of the story, offers support but never directly physically supports the protagonist. She’s an inciting incident all to herself, but never actually drives the plot forward except to be a shining prize on the mountaintop of the narrative that the protagonist must climb in order to claim.

After being in the Lost Boys fandom for about two and a half-ish years now, there are some take-aways specific to Star that the fandom tends to play on the most.

And I want to add in here, I do not have a problem with these traits being assigned to her. Star, like the rest of the cast, is a very malleable character. The void around her is just as vast as the other vampires, and this is fandom - we play with blorbos from our media like dolls. This entire thing is purely based on what I personally would like to see Star become, and since I’m a freak, I don’t just write fanfic, I also do this. Apparently. So take everything I’m saying with a giant grain of salt.

The traits that I most see attributed to Star are:

-She’s a shrinking violet, either unwilling or unable to interact directly with the conflict of the story

-She’s being held against her will to the point that leaving in any capacity is not only not an option, but would lead to physical harm/possibly death if she tried (ie, she’s an abused captive)

-She cannot be held responsible for any bad decisions she’s made in the past or makes in the current story, or any bad turns the plot takes

The first assertion is held up pretty well by the canon of the movie, and most of the fandom also agrees that it would have been nice if the movie actually did make Star a little less soft. There have been several outcries for Star to ‘vamp out’ like the Boys did, to at the very least give her a scary vampire face! Her tiny confrontation with Max at the end of the movie would have been a perfect space for that, but unfortunately, the movie has 80s-itis and being the female love interest and a victim in the plot, Star isn’t allowed to be aggressive in such a blatant manner.

Star also hangs back whenever the Boys have presence on the screen. She’s never in the forefront, sharing the space, she’s in the background, watching them, only observing. The one time she directly contradicts them, ‘Leave him alone’ she’s told straight up to ‘chill out, girl’, and she doesn’t continue the conflict. When she does decide to try and be more forward with Michael, directly affecting things, she waits until there is no other persons of consequence around in order to do so.

The second assertion of her being held against her will is a little trickier to pin down as a trait, but evidence of this is implied with how she contributes to the narrative - mainly, in asking Michael directly to save Laddie and her from the Boys, or at the very least, the situation she’s in. Though, it should be noted, that Star never makes a direct statement of what that situation is. She hedges that it’s being being driven to kill to sate the vampiric nature, but when taking scenes like David simply saying her name to get her to come to him, being told indirectly to back off when the Boys are hazing Michael, and backing away in a fearful manner when Michael is drinking the blood wine into consideration, there’s the darker notion that she’s being abused in other ways.

Because the movie is meant to be a lighter flick, full of scary-yet-alluring vampire punk boys and over the top monster-hunting gore, billing it as a ‘horror-comedy’ excludes any deeper exploration or more explicit on-screen showing of verbal, emotional, or physical harm that Star may be experiencing. Doing so would take away from the fantastical and darkly whimsical nature of the story, grounding it too much, and making the Boys, though they be villains, into villains we wouldn’t love to hate.

Thus, the darker implications of what Star might be facing behind the scenes, when Michael isn’t around and before he came along, is left to the audience’s interpretation, as well as any ability Star has to struggle against them. The fandom frequently interprets as none, thanks to the plot of the movie being what it is.

The third major assertion that the fandom tends to adopt is that Star is largely if not completely irresponsible for the missteps of other characters and for her own predicament.

This given trait is the most difficult to back up with evidence directly from the canon as it relies heavily on filling in the blank spaces of Star and the other character’s backstories. Star is not responsible for Michael spotting her in the crowd at the concert or deciding to follow after her. Star technically didn’t tell Michael to accept David’s goading to race. Star told Michael she both didn’t know how to help him, and couldn’t explain it. Star is not responsible for Michael’s induction into the Boy’s gang because, well, she told him what he was drinking was blood. Star never directly acts to drive the plot forward until the beginning of the third act when she does admit to Michael that she needs his help, thus, cannot be held responsible even in part to Michael’s involvement.

Lack or acceptance of Star’s responsibility for her own inability to leave the Boys is even harder to pin down, as we have no movie canon for what her life was like before meeting the Boys. The implication from the world around them is that Star is a runaway kid like many of the people seen in the opening sweep of Santa Carla, likely from a crappy home and was taken in by the Boys but soon got in over her head, but this is never directly confirmed.

The idea that Star made a bad choice, and was not just manipulated and coerced after the ‘honeymoon’ period with the Boys is somewhat controversial as it paints Star in a less favorable light. She isn’t an innocent victim, but rather someone who made a bad call and refuses to acknowledge her own agency in that decision, instead placing any and all blame on the Boys.

‘But what if she’s tried that already?’ Unfortunately, that lies entirely in the realm of off-screen possibilities that are not support by any canon. Star in the movie is never shown or implied to have tried escaping before, and in the book she merely has internal monologues about wanting to leave, not that she’s ever attempted it.

Giving Star any one of these traits on their own isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Star is very much helpless in this situation - she’s in a den of immortal man-eating monsters while only being barely half of one herself, and refusing to take the option that would grant her more physical power to assert control in the situation, because the act required would be a shattering of her moral compass. Regardless of her involvement in how she got here, she deserves to be able to leave and make better choices.

But giving Star all of these traits at once with nothing else to her flattens her completely. It does her, in my opinion, an incredible amount of injustice to absolve her of any kind of responsibility in her own problems and then rob her of any bravery to take a risk and change it herself.

And that’s not a good character.

In order to build a better Star, we need to first accept a truth that might be a slightly hard pill to swallow:

A good Star is not necessarily a protagonist.

At least, not in the same way that Michael or Sam can be. Michael and Sam are protagonists in that they’re the heroes of the story. They face the main conflict head on and drive the plot forward with their actions, and are who we’re rooting for to win. We see them and their actions as ‘good’. They are absolved by the framing of blame in what is done to them. (Michael in getting in over his head with the Boys by ignoring the reservations and loose warnings of others, and Sam of murder with the fact that the Boys are man-eating monsters bent on getting back at them when one of their own is killed.)

If you make Star a protagonist in the same way, with her needing to be framed as ‘good’ in the story, but only keeping the character traits previously listed, then she’s a boring character. She becomes only nebulously ‘good’ just by virtue of not technically having done anything that could be considered ‘bad.’ Being counted as a heroine only by default.

And that sucks. That puts her simultaneously on a pedestal where she can do no wrong, but is an empty shell that’s there to smile or cry and do nothing else.

Often, when talking about female protagonists, antagonists, anti-heros and characters with grey morality or amorality, the added layer of them being women forces ten times the scrutiny on not just how they’re built as a character, but on their creators and why they’re choosing to build the character in the way they are. Any mistakes plot-pushing decisions made by the character aren’t as likely to be accepted as just the character acting in the story, but get traced back to the author. The audience constantly asks the question, ‘if it was a male character, would there be consequences for this act, or are you treating this character special because they’re a woman?’

In this case, it’s ‘Michael also fucks up, and yet is treated as a victim, deserving of sympathy and being saved by his brother rather than having to fight all on his own. Their situations are the same. Why not Star? The only difference between them is gender.’

This essay is not about whether or not Star is deserving of being saved, nor is it saying that she deserves being trapped in the situation that she’s in. But much like how Star reminds Michael that she did indeed tell him that it was blood in the bottle and he scoffed at her, Star deserves not to be a lifeless doll being acted upon, and a good female character deserves to not be a pretty, perfect Barbie doll that does no wrong and always looks pretty.

So with the knowledge that a better Star cannot be purely a protagonist, how do we lower her from the boring pedestal?

My suggestion: by inverting her three main traits

The first: If she’s billed as meek and demure and soft, then make her more aggressive and vulgar

The second: If she seems to be kept at silent gunpoint, then give her more freedom to act

The third: Make her at least partly responsible for her own situation, regardless of whether or not she thinks she is

The first revised trait is the most important in my opinion to building a better Star, as it will help direct and reinforce the second two.

A large part of Star’s lack of presence in the movie is quite literally, a lack of physical presence. Star seems to hate even being near the vampires, and depending on what kind of story you wish to show her in, it could make sense. But chances are, if she’s given the shrinking violet trait, she’s been given the other two as well, and that makes a bad Star. She must be allowed to speak, and more than that - she must be allowed to show emotion.

Let Star be angry. Let her be hurt in a way that’s not beautiful and languorous, a wilting agony of suffering in silence. And I’ll say it: Let Star say the Fuck word. As silly and simple as it may seem, such a small detail can transform a character. Star deserves to be as rough-edged and imperfect in her words and attitude as any of the rest of the Boys, possibly more if she’s in a situation that she hates! If she had the bravery to run away from home, then she should be afforded the bravery to be more than a pretty, silent, pure woman who doesn’t know what a cigarette is.

The second revised trait is going to be the most fluid in interpretation because it relies the most on the author or artist or fan’s personal interpretation of what the relationship between Star and the Boys is really like.

In the movie, Star seems to move with the Boys. She’s usually near them enough that they can keep an eye on her, as we see with David watching Star talking to Michael before the beach race. The only times we see Star distance herself physically is right after the bonfire, where she comes to the Emerson cabin to convince Michael to save her, or when she and Michael have sex. The first time, she seems desperate, like she may not have much time, and the second, she’s been left there on her own while the Boys go out and cavort, likely with the implication that she should stay where they can find her when they get back.

Again, this is the trait that can be toyed with the most, but a good way to combat the feeling that she’s being held against her will is to give the notion that there are parts of being around the vampires that she likes. There are tiny hints of this in the movie, and the book expands on this. In the movie, there’s a moment during the race where Star seems to be enjoying herself while riding with David - at the very least, she’s enjoying the speed and thrill, if not the person she’s with. In the book, Star and Paul have the best relationship of any of the boys, with Paul trying to cheer her up and promising a ‘happily ever after’. To keep it from feeling like a full captive situation, give Star a reason to feel a bit conflicted over the pack. She’s there in the first place, after all.

The third revised trait is going to be the most controversial, as it’s a hard thing to admit when people in real life do it.

Admitting that sometimes, the problems we find ourselves dealing with, are our own fault. We make a bad call, we make a poorly informed decision or decide in the heat of the moment. Sometimes, we are lied to, but the lie is flimsy and we chose to swallow it because it’s what we wanted to hear at the time. I like to ask authors writing villains this - what’s worse and more compelling; a villain who lies, or a villain who tells the protagonist a truth they don’t want to hear?

And, as backwards as it sounds, making Star partially responsible for her situation is giving her more agency in her story. It gives her a reasonable character flaw that she has to confront and defeat.

Here is where I’m going to throw in an interesting observation about a specific scene that I think helps lend itself to this particular revised trait: the scene where she asks Michael for help directly. In canon, the scene goes about like this - Star comes to the cabin, Michael tells her that he knows about the vampires, and when he expresses that he thinks it’s basically done for him, Star tells him that it’s not, he’s not fully gone, and that she needs his help to save all three of them. Now, there’s something really, really interesting to me about this scene: Star is NOT a reliable narrator during it. At all.

To say that she’s lying outright about everything would be untrue, but when you examine it, you realize that she’s being untruthful all the same. When Michael gets upset, accusing her of not caring about him because in his eyes she let this happen, she says that she DOES care about him, using physical touch to reinforce this. When she’s soundly rejected, by Michel slapping her hand away and demanding to know why she REALLY came, she very reluctantly tells him that she was hoping he’d help them. It’s her last answer, the last thing she wanted to say. Obviously hoping that the emotions would be enough to persuade him, rather than just saying that she needed help outright, which would be easier to say no to.

Secondly, the WHY. Star states that Michael was ‘supposed to be her first, because it’s what David wanted’. When watching the scene, the delivery, the body language, and given the full context of the plot and how we’ve seen Star behave? We can only come to the conclusion that Star. Doesn’t. Know. That.

Max’s ultimate goal is to get Lucy, and to get Lucy, he needs Michael and Sam to be on board, or at least BE vampires. Killing one of her children would hardly serve that goal. Given the ending fight, Max doesn’t give a dead rat’s ass about Star. And Star? She doesn’t even know Max exists. David telling Star to kill Michael to turn her into a vampire is not only pointless, but going expressly against Max’s wishes. We don’t know how much of Max’s plan David and the Boys know about, or given their personalities and implied relationship with him, even care about, but defying him in this instance doesn’t seem like the smartest thing to do.

Not to mention - Star does like Michael. She hugs him at the end, she does give him a warning about the blood, albeit a weak one. She does attempt to fight Max in the end, even if she fails. As for her thoughts on David, those are more complicated. Whether the relationship is real, coerced, that she’s simply a pawn being used to tug Michael around or whether she and David did like each other at one time, is unknown, but it is clear that Star knows that David is interested in Michael, and doesn’t like it. So it would then be logical to assume, given this, that Star would assume, based on what she knows and has been able to observe, that she’d pain David in a worse light. Insinuating that it’s HIM who’s pulling the string, assuming what he wants and what his intentions are, even if she DOESN’T. KNOW.

All this to conclude: Star is an unreliable narrator taking actions based on her own flawed assumptions. Which means she’s going to make mistakes, and miscalculate her position. She’s going to cast herself in a certain light, and like anyone, maybe not want to admit when that light is suddenly not a reflection of her best.

So, how do I conclude this.

Star is an interesting character, and I do enjoy her. If you managed to sit through this to get to here, and if there’s anything to take away from this, it’s that I enjoy Star and I want her to be a better…her. She deserves to cuss and spit, she deserves to be angry and sad at her predicament, she deserves to be loved as a whole person and not some untouchable angel. Let her fight. Let her bite. Let her bleed for her freedom and personhood.

Most importantly, if you allow the Boys room to be more than they are presented as on screen, then you can afford to give that to Star.

Thank you for reading, if you did.

@misslavenderlady (I almost forgot!)

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #star tlb #star the lost boys #character analysis #writing #meta #I really didn't think I was gonna get it done this fast guys lmao #if this reads more as a script than anything that's because it. was originally intended to be?#I have no video editing skills or equipment though #*puts pot on head like helmet and braces for impact*

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amber-angel · 3 months ago

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What's the POINT?????

I half expected Misty's fucking chocolate martini to be poisoned, that's how out of left field these stupid plotlines are getting

#stupid flighty bullshit #yellowjackets #yellowjackets spoilers #what is the point of slowly killing them off like this? just because you have melissa mention the wilderness while she does it #DOESNT MAKE IT MAKE SENSE #she is a NOTHING character who is ONLY getting development because the writers are making decisions on the fly #and they suddenly decided that she would be important #and there is no REASON for her to fucking kill van #im sick of this show just deciding to go for shock value instead of sticking to a coherent story!#speaking of stupid fucking choices #the entire group deciding not to leave just because shauna said so was DUMB #they had the gun AND the crossbow and the only fucking reason they stuck around to negotiate #was the writers trying to five point turn themselves out of the fucking corner they wrote the plot into #just. van's death sealed it for me gang #i would be okay with her dying if it MEANT SOMETHING #if it MADE SENSE #i dont even know what the story is anymore. and that is a bad thing!!#theres being in the dark and then theres having no clue what the point is!#the adult timeline just doesnt have compelling stakes anymore im sorry but its true! they literally had to kill lottie off #to try and make it interesting again. and then they dont even stick to that plot thread!

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ilikeevilblondes · 4 months ago

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Breaststroke

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Joel, single dad extraordinaire, is struggling to teach his daughter how to swim. You end up teaching Sarah over the course of a few weekly swimming classes. One fortunate day, Joel accidentally stumbles upon a rather intimate situation involving you in the shower rooms after hours. He’s about to leave, but right before he can, he hears his own name spilling out in a desperate moan from your lips.

TL;DR: It’s more fun to stay in the YMCA (shower rooms) (because that’s where Joel fucks you.)

W.C: ~7.7k

Warnings: Singledad!Joel x swimmingteacher!reader, softdom!joel, accidental voyeurism, mutual masturbation, blowjobs, praise, fingering, unprotected p-in-v, shower sex, pull out and pray, implied age gap, Joel’s got that daddy humour (no outbreak!)

Note: waiter! waiter! some plot with my porn, please! sorry, you freaks, mama had to stretch the narrative before the rawdogging. and sorry for the late upload, the flu was not gucci. hope y'all enjoy as always, though! and if you got any reqs, feel free to send them my way 🤓

@pedrospurplerain

According to HealthyChildren.org, most children in America begin to learn how to swim by their fourth birthday. Basic abilities like floating and treading water can be ingrained in their motor skills at that point, and by the ripe age of five or six, most children will have been able to freestyle across any urine-defiled public pool.

Joel sighed as he watched his five-year-old angel scream and hiss at the local YMCA pool, refusing even to dip a toe into the chlorinated abyss.

“Sarah, pumpkin, you’re not a cat.” He sighed, pinching his curved nose bridge.

Sarah merely shot him a dirty look, the dirtiest a toddler could muster. She crossed her arms over her chest, the bright orange inflatable armbands around her upper arms squeaking as she did so.

“I don’t wanna go in there, daddy.” Sarah humphed.

Joel shook his head, looking up at her from where he sat in the shallow area of the gym’s pool. His little treasure, bless her heart, was stubbornly standing over the ledge and peering down at him with both fear and unwavering defiance.

“Y’gotta, pumpkin.” Joel ran a hand through his wet hair.

Of all the dads in the world, Joel would not say he was among the worst percentile. He certainly tried his best to do anything and provide everything for his little girl; working as many shifts as he could to pay for her school (his kid somehow, thankfully, didn’t get his brains and was starting first grade ahead of schedule), moving into a ‘nicer’ neighbourhood, and spoiling her with all the stuffed toys and lego sets her little heart desired.

Being a single dad wasn’t easy, to put it simply. Joel would’ve thought, owing to karmic nonsense, the universe could have been a bit nicer to him for the measly crime of forgetting to teach his daughter how to swim. But there he was, staring up at a child more hydrophobic than a rabies survivor.

“Can we go home, Daddy? Please?” Sarah stomped her little foot down onto the tiled floor.

“We will, sugar, I promise. Just, not until you at least try to step down here.”

Sarah shook her head wildly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” She said, more decisively.

“Says who?” Joel raised a dark brow.

“Me.”

“Remind me again, pumpkin, are you the adult or the child in this relationship?”

“You’re the one in the kiddie side of the pool, Daddy.” Sarah giggled, revealing a toothy grin.

Joel sighed through a smile. God, this kid was too smart for him. She was gonna be the death of him.

Mumbling something to the effect of ‘smartass’ under his breath, Joel treaded to the end and hoisted himself up, towering over his three-foot-nothing daughter and dripping chlorine-infected water down onto the ground.

“You wanna switch places?” He crossed his arms over his broad, bare chest, nodding his head toward the pool.

“Nope!” Sarah smiled.

Joel was about to give up for the day and take his troublemaker home only to return the next weekend, when he suddenly felt a tentative finger tap his shoulder.

He whipped around to see a girl, much younger than him—and much shorter, too, dressed in the standard red lifeguard one-piece uniform.

“Sorry to intrude,” You began, biting your lip. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Joel blinked, not realising he had to reply to your remark like a normal fucking human would. Instead, he opted for the less popular, uncivilised caveman method of furrowing his brows and blinking madly.

He was too distracted by the way your swimsuit clung tightly over your body. Too mesmerised by the droplets of water sliding in slow motion down your curves. Not to mention that disarmingly pretty smile of yours.

God, he’d been too single for too long.

“Hello!” The reason for his singleness beamed up at you and waddled closer. “I’m Sarah.”

Your smile stretched wider as you bent down to meet her eye level and introduce yourself in return. Sarah repeated your name back to you delightedly, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

After making a comment about how ‘cool’ her floaters were, you straightened up and met Joel’s coffee-brown gaze.

“Anyway.” You absentmindedly tucked a stray piece of wet hair behind your ear. “Um, well, I overheard your situation. And, uh, just wanted to let you know that the gym hosts free introductory swimming lessons every Saturday afternoon. I teach the classes, actually, and you and your daughter are more than welcome to come, mister…?”

By some miracle, Joel was able to move his mouth and properly communicate this time.

“Miller. Joel Miller.” He managed to say without so much as a stutter, smiling politely at you and sticking out a hand.

You took his hand in yours and shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Miller-Joel-Miller. That Italian?” Your laugh was a sweet sound and, at risk of being completely predictable, music to his ears.

“The only Italian in me, sweetheart, is from the canned ravioli we had for lunch today.” Joel chuckled. “And we’d be more than happy to come, wouldn’t we, Sarah?”

To punctuate his claim, he flashed Sarah a look.

A frown cut into her soft features, but she relented.

“Yes, we would.” Sarah sighed dejectedly.

“Great! Um. Here’s the flier.” You produced a colourful leaflet and held it out to Joel. He took it. “It has the times and details and, uh, that’s my phone number on the bottom, there.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Joel pocketed it. “We’ll be there.”

“I look forward to seeing you two then.” You smiled again.

Joel would’ve fallen to his knees if you had stayed longer with that damn smile of yours. But you turned around to speedwalk towards the other side of the pool, blowing your whistle and reprimanding a bunch of teenagers running across the slippery poolside.

And if he thought the front of you was stunning, he was quickly shown that your back view was just as providing.

“You’re staring,” Sarah observed, tugging at his arm.

Joel cleared his throat.

“Let’s go home, pumpkin.” He ruffled her hair, much to a fit of giggles, and led his daughter away from the outdoor pool.

—-------

Saturday afternoon did not come quickly enough.

After a week of late nights spent finishing drywall and early mornings making Sarah’s lunch—because there was no way in hell she was going to eat whatever junk-filled shit the American school system provided in cafeterias—Joel was tired, to say the least.

By three o’clock sharp, he had arrived at the pool with his daughter dressed to the nines in a robot-themed swimsuit and bright green goggles that suctioned so hard into her little face that she looked wide-eyed and cartoonish.

And when four o’clock had rolled around, Joel was happy to report that his daughter had finally worked up the nerve to get in the pool. With your help (and some floppy-haired assistant coach), Sarah had also managed to do some basic swimming manoeuvres without clinging to the side for dear life and frothing at the mouth.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Joel approached you after the session had officially ended, and Sarah was dried off and warm. “Just wanted to thank you. And, uh, Coach Bryan for, you know…”

“No thanks necessary, Mr Miller.” You winked, then bent down to Sarah, who stood beside her father. “You did great, Sarah. Really.”

Sarah smiled sheepishly. Joel chuckled at her bashful demeanour and ruffled her hair affectionately.

“Same time next week, Coach?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” You saluted him and walked off toward the shower rooms, a towel around your shoulders and a spring to your step.

Joel shook his head, smiling, and took Sarah home in a better mood than he had been that morning.

—-

Joel quickly learned that the swimming lessons were beneficial to both him and his daughter. Sarah was speedily conquering her fear of water, and Joel was… well, Joel spent a lot of time talking to you when you weren’t in the pool. And afterwards, too, when the rest of the kids had already left and there were no other parents to chat your ear off.

“You’re taking a gap year?” Joel mused after one particularly smooth sailing session, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them on the hem of his shirt.

“Yep. Just taking a break after college so I can figure out what I wanna do in life.” You shrugged. “Is being a contractor any fun?”

“Well, sweetheart, I doubt you’d like it very much.” Joel smiled, glueing his eyes to yours with steely resolve.

He was not going to look down at your body this time. He was not going to ogle the tight fit of your one-piece. He was better than the average man.

Besides, you were definitely too young for him. Possibly even young enough to be his daughter. You’d likely recoil in disgust and horror and, possibly, contact the local authorities to capture him, the creepy older man, if he were to ever make a move.

“Eh. I was open to the idea.” You laughed, shaking your head. “But I guess it’s dominated by big, strong hunks like you, huh?”

“I mean, I—” Joel began, but cut himself off upon realising what you had just said.

He blinked. Did you just flirt with him?

As if sensing that Joel was getting somewhere other than friendly banter with her swimming teacher, Sarah jogged up to the two of you.

“Daddy, I’m hungry. Let’s go home!” She pulled at his wrist.

Joel cleared his throat, offered you a quick goodbye, and led his daughter outside back to their car.

—-

“I promise it’s funny.” Bryan nudged your shoulder, giving you a very indiscreet once-over.

Joel was shamelessly eavesdropping on your post-lesson conversation as he towelled Sarah’s unruly hair nearby. Not to be nosy, of course, just to find out whether he was your boyfriend or not. Out of pure curiosity, really. No ulterior motive whatsoever…

“I somehow doubt that.” You hummed, no amusement evident in your unimpressed tone.

“Okay, so, there’s this ginger, a brunette, and a blonde—”

“I’ll stop you right there, Bryan, is the punchline, by any chance, ‘breaststroke’?”

“Well, shit.” Bryan sighed.

Joel chuckled to himself, giving Sarah one last tousle with the towel before settling it over her shoulders.

He concluded you either hated your boyfriend, or he wasn’t your boyfriend at all.

Joel preferred the second option.

—-

“I’m just getting some water. You okay with the kids?” You pulled yourself out of the pool, glancing at Bryan.

“Yep. All good here,” He called back.

With a nod, you draped your towel over your shoulders and made your way towards the deck chair that held your things.

It seemed that the heavens were smiling on you that day, too, because none other than Mr Miller himself occupied the chair beside yours.

And what a sight he was.

Sun-bathing, his sunglasses resting over closed eyes, and his broad, bare, tanned chest exposed to all.

“Having fun there, Mr Miller?” You smiled, taking a seat on your chair, bringing your water bottle to your lips.

Joel lowered his sunglasses and very discreetly let his gaze travel down your body.

You bit back a grin. He always thought he was so subtle.

“Absolutely, coach. Need to set a timer, though, or I’ll end up medium well-done.” Joel sat up, facing you.

You snorted at his dad-humour.

“Tan looks great.” You commented, wiping your brow with your towel.

“You think?” Joel smiled, reaching for the can of soda on his side table and taking a sip. “Thank you very much, sweetheart.”

“No problem at all, Mr Miller.” You licked your lips, your gaze momentarily caught on his … form-fitting trunks. “Well, I better get back to it.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.” He pushed his sunglasses back up his aquiline nose.

“My—oh! Oh. Bryan? No. Ew,” You held back a gag. “No. No. God, no.”

Joel chuckled.

“I think you may need one more ‘no’ to prove your point there, darlin’.”

“No.” You played along. “Him and I are strictly friends. Besides, he isn’t my type.”

“He isn’t?”

“I like my men like I like my cheese.” You shrugged, standing up.

“Don’t say smelly.” Joel laughed.

You opened your mouth but decided to leave your preferences shrouded in mystery as you began walking off.

Well, until you threw him a look over your shoulder, catching him in the act of staring at your ass, but pretending not to notice.

“Aged.”

Joel choked on nothing while you innocently walked away like you hadn’t just made a heavily suggestive remark.

—-

“Daddy? Can I go talk to Amanda for a second?” Sarah asked, her gaze flickering over to a plait-wearing blonde girl nearby.

“Yeah, okay, sugar. Be quick, though. Tommy’s coming over soon.” Joel squeezed her shoulder before letting her run off, her wet flip-flops squeaking against the tiled poolside as she approached her friend.

Joel shook his head and smiled. He was so proud of his girl for overcoming her phobia. Maybe he needed to treat her to ice-cream one of these days–

“Hi, Mr Miller.”

After craning his head, Joel found you standing behind him. Bright-eyed and wearing that same, impossibly tight, lifeguard swimsuit. Thank God for nylon.

“Hey, coach.” Joel offered you a lopsided grin.

“I just wanted to say, I’ve been really impressed with your daughter over these past few weeks.”

“She’s a fast learner.” Joel moved beside you, still facing Sarah and her little friend but keeping his eyes trained on you. “Unlike me.”

“Does she get it from your wife, then…?”

Joel couldn’t shake his head faster. “No wife.”

And there went his eyes, dragging down your slightly wet body. Christ, it was like you jumped straight out of a Baywatch episode—keep it together, Miller!

“Oh.” You coughed. “So that’s why all the moms flock around you.”

Joel let out a short laugh. “I think you’re exaggerating, sweetheart.”

You took a quick glimpse at the hoard of middle-aged women unabashedly staring at the wide-shouldered man next to you before returning your sights to the wide-shouldered man himself.

“I don’t think I am.” Your lips pulled upward in a small smile. “Well, anyway. Just wanted to catch you before our final lesson next week.”

“Our final lesson’s next week?” Joel sputtered out, sounding way less calm and collected than he had intended.

“Yeah. Unless you want to learn how to swim, too.”

“I think I’m all covered in that department, darlin’.” Joel smiled. “But thank you. For everything. I know this whole shindig is free, but I just wish there was some way I could repay you.”

You clicked your tongue and, if Joel caught that correctly, lowered your voice.

“I’m sure we can find some way for you to pay me back, Mr Miller.” You said innocently, but your half-lidded eyes told another story.

Before he could so much as utter out the first syllable of a reply, Sarah came darting back.

“Okay, Daddy, let’s go!” She took her father by the hand and spared you a glance. “Bye, coach!”

Joel tried to hide both his shock from your very obvious innuendo as well as his disappointment from his daughter’s very poor timing.

He rubbed a hand down the lower half of his face and nodded at his daughter. “Let’s go then, pumpkin.” He gripped her hand and turned to you with a slightly dazed smile. “I’ll see you next week, sweetheart.”

“That you will, Mr Miller.” With a quick wink, you spun around on your heel and made your way toward the shower rooms.

—-

As fate would have it, barely half an hour later, Joel found himself sighing unhappily and looking down at his daughter as he attempted to contain his frustrations.

“We just got home—what do you mean, you left your goggles at the pool?” Joel said through a deep exhale.

“Sorry, Daddy, I didn’t mean to forget them.” Sarah shuffled her feet, her eyes locked on the floor in front of her and her fingers twisting the bottom of her t-shirt.

Tommy stuck his head out from the kitchen, one hand clutching a can of Bud Light and the other braced on the doorframe.

“Yeah, Joel, she didn’t mean to.” He piped in, unhelpfully.

“Shut up, Tommy,” Joel grumbled, shooting him a quick glare.

His brother just smirked and took a sip of his beer.

Joel sighed and turned back to Sarah, pinching his nose bridge. “Look, pumpkin, it’s fine. I’ll just drive back to the pool and get ‘em for you, okay?”

Sarah frowned. “Will you be back in time for dinner?”

“Yeah, Joel, you better be. You’re the one making it.” Tommy let out a dramatic huff.

Joel ignored him.

“Won’t take but a hot minute.” Joel ruffled Sarah’s unruly curls and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head before turning away toward the front door.

“Say ‘hi’ to sweetheart for me, if you see her!” Sarah smiled up at him.

Joel paused mid-step, his shoes halfway on.

“Hi to who, now?” Tommy leaned closer.

“That ain’t her name, pumpkin.” Joel chose not to look directly at Tommy as he huffed out another sigh and yanked his shoes fully on.

“Ain’t that what you call her, though?”

“Now, who are you callin’ ‘sweetheart’, Joel Miller?” Tommy wore a shit-eating grin on his face.

Joel decidedly ignored him, believing it to be the best course of action.

“Watch my kid, Tommy!” He called as he stepped out of the house.

—--

The pool area was mostly deserted by the time Joel returned to it, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the lengthy stretch of lane-roped waters.

Joel walked a slow lap around the perimeter of the pool, scanning the tiles and lounge chairs and the lone lifeguard tower for any sign of Sarah’s goggles.

Nothing.

Turning around, Joel’s eyes landed on the entrance to the womens’ locker rooms. He huffed out a heavy sigh, running his hand through his grey-flecked hair. He would have preferred to not snoop in there in fear of startling any lingering guests, but he decided that there wouldn’t be anyone this close to closing time on a Sunday and, moreover, didn’t want to come home empty-handed and disappoint his daughter.

So, on he went.

The locker rooms were quiet when he tentatively stepped inside, the scent of chlorine and cheap soap clinging to the air.

Fortunately, it seemed that he was the only one in its vicinity.

And, even more fortunately, Joel immediately spotted Sarah’s bright green goggles lying by its lonesome on a bench near the showers.

Gotcha.

He was ready to make a beeline for them and head quickly home, but upon taking a few steps forward, Joel’s ears caught the distant sound of a shower running.

Turning his head toward the source of the splashing sounds, Joel’s eyes immediately noticed a swimsuit hanging precariously off the shower curtain rod.

But not just any swimsuit. It was a red one-piece with what appeared to be ‘lifeguard’ in bold, along the front.

It was your swimsuit.

You were in the shower.

Joel pursed his lips. Just his fucking luck. Of course, the inappropriately young girl he tried not fantasising about for weeks was the only other person there.

Mentally chastising himself for even entering the locker rooms in the first place, Joel pivoted sharply and began making his way toward the exit.

He didn’t get very far, though, because, after two intentionally light steps, he heard his own name drifting from the steaming shower.

“Joel…”

He stiffened. Evidently, he was caught. He’d have to apologise profusely and somehow testify that he was not, in fact, a perverted Peeping Tom—

“Joel,” You sighed, followed by … shit, was that a moan?

And at that moment, Joel realised that, alongside the splashing of water echoing from the stall, there was the unmistakable clap and squelch of—

“Joel! Oh… fuck,” Your breathy moan carried easily down the short hall.

You were fucking yourself to the thought of him.

Shit, shit, shit.

If Joel were a better man, he would already be in his car, driving home. He would have forgotten this encounter had ever occurred, tucked it deep into the depths of his mind, granted you a curt farewell for the final lesson the coming week, and proceeded to never see you again.

But Joel wasn’t a better man.

Judging by how quickly his dick came to life to rest, half-hard, against his thigh in his swim trunks, Joel was an awful person.

Well, he couldn’t come home nursing a semi, now could he?

Yeah. Reaching down to pull his throbbing cock out of his waistband was the right thing to do.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he leaned against a corner and slowly slid his fist down his stiffening length.

“Joel! Fuck, your cock feels so good!” Your pitchy whine floated down the room, amplified by the generosity of the tile acoustics.

Joel’s dick twitched in his hand.

Out of habit, he tightened his grip around his base and fucked up into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending it was your tight cunt he was jutting in and out of.

And it wasn’t hard to pretend, either. What with the sinful noises you were making a few stalls away, and the desperate pleas of ‘that’s it, Joel, fuck me harder!’

With pearls of precum dribbling down his tip and smearing along his hand with each thrust, Joel felt himself near his release. Judging by the increasingly airy quality of your whines, you were facing the same predicament.

Joel continued to fuck his fist, picturing you in various filthy scenarios.

You, slowly wrapping your dainty hand around his hard-on and eagerly taking over.

You, on your knees, choking on his cock.

You, tits smushed against tile as Joel fucked you with reckless abandon under the hot torrents of the showerhead.

Ramming brutally into your greedy fucking pussy, watching as his come-soaked dick disappeared in and out of your tight channel—

“Fuck!” Joel cursed aloud after a particularly enthusiastic thrust.

Suddenly, the water stopped. So did your noises.

Joel stilled. Oh, shit.

“Hello?” Came your voice, meekly. “Is … Is someone there?”

As silently as he could, Joel released his hold on his cock and carefully tucked himself back in his trunks.

Shit. What was he going to do?

Almost immediately after he regained his decency, the shower curtain slid halfway open with a faint metallic rattle, and you cautiously peered out, hiding most of your body behind the vinyl barrier.

“...Mr Miller?” You said, uncertainly, as if half-convinced he was some kind of dreamlike apparition.

Joel cleared his throat and took an instinctive step back.

“Uh—yeah. Just, uh… goggles. Sarah’s goggles.” He stuttered, holding them up weakly. “Her goggles. She left them here. The goggles.”

“Well, thank god you clarified that.” You smacked your lips, a sarcastic bite to your tone. The snarkiness soon faded from your expression once you added, with knitted brows, “you’re in the womens’ showers.”

“Yeah, I—” Joel winced. “I know.”

Silence.

After a moment or two, you opened your mouth to say something else, but the words died in your throat as your eyes fell on Joel’s trunks.

More specifically, the raging bulge making itself known in his lap.

“You’re hard.” You stated, your cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink.

Joel’s eyes shot wide open. He glanced down, too, and sure enough, he was hard. It was almost as if he was fucking his hand to the thought of you only moments before. Oh, wait, that’s because he was!

To preserve the last shred of dignity in Joel’s inexecusably shameful body, he threw his hands over his groin and attempted to stammer out a valid excuse.

“Sorry, sweetheart—” No, he wasn’t. “—I, um… well, you see, I…”

Your eyes found the faint traces of precum on his right hand.

“Were you … jerking off to me in the shower?”

Yes, yes, he was.

“Frankly, darlin’, I think the better question here is, were you jerking off to me in the shower?” Joel coughed.

Your eyes trailed over his body, lingering again on where he covered his hard-on.

“I was.” Your stare found his. “Your turn, Mr Miller.”

Joel sucked in a breath through his teeth. There was definitely no backing out now.

He nodded slowly. Reprehensibly.

Shame churned within him as he desperately wished for the ground to open up at his feet and swallow him whole, possibly even spitting him back out into the fiery pits of hell where he so clearly belonged after what he had done. Unfortunately for him, the earth, indifferent to his suffering, remained stubbornly solid beneath him, leaving him stranded in his own mortification.

“Look, sweetheart, I can’t express how sorry I—lord almighty.”

Instead of letting him scramble to finish whatever bullshit he was cooking up, you decided to pull the shower curtain all the way back.

Joel gulped, taking in your newly-exposed bare body, from the soft curve of your breasts to the thickness of your thighs to the seam of your … fuck, to the seam of the same pussy you were probably fingering just moments before; glazed in glistening beads of water under the cool fluorescent lights.

You were fucking gorgeous.

So gorgeous, in fact, that Joel felt his cock fully spring to life at the sight of you, standing naked and dripping-wet from the rain of showerhead.

“Let me… let me help you out.” You bit your lower lip, your eyes hazy.

“H-Help me out?” Joel breathed, staggering backward, his hands still persevering to conserve his modesty.

You slowly approached him, stopping when any semblance of personal space was lost, and dropped down to your knees.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Joel heard himself swallow.

“Don’t you want this, Mr Miller?” You looked up at him, your eyes pleading and almost doll-like from that angle.

While waiting for his response, your hands softly wrapped themselves around his, guiding them away from his lap to meet his tenting swim trunks head-on.

Joel, meanwhile, was busy trying to convince himself this wet dream of a situation was really happening whilst simultaneously refraining from spending his load in his trunks, because the vision of you, bare and waiting patiently on your knees, looked downright sinful.

“Doesn’t matter if I do.” Joel shook his head slowly, not registering the fact that his grip on the goggles loosened to a point where they fell to the floor in a dull clatter. “This… this is wrong.”

“The way I see it,” You hummed, your hands finding gentle purchase on his hips. “I’m naked. And already wet. And you’re…”

Your eyes flickered down to his bulge and wet your lips. Upon seeing this, Joel’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Ain’t there some—some rule against, I don’t know, a coach fraternising with a parent in this way?” Joel furrowed his brows, distractedly taking your chin in his hands and tilting your head upwards.

“No.” You eagerly let him direct you, moving at his will.

“You sure?”

“Positive.” The corners of your mouth pulled up in a small smile.

“What if someone comes—yeah, fuck it, I ain’t gonna keep pretending like I don’t want this.” Joel shook his head, his eyes dragging over you unabashedly.

“Oh yeah?” Your smile only widened.

“Go on then, darlin’.” Joel purred, his voice a low and rough timbre, his eyes overtaken with want. “What was it you said a while ago…? Help me out.”

With his less-than-reluctant approval, you tossed him another heart-stuttering wink, slipped your fingers past his waistband, and pulled him out.

And, fuck, you were not disappointed.

Joel was big, to say the least; in both length and girth, and you may have felt your cunt quivering at the mere thought of the possibility of taking him inside you later, but you were quickly overtaken by need upon seeing the drops of precum spilling from of his head.

With a hand wrapped around his base, you stuck your tongue out to lick a stripe up his length, tasting the salt of his skin and his arousal.

At your actions, Joel inhaled a sharp breath.

“You gonna finish what you started now?” Joel mused from above you, closing a fist around your grip on his cock and bringing it closer to your parted lips. He gently tapped your cheek with his free hand. “Open up for me, sweetheart.”

And you gladly did so, taking his tip into your mouth and swirling your tongue around his head like a fucking lolipop.

“Fuck,” Joel gritted his teeth, tossing his head back against the wall.

Taking his expletive as a sign to continue, you proceeded to hollow your cheeks and take his length deeper, as deep as physically possible without making you choke.

“That all you can take?” Joel tutted, caressing your cheek.

Much to your determined efforts, you only managed to fit a little more than half of him in your mouth. Because, fuck, was he big.

You whined around his cock in response.

“Shh,” Joel murmured. “‘S okay. ‘S okay, sweetheart.”

His deep brown gaze met yours, and for a second, you could have mistaken the emotion swimming in his eyes as affection.

“Nice and slow, hm?” Joel said through a satisfied exhale, his brows furrowed at the sensation of being enveloped by the warmth of your mouth.

His fingers threaded through your hair, coming to grasp at your roots, but remained stationary, waiting for you to make the first move.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes and held that eye contact as you began moving your head back and forth. Seeing his eyes briefly flutter in pleasure, you flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, feeling it twitch as you continued your movements.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s it.” His grip in your hair tightened.

You started to bob your head up and down at a quicker pace as you sucked him greedily, your hand moving in deft strokes along the stretch of his length your mouth couldn’t entertain.

Joel cursed under his breath and guided you on and off his cock in a steady rhythm as he fisted your hair.

And, fuck, he let himself thrust into your mouth once or twice, but upon hearing you gag, resolved to let you take charge of the speed entirely.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Joel breathed. “Sounded pretty chokin’ on my cock, but I guess I went too far, hm?” He sighed, caressing your cheek again.

You moaned with his cock heavy on your tongue, signalling your eagerness to die of asphyxiation from a fucking blowjob, and begun to take him even further into your mouth, feeling his head touch the back of your throat.

“Shit, darlin’.” Joel groaned. “That’s a good girl. Taking it so well.”

A strangled sound escaped from your otherwise occupied throat as you continued to deepthroat a man old enough to be your father.

Truly realising the situation you found yourself in, you felt a needy sensation thrum from in between your legs. Whilst continuing to bob your head around his cock, your hand went to trail down your front and relieve some of that tension you ached to be rid of, rubbing your clit furiously.

“Oh, my poor girl.” Joel cooed, seeing this. “Come on, now. Up you get,” He gently pulled you off his cock (wincing at the loss of your mouth) and up to stand in front of him.

“Not good?” You breathed, resting a hand on his chest while his hands settled on either side of your waist.

“No, sweetheart, it was very good.” Joel dipped his head down so his mouth was less than an inch away from yours, every word releasing as a warm breath against your lips.

And then he leaned down to capture your mouth in a desperate, hungry, horribly sloppy kiss, licking into you and no doubt tasting his own arousal on your tongue.

You didn’t even register he was walking you backward until your back hit the shower wall.

“Just wanna fuck you now,” Joel mumbled, his half-lidded stare drifted down your bare form before flickering back up to meet your eyes.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” You smirked, pulling him back into another frenzied kiss.

Joel smiled against your lips.

“So mouthy,” He tutted in that authoritative, paternal voice you’ve heard him use before, in between eager kisses. “I’d like to teach you a lesson, sweetheart, but I’m afraid I’m too fuckin’ impatient myself right now.”

At the sound of that, you clenched your thighs together.

The slant of his mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and biting at your wet skin, humming in pleasure as he did so. Simultaneously, his big, calloused hand made their way from your waist down to your lower abdomen, and lower, still, until you felt his fingers ghost over your slick entrance.

You gasped.

“Mr Miller–”

“‘Joel’, darlin’. It’s ‘Joel.’” He mumbled against your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. “Heard you moanin’ it in here a while ago, I’m fairly certain you know how to pronounce it.”

“Joel,” You obliged, biting your lower lip as you felt Joel’s fingers meander nearer to your core.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You don’t have to… you know,” You glanced down in between both your bodies.

Joel followed your gaze and saw his own fingers hovering close to your aching mound.

“Think I do.” He clicked his tongue. “Need to get ya ready. Wouldn’t wanna hurt that pretty pussy of yours when I… well, to put it bluntly, darlin’, I don’t wanna hurt your pretty pussy when I’m fuckin’ you in a little bit.”

“Oh,” You breathed.

“Yeah,” Joel hummed, nudging your cheek with his nose. “That sound good to you, sweetheart?”

You nodded almost too avidly.

“Good,” Joel sighed, his fingers skimming over your aching cunt and just barely dipping inside your folds. “Just relax, darlin’. I gotcha.”

That was the last of the preamble before you felt one of his fingers slip inside, dragging up and down against your walls.

Normally, if left to your own devices, you were barely satisfied with a singular digit of your own. But here you were, gasping and clenching around just his middle finger.

Content with your reaction, Joel kissed your neck and slipped another finger to crook alongside the first in an even rhythm that began to spark a familiar warmth in your gut.

“There we go.” He mumbled against your skin.

“Fuck,” You whispered as you felt his thumb settle on your clit.

You felt Joel smile against your pulse point. And then, with his other big hand, he gently held your face and titled it to the side to pepper kisses along your jaw.

“You can take another, can’t you? Yeah, you can.” Joel hummed, and before you could respond, you felt a third finger slip inside, stretching you wider.

Your eyes squeezed shut as Joel’s fingers curled inside you at a faster rhythm while his thumb graciously swiped at your clit.

Blood pounded in your ears. Your breathing shallowed. You were so, so close.

“Joel, please…”

“Please what? C’mon, baby, use your words like a big girl.”

His fingers only sped up, dragging against your walls so deliciously and filling you better than your own hand could have ever done.

You inhaled.

“Please don’t s-stop.” Your breath hitched in your throat. “I’m so close.”

“You wanna come for me? ‘S that it?” Joel cooed, his breath warm against your skin and right beside your ear.

“Please,”

“Come for me then, sweetheart. Let me hear you,”

With a scream of his name, your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, sending you into a light-headed bliss as you clutched his big upper arms.

His fingers only began to slow once your cunt stopped pulsing rapidly around him, and when you caught your breath again, he tenderly slipped them out.

“Made a mess of my fingers, huh?” He mumbled, staring down at how his hand glistened with your arousal.

You felt your cheeks redden.

“I’m sorry–”

“Don’t fucking be,”

And you watched as Joel stuck a finger in his mouth and sucked your slick off it like it was a world-class dessert.

“That was hot,” Was your breathless response.

Intelligent.

“Oh yeah?” The corner of his lips tugged upward as his eyes danced from your own to your parted lips.

“Yeah,”

A soft, low laugh rumbled in his throat.

“Come here,” Joel sighed, placing a hand on the small of your back and another on the side of your face, leaning down to devour your lips in another messy kiss.

His tongue slid inside your mouth as if starved, licking against your tongue and letting you taste your own pleasure. All while the hand on your face brought you closer and gently stroked the curve of your cheek.

After a few moments, Joel broke the kiss almost regretfully.

He barely pulled away, his lips closely within reach of yours, and his breath mingling with your own as he spoke in a deep, gruff rasp.

“You still want this, sweetheart?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Joel smirked. “A simple ‘yes’ would’ve sufficed.”

Before you could form a response to his slightly snarky remark, your breath was stolen from you at the sight of Joel tugging down his trunks fully and stepping out of them.

Glancing down, you found that he was still incredibly hard. Almost painfully, by the look of how his cock practically bounced up to his navel. Clearly, your recent oral assistance did nothing to tame the lust in his body.

Joel crowded you up against the wall once more, his tall frame easily looming over yours. One of his big hands went to caress your jawline, angling your head up toward him, and the other went to your thigh, wrapping your leg around his waist.

“Been a while for me.” He sighed, a hint of embarrassment peeking through his tone. “You tell me if I get … carried away, yeah?”

Instinctively, you hung your arms around his wide shoulders, bringing him even closer.

“Yes, sir.” Your lips quirked upward.

“Good girl,” He hummed, his thumb absently running along your bottom lip.

Then, the hand cupping your face went to guide his aching dick to notch against your entrance, sliding against your wet mound.

And, with a shaky inhale slipping past his lips, he sheathed himself inside you.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Joel muttered lowly.

You let out a whine at the feeling.

Despite being barely halfway in, Joel was already proving to be more than sufficient, especially from the way your velvety walls were already pulsing wildly around his length.

“I know, I know, I know,” Joel sighed, his thumb caressing where he held a grip on your thigh. “‘S okay, sweetheart. Shh, you can take it.”

In response, you nodded.

And Joel drove himself the entire way, balls-deep, his greying pubic hair tickling the inside of your upper thighs. He gasped in your ear at the feeling of the first full thrust and at the sensation of your channel clamping desperately around him.

He filled you up so fucking well.

“You doin’ okay? Hm?” He mumbled, leaving lazy, aimless kisses along your neck.

“Need more.”

“Oh? She wants more, huh?” He smirked against your skin. “That what you were imaginin’ in the shower?”

“Y-Yeah,” You whispered.

“Flirtin’ with me for weeks now, and here you are bein’ all shy.” Joel tsked. “Don’t worry, you’ll get more, darlin’.”

Joel began sawing in and out of you at a relaxed pace, letting out low groans of satisfaction.

With every sloppy thrust, you heard the distant wet thud of your back against the shower tiles, sounding in a steady rhythm. But, despite each measured roll of his hips sending white-hot shivers throughout your throbbing cunt, you found yourself dangerously craving even more.

“Harder.”

“Harder?” Joel hummed coyly.

“Joel,” You whined.

“Careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled against the corner of your mouth.

You only realised you were moaning obscenely loud when the echo had bounced around the room, and Joel was muttering something encouragingly into your skin.

“That’s it. Y’sound real fuckin’ pretty.”

Joel’s thrusts had picked up the pace. The only sound competing with the volume of your moans were the crude wet slaps of his body against yours.

Slap, slap, slap.

You thanked your lucky stars the shower rooms were deserted after the swimming lessons, because you were sure even if someone happened to walk in on you two fucking like wild rabbits, you wouldn’t let him stop.

And some part of you knew that he wouldn’t want to, either. Not with the way he was breathing airy curses beside your ear and mumbling about how ‘fuckin’ tight’ you were and other such filthy ramblings.

After a particularly harsh thrust, you felt his pace falter and his dick twitch against your walls.

“Fuck,” He whispered sharply.

Out of the blue, Joel pulled out, leaving your slick mound vacant for a heartbeat or two before he spun you around roughly, forcing you to brace yourself against the wall.

And, not long after, he fed you the entirety of his cock again in one deep thrust.

“Joel!” You gasped.

Your hands, stretched out in front of you and anchored against the wall, scrambled to find a grip on the smooth, slippery surface.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He said from somewhere behind you, beginning to ram into you at a brutal pace as he held you in place with an iron grip on your hips. “Needed—fuck… Needed this.”

With your tits pressed against the tiles and his length kissing your cervix after every drag against your pulsing walls, your vision began to blur and your lower gut began to flutter.

You were very fucking close.

As if reading your mind, one of Joel’s hands trailed from your hip to your front, sliding down until he brushed your clit. And then he began rubbing the sensitive nub in sloppy semi-circle motions, tutting sweet words as you whined nonsensical syllables.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you,” He cooed soothingly.

You let out a pitchy whine, “feels so good.”

“That right?” Joel mumbled distractedly, using a rough hand on your neck to turn your head toward him despite the awkward angle, and claimed your lips hungrily, licking desperately into your mouth as if it was the last thing he’d ever do, and letting out hoarse noises of appreciation as he did so.

His hips continued to jut into you, setting an erratic, jerky pace.

Slap. Slap-slap. Slap. Slap-slap-slap.

You arched back against him and unintentionally broke the kiss when the overflowing pleasure spiked incredibly high.

“J-Joel,” You breathed.

The man, who was single-mindedly pistoning in and out of your splayed legs, hummed a sound of acknowledgment in response, his warm breath ghosting over your cheek.

“Joel, I’m close,” You whispered, the heat of both your bodies meeting where your back leaned against his front.

“Are you?” He replied almost casually.

His fingers only sped in their motions, swiping at your clit almost feverishly as he continued to rut animalistically into you; each thrust stretching your aching cunt impossibly wide and oh so easily finding your cervix—

“Fuck!” Your chest tightened.

“Ask for it.” Joel’s gentle yet commanding tone nearly made your knees buckle.

That, and the manic force at which he was fucking into you.

Slap–slap-slap-slap—

“Go on, baby. Ask.” His nose nudged at the side of your face, breathing in your scent as he tutted lowly, “hate to see you all worked up like this.”

“Shit—please! Can I come, please?” You acquiesced.

You felt the muscles of his rugged face pull up in a small smile against your cheek and his dick twitch inside your tight walls, sending shivers down your spine.

“Be a good girl and come for me then, sweetheart,” Joel said in between strained breaths. “Come all over my cock, I gotcha.”

Your climax came rippling over your whole body, a prolonged resonance that sent you into the territory of overstimulation—much more powerful than your first orgasm—as neither his fingers nor his cock slowed down in their frenzied pursuits.

So, there you were, chanting his name like a prayer and clenching tightly around his relentless length.

When the fluttering of your cunt subsided, Joel hurriedly pulled out and wrapped a hand around his throbbing cock, fucking up into his fist frantically and cursing under his breath. You all but folded against the wall as you felt his loss, sticking your ass out and waiting for the inevitable.

Soon, his breath caught in his throat, and you felt hot ropes of his come spill over your back.

“Shit.” Joel sighed, gently rubbing along your sides.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder once he recollected himself a few moments after, still softly trailing his hands up and down as both of your breaths evened.

“You okay over there, sweetheart?”

You nodded weakly, unable to voice your satisfaction with your brains all fucked out.

Joel huffed a short laugh. “C’mon, I’ll clean you up.”

Somewhere behind you, the shower handle groaned with a faint squeak. A dull clunk followed, and then, with a sudden rush, water erupted from the showerhead, dousing the two of you in a sputtering cascade.

Gently, Joel tugged you away from the wall to stand directly under the jet of water, softly helping you wash away any reminders of your reckless impropriety.

He pressed reverent kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and around your collarbone as you got cleaned up.

There was no hidden, lustful agenda to this, as far as you could tell. You assumed it was either a result of his years of fatherhood or some testament to his overall caring nature, but either way, you weren’t complaining. You happily let your eyes fall closed as sheets of warm water streamed down your body, all while Joel’s lips tentatively found yours, then your neck, and his strong hands moved along your body.

“Um…” Joel began after he had turned off the shower, looking at you with his big, soft eyes. “I know this is the completely wrong order of things, but would you like to–”

“Yes.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You didn’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Were you gonna ask me out on a date?”

“Yeah,” Joel laughed bashfully. "Is that... is that okay?"

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, and rising on your tiptoes to meet his lips in a lazy kiss.

“The answer’s yes.” You mumbled without breaking away for too long.

You felt Joel smile against your lips.

#joel miller smut #joel miller #smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #pedrohub #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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jaysbaefie · 2 months ago

Text

noona | sjy (2/2)

synopsis: in which your little brothers best friend can’t keep his feelings and true intentions a secret anymore.

genre: brothers best friend to lovers

pairing: little brothers best friendljake x older afab reader

warnings: sad!jake, petty!jake, degrading, light dubcon, light fondling, manhandling, oral (m.rec and f.rec), unprotected p in v, forced confession of feelings, choking, jake eats his own cum…overstimulation, fingering, pussy slapping, creampie, almost getting caught (again). that’s it….i think.

wc: 5.1k

read part 1 part 2

a/n: i didn’t think id pop out w a part 2 for this fic but here i am… i was procrastinating w my other ones so i decided to do smth w little to no plot and just filth. anyways.. hope u enjoy! notes reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

──── ୨୧ ────

weeks went by and you'd had enough.

the guilt was eating you alive, and every time jake touched you when sunghoon was nearby, your heart nearly stopped. it was reckless, dangerous and completely insane.

your heart ached whenever you saw jake and sunghoon hang out, seeing their friendship. you wondered how sunghoon would react if he found out that his best friend was fooling around with his older sister.

you couldn't bear the thought of your brother looking at you differently, so you made a decision.

that night jake was over, as he always was. you watched the two boys play games on the living room couch, standing afar as your cleaned up in the kitchen.

your parents had bid their goodnights, heading upstairs to go to sleep leaving you, sunghoon and jake alone downstairs.

"hey! you said you'd cover me!" sunghoon grunts, his eyebrows furrowed as he squints his eyes—focusing on the screen ahead.

"i was getting attacked! i had to protect myself!"

"and your ass still died. what was the point of that."

the two argued playfully amongst each other, the thought of them not being friends because of you ached you.

time passes by, you loiter in the kitchen—pretending to do work on your laptop.

"noona, you can go to sleep you know. i know you're bored," you heard sunghoon say to you, peering back to see you sitting at one of the barstools in the kitchen.

you give him a soft smile, shaking your head. "it's no big deal, i have to stay up anyways. have to finish off these papers."

he nods, adjusting his head set. jake looks over, your eyes widening when he smirks at you—biting at his bottom lip. you quickly avert your eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

jake had gotten much bolder with his actions, however, nothing too intimate had happened ever since the kitchen scene a few weeks ago.

he wasn't as touchy, but his words had gotten bolder.

he always found ways to lean in too close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured things that made your face burn. "you smell good today, noona." or "you know, i have dreams about you. wanna know what they're about?" and when you pushed him away, he only chuckled, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

if you dropped something, he'd pick it up and hold it out—only to yank it back when you reached for it. "use your manners, noona. say please."

"please?"

his smirk widens, "good girl, noona."

if you were cooking, he'd stand behind you, arms caging you in as he reached for something. "careful, wouldn't want to burn yourself." he'd rub himself up against your butt, letting you feel how hard he was for you. but he never did more than brushing up against you or the occasional lingering touches.

it was almost like he was riling you up, teasing you so you'd snap.

when sunghoon was in his room with his headphones on, you pulled jake aside into the hallway. sunghoon had said goodnight, insisting that jake stay over since it was past midnight. jake had agreed, a dark smile on his face as his eyes raked up and down your figure—tongue jutting out to quickly swipe over his lips.

his usual cocky smirk was already forming, like he knew exactly why you wanted to talk.

"jake, we have to stop."

he blinked at you, amused. "stop what, noona?"

you swallowed, your stomach twisting. "this. whatever this is. it's wrong."

his smirk faltered for a second before his expression darkened. he stepped closer, forcing you back against the wall, trapping you between his arms. you tried not to shiver when you felt his breath against your skin.

"you think you can just cut me off like that?" he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "like i'm some bad habit you need to quit?"

you turned your face away, refusing to meet his gaze. "i—jake, i mean it. this is over."

he scoffed. "bullshit."

your eyes snapped back to him, widening as his fingers trailed along your arm. "i know you, noona. i know how you sound when you're turned on. i know how you taste when you're falling apart under me. and i definitely know how you look when you're pretending you don't want me." his hand suddenly slid between your thighs, over your shorts, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

you gasped, pushing at his chest. "j-jake, stop—sunghoon is upstairs!"

his smirk returned, but this time it was cruel. "exactly. so why haven't you screamed for him yet?"

you froze.

your mouth opened, but no words came out.

his grip tightened on your hip. "you could call him right now. tell him everything. tell him what a perv i am, how i've been touching you when he's not looking, how i licked your pretty cunt until you were shaking in the kitchen." he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "but you won't, will you?"

your breathing was ragged. "jake—"

"because you like it, noona." his fingers pressed harder, making your legs clench involuntarily. "you like how dirty this is. how wrong it feels. you say we need to stop, but your body?" he chuckled, sliding his knee between your thighs. "your body says otherwise."

he squeezes your hip, pushing you down so you grinded against his knee. you held in a moan, pursing your lips as you feel jake get tougher with his actions.

tears pricked at your eyes. whether it was from frustration, guilt, or something else entirely, you didn't know. "this isn't fair," you whispered.

jake pulled back slightly, tilting his head as he studied you. then, to your horror, his smirk completely disappeared. for the first time, he looked... genuinely hurt.

"you think this was just a game to me?" his voice was quiet, almost disappointed. "you think i did all this just to fuck around and piss you off?"

jake was hurt, he felt like you didn't even know him. he was never the type of guy that fooled around with girls, and you knew that. he thought he had made it clear how much he liked you, and only you.

you didn't know how to answer, standing there speechless.

jake clenched his jaw, his hands dropping from your body. his warmth disappeared, replaced by an unsettling emptiness.

"fine," he muttered, stepping back. "if that's what you want."

you felt like you could finally breathe again. but the victory was short-lived.

because the very next day, everything changed.

jake ignored you completely. no teasing touches. no lingering glances. no stolen moments in the hallway. it should've felt like relief, but instead, it felt like loss.

and the worst part? he was still around.

he still showed up at your house every day, still hung out with sunghoon like nothing had happened—but now, he acted like you didn't exist. and it was killing you.

although you hate to admit that you missed him and his advances, you were thankful that it had ended.

but just when you thought you were free, just when you started convincing yourself that maybe this was for the best.

jake reminds you why you could never escape him.

it happened late one night. a week had gone by since jake had pretended as if you didn't exist, you were slowly coming to terms with it.

you were in the kitchen alone, getting a glass of water, when suddenly, the room darkened. the air shifted, and before you could turn around—a familiar voice whispered against the shell of your ear.

"miss me yet, noona?"

your heart stopped.

and that was when you realized. this wasn't over. not even close. and in fact, it'll never be over.

your breath hitched as jake's hands found your waist, his grip firm, possessive—like he had every right to touch you.

"j-jake," you whispered breathlessly, your fingers tightening around the glass in your hand. you should push him away, should scream for sunghoon, should do anything but melt into him like you seemed to be doing.

but your body betrayed you.

he chuckled darkly, his nose grazing the side of your neck making you shiver in delight. "you thought i was done with you?" his fingers slid down to the hem of your shirt, teasingly brushing against your skin. "you think you can ignore this?"

his free hand covered yours, plucking the glass from your grip and setting it aside on the counter. the moment it left your grasp, he spun you around, pressing your back against the cool marble of the counters.

you mind races with flashbacks from weeks ago, when jake had his head between your legs and his tongue in you—making you writhe in pleasure. your chest heaved as you finally met his gaze—dark, hungry, filled with something dangerous.

"i was trying to be nice," he murmured, dragging his fingers down the dip of your throat, over your collarbone, down to the top button of your pajama shirt. "but you don't want nice, do you, noona?"

you looked up at him with pleading eyes, "you're a lot stronger than i thought you were, noona," he starts, his hand grabbing a hold of your breast making you whine. "i thought you'd break in a few days, but seems like you were getting used to my absence. can't have that now, can we?"

you swallowed hard, eyes darting to the doorway. "s-sunghoon is upstairs," you reminded him, voice barely above a breath.

jake smirked, popping the first button open. "then you better be quiet."

your stomach twisted as another button came undone, then another, his fingers deliberately slow, teasing.

"jake," you tried again, but suddenly, his lips were on yours—hot, demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs.

your hands instinctively flew to his shoulders, but whether to push him away or pull him closer, you weren't sure. it didn't matter. he took the decision from you, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you, letting you feel just how much he wanted this.

a muffled whimper escaped your throat when he rolled his hips into you, your core throbbing at the friction.

"fuck," he groaned against your lips, one hand slipping under your shirt to splay across your bare waist. "you have no idea how much i missed this."

"we—we can't," you breathed, even as your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging him closer.

"we already are," he murmured, teeth grazing your jaw before trailing down to your neck. you gasped when he sucked at the sensitive spot just below your ear, your body arching into his as heat coiled deep in your stomach.

"so sensitive," he mused, his lips curving against your skin. "you missed me too, didn't you, noona?"

you hated that he was right. hated that you had missed this—his touch, his voice, the way he made you feel alive.

but before you could admit it, before you could even think of responding, his hand was dipping lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

your breath hitched.

"jake," you gasped, your knees nearly giving out when his fingers brushed against your clothed heat. he groans at the dampness he found, his other hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"look at you," he murmured, eyes dark with need. "so fucking wet for me." you let out a soft whimper, and that was all it took for his restraint to snap.

"you're going to be a good girl, right noona?" he pants softly, his hand slipping out of your shorts. you almost whine at the loss, missing his touch where you need it the most.

you nod mindlessly, looking up at him to catch the dark look in his eyes. his lips pull into an almost evil smirk, "then you're going to have to apologize to me, noona. you hurt my feelings," he fake pouts.

you gape at him, your mouth opening to apologize only for jake to slip in two of his fingers past your lips. you gag around his fingers, not adjusting to the sudden intrusion in your mouth.

he stares down at you, his breath hitching when he pumps his fingers slowly into your mouth.

"nu uh, noona. that's not how i want my apology," he begins, his mouth pulled into a lazy smirk. he slowly pulls his fingers out, a trail of saliva connecting your mouth and his digits. he rubs his spit covered fingers over your lips messily, his face pulled into a pained look as he holds in a moan. "you don't need to use your mouth, but your going to let me use your mouth. yeah?"

your eyes widen at his words, swallowing harshly before you're nodding your head. it felt as if you didn't have control over your own actions.

he grins at your obedience, his hands tangling it into your hair before he's pushing you down to your knees slowly.

you sink down, coming face to face with jake's crotch—your eyes widening when you see the large tent in his pants. jake smirks, tilting your chin up.

"c'mon, take it out."

your hands fumble with his pajama pants, pulling them down along with his briefs. you gasp when his cock springs free, thick, flushed, already leaking. your eyes flick up to meet his, but he doesn't give you time to marvel or breathe—his hand is already fisting in your hair again, pulling your head closer.

"open," he mutters, and when you hesitate, he tightens his grip, yanking your head back. "don't make me ask again, noona."

your lips part, and jake doesn't wait. he slides his cock into your mouth with one slow, brutal thrust, groaning low in his throat when he hits the back of it. your hands fly to his thighs, nails digging in, but he doesn't ease up—he rolls his hips, feeding more of himself into your throat until you're gagging, tears stinging your eyes.

"this is what you wanted?" he grits out, in pure bliss that the woman he had wanted for half of his life was taking him in to her mouth. "just my cock, right? that's all i was to you, yeah?"

you try to shake your head, try to speak around him, but he just holds you there, his other hand coming down to cup your jaw, thumb smearing at the tears running down your cheeks.

"don't lie now," he growls. "you said it yourself. you thought i didn't give a fuck about you. you thought i was just using you."

he pulls out just enough for you to suck in a shaky breath before slamming back in, your moan muffled, choked, sinful.

"you're older than me, right?" he spits, voice bitter. "supposed to be the mature one. then why the fuck are you acting like a scared little girl?"

you look up at him, ruined. your jaw aching, drool trailing down your chin—and jake just smiles. not soft. cruel.

he could feel the familiar coil in his stomach tighten, but this wasn't the way he wanted to cum for you.

"you hurt me, noona," he whispers, finally pulling out completely. you gasp, throat sore, but he doesn't let you rest. he grabs you by the arms and yanks you to your feet, pushing you hard against the counter.

"bend over."

"jake—" you choke, blinking through the fog of tears and lust. "we shouldn't—sunghoon—"

"you think i give a fuck about sunghoon right now?" he hisses, dragging your shorts down roughly, letting them pool around your ankles. "you think he'd care about protecting his slutty sister who lies about what we have?"

you flinch, but you don't stop him—not when he kicks your legs apart, not when he presses the head of his cock right against your dripping entrance.

"say it," he snaps, one hand gripping your hip while the other holds your hair in a tight, punishing fist. "say i'm not just a fuck. beg me to forgive you." you hold in a mewl as his grip on your hair gets tighter, the crown of your head touching his chest.

you bite your lip, shame and heat colliding in your chest, but you say it anyway—voice trembling, broken.

"you're not just a fuck," you whisper. "i'm sorry, jake—please, i didn't mean it. i thought you didn't care...i was scared."

he goes still for a beat, his grip on you relaxing before his chest presses against your back. you hear the shift in his breath.

and then he thrusts into you so hard the air is knocked out of your lungs.

"you should be scared," he hisses against your ear. "scared of how much i fucking want you. scared of what i'll do when you try to run again."

you cry out, biting your own wrist to keep quiet as he starts to pound into you, fast, rough, relentless. you could feel yourself convulse around his girth, your velvety walls sucking him in like a suction.

"mine," he growls with every thrust, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. "mine. you hear me?"

you nod, gasping his name, body trembling from the intensity. it's overwhelming—the pace, the anger, the feeling behind every snap of his hips.

"say it," he demands again, thrusting particularly hard.

"i'm yours," you sob, gripping the edge of the counter like your life depends on it. "jake, i'm yours, i swear—"

"damn right you are."

he grabs your throat from behind, turning your face just enough so he can kiss you—deep, messy, almost violent with how badly he wants to consume you.

"no more ignoring me," he pants against your lips. "no more pretending this isn't real. you understand?" you nod frantically, unable to speak, unable to think—just feel.

and when his hand slides between your thighs, rubbing fast, precise circles over your clit, your whole body locks up. you could feel that familiar feeling tighten up in your lower stomach, your body shaking with every thrust he delivers.

"cum for me, noona," he whispers. "make a mess. and don't you dare try to hide it."

"jake—jake, i—" your voice breaks into a whimper, hips jerking as his fingers circle tighter, rougher.

"go on," he pants, cock driving into you so deep you can't breathe. "cum all over my cock like the slut you said you weren't."

you sob into your arm, your entire body tightening as the knot in your stomach finally snaps. pleasure crashes over you like a wave—sharp, hot, almost unbearable. you clench around him, trembling as you come hard, your release soaking the base of his cock, dripping down your thighs, coating his fingers.

jake lets out a strangled groan at the feeling, his hips stuttering. "fuck, fuck—you feel that?" he growls, voice cracking. "so fucking tight when you cum for me. you were made for this."

his rhythm falters, becoming erratic. you know he's close—the grip on your hips turns bruising, his breath uneven as he drives into you with punishing force.

"where?" he growls, leaning over you, his chest flush against your back. "tell me where, noona. say it. beg for it."

you turn your head slightly, eyes glassy as you whisper, "inside. jake, please—want you to cum inside me."

he curses under his breath, his hands shaking as he fucks you harder—desperate now, his control gone.

"say it again," he snarls, voice wrecked.

"come inside me," you cry, your knees threatening to give out. "need you, jake. need to feel you."

that's all it takes.

with a guttural groan, he slams in deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you. his entire body shudders as he comes, filling you up with thick, hot spurts that you swear you can feel leaking out even before he's pulled out.

he stays buried in you, breathing hard, one hand gripping your hip, the other fisted in your hair as he presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder. you're both shaking, sweat-slicked and ruined, your legs barely able to hold you up.

but jake doesn't move—not for a long moment. when he finally does, it's slow, careful, like he's afraid of letting go. he pulls out with a hiss, watching the way his cum spills from your swollen cunt, dripping down your thighs onto the kitchen floor.

his jaw clenches.

he gently turns you around, lifts you up onto the counter, and cups your face between his hands—his voice lower, quieter, but still rough with leftover anger.

"you really think i didn't care?" he murmurs, brows furrowed as he looks into your eyes. "you think i could fuck you like that and not be in love with you?"

your breath catches at his sudden confession.

"you ignored me," you whisper, still dazed.

"because i was hurt," he growls. "because hearing you call yourself a toy—saying i was just using you—fucked me up, noona. i've been in love with you, and you thought it was just my dick talking."

he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"you're mine," he whispers, softer now. "and i'm yours. whether sunghoon likes it or not."

you swallow hard, your hand rising to rest on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart.

"...i didn't mean it," you whisper. "i was scared. you're younger, and—i thought i was making a mistake."

he kisses you—slow, breathless, a stark contrast to how he'd fucked you minutes ago. and when he pulls away, he's smirking again, cocky and flushed and still so mad.

"you did make a mistake," he says. "and you're going to make it up to me." his hands slip beneath your thighs, dragging you toward the edge of the counter again.

"starting now."

his hands are already back on you before you can breathe—dragging you down the counter, legs parted, chest heaving. he doesn't even give you a moment to recover. you're still dripping with his cum when he spreads you open, gaze locked on your wrecked, swollen pussy.

"look at this mess," he growls, thumb smearing the mix of your release and his across your folds. "you look better like this. ruined. mine."

you gasp, hips jerking at the overstimulation, but he just chuckles darkly, grabbing your thighs to yank you closer until your ass is barely on the counter.

"you made me wait," he sneers, his tone dropping. "you ran your mouth. called me a kid. said i was just using you. and now look at you."

you try to respond, but he presses two fingers to your lips again, "no. you don't get to talk right now. just sit there and take it."

then he's dropping to his knees between your legs, and you barely manage to get a word out before his tongue replaces his fingers—licking up every drop of his cum that's still leaking out of you. he moans like he's starved, eating you out through the overstimulation, not stopping even when your legs tremble around his head.

"fuck—jake, too much—" you sob, fisting his hair, but he just growls into your cunt, locking his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. his tongue runs up and down your slit, flattening it where you need it most.

"this pussy's mine," he mutters against your clit, slapping it lightly with his tongue, making you cry out. "mine to ruin. mine to clean up. you don't get to tell me when i'm done." he continues the pattern, licking figure 8s on your clit as his fingers pry into you slowly—teasing you.

and he doesn't stop until you're falling apart again, legs shaking, tears streaking your cheeks as you cum a second time with a broken scream, biting down on your hand to muffle it—sunghoon still upstairs.

he stands up slowly, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes wild. his cock is hard again, flushed and angry-looking, already twitching against his stomach.

"turn around," he orders, his eyes wild as he stares down at you with hunger.

you hesitate—wrecked, overstimulated—but he grabs your hips and flips you over himself, bending you back over the counter like you weigh nothing.

"you wanted rough?" he pants, lining himself up again. "you wanted to act like i was just some horny little kid with a crush?"

you try to speak but scream instead when he slams into you in one brutal thrust.

"jake—"

he wraps his hand around your throat from behind, yanking you upright against his chest. you gasp at the feeling, his grip on your throat now bruising as you struggle for air.

"say it again," he hisses in your ear. "say my name like that again."

"j-jake," you sob, your voice breaking as he fucks into you with punishing force.

he leans down, biting your shoulder hard enough to bruise. "you're never calling me a kid again. i'm the only one who fucks you like this. the only one who makes you this dumb."

his other hand slides down, slapping your clit repeatedly without mercy, and your whole body jolts.

"gonna cum again, noona?" he pants. "fucking pathetic. creaming around my cock again when you said we couldn't. when you said i didn't mean it." your body trembles as jake forces your third high out of you, your cunt convulsing around him pathetically.

you cry out, tears falling freely now, your body on fire, collapsing in on itself with every thrust.

"beg for it," he growls. "beg me to fill you up again."

"jake, please—" you gasp, clawing at the marble. "fill me up. need it. need you."

"yeah?" he groans, his rhythm faltering as you tighten around him again. "say you're mine. say you love this."

"i'm yours," you cry, so close to breaking. "i love it—love when you fuck me like this—i'm yours, jake, only yours."

he lets out a low, desperate moan, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "that's right. my noona. my pussy. mine."

his hips slam into you once, twice more—and then he's spilling inside you again, groaning through gritted teeth, his entire body curling over yours like he's trying to bury himself so deep you'll never forget.

you collapse against the counter, boneless and shaking, his cum dripping out of you all over again as you relish in the feeling of your third high.

he leans down, kissing your shoulder softly now—contrasting the bite he left minutes ago—and whispers, "never again. don't you ever say i don't mean it."

he pulls you back up into his arms, pressing soft kisses behind your ear now, your body still trembling.

"...you okay?" he finally asks, quieter now. "too much?" you nod slowly, clinging to him. "no. not too much."

just jake. your jake. four years younger and somehow still the only one who's ever made you feel like this. you don't know how long you stood there, pressed against jake's chest, his arms tight around you as if he couldn't bear to let go.

your legs barely worked, still trembling from the aftermath, and you knew you looked wrecked—shirt open, hair tangled, neck littered with blooming marks. you were both soaked in sweat, your thighs sticky, his cum dripping slowly down your leg.

jake kissed your temple softly, breath still ragged. "i should clean you up," he murmured. "but if i touch you again, i'm not gonna stop."

you leaned your head back against his shoulder, exhausted. "don't think i can take another round anyway."

he chuckled, but it was laced with something darker—possessiveness still simmering just beneath the surface. "you'll take what i give you next time. and you'll say thank you."

you didn't get the chance to respond because that's when you heard it.

a door creaking open upstairs.

both of you froze.

footsteps.

"shit," you breathed, panic setting in as the reality of your situation crashed down.

sunghoon.

your little brother.

he was awake and if he came down and saw this you two would be screwed.

"move," jake whispered harshly, grabbing a dishtowel from the counter and tossing it over the wet mess you'd left behind. "go to the bathroom. now."

you scrambled to button your shirt, tugging your shorts up with shaking hands, nearly falling in the process. jake tucked himself away quickly, grabbing his hoodie from the kitchen chair and pulling it over his head just as the stairs creaked again.

you slipped down the hallway barefoot, heart pounding in your throat, ducking into the bathroom and locking the door with a soft click.

two seconds later, you heard sunghoon's voice from the kitchen.

"jake?"

"yo," jake replied, voice smooth—so effortlessly casual you wanted to scream.

"what are you doing down here?"

"water," jake said, cracking open the fridge to grab a bottle "couldn't sleep."

sunghoon hummed, still half asleep, "you good?"

jake laughed, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. "never better, hyung." you covered your mouth to keep from making a sound.

"you coming back up?" sunghoon asked, voice groggy with sleep as he reaches for the bottle of water that jake had offered him.

"in a bit."

they stood there in silence for a moment before you heard the footsteps retreat. the stairs creaked again. the door shut.

you waited a beat longer—just to be safe—before cracking the door open. jake was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, head tilted slightly.

his eyes met yours. slow. hungry.

you looked like hell—still flushed, lips swollen, hair a mess.

and jake?

jake looked like he'd do it all over again if he had five more minutes alone with you.

"you okay?" he asked, voice quiet now—sincere. you nodded, stepping closer, until he reached out and tugged you into his arms.

"you scared the shit out of me," you mumbled into his chest.

"you scare me every time you act like this is something i'm not serious about."

you froze.

jake pulled back slightly, his hands gentle now as he cupped your jaw. "i'm not just fucking you, noona. i've never just been fucking you."

your chest ached at the truth in his voice. raw and exposed.

"i know," you whispered, finally. "i believe you." he smiled—small, but genuine. "good. because next time you call me a kid, i'll fuck you and fill you so you have mine."

your breath hitched, but this time it wasn't from fear or shame—just need. you kissed him—soft, slow, the kind of kiss that promised this wasn't over.

because now you knew, it would never be over.

and god help you, you didn't want it to be.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

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inthelittlewood · 2 months ago

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Questions about Eyes And Ears AU

I had somebody ask for a brief interview regarding my storytelling for their university project and thought I'd lend a hand.

I thought those of you that follow the story might like the insight too, so here ya go:

When you first introduced the Listeners in Evo SMP, did you have a broader narrative or concept in mind, or were they more of an atmospheric element at that point?

The honest answer is that I didn't want to write too much about somebody else's character(s), that being Grian's Watchers. If I could write the conflict from the side of the Listeners then we could continue the narrative with a pre-designed opposing force but have them be relatively mute for the most part. Partly to build anticipation of when they might act or retaliate but it also worked for behind the scenes purposes too. If the series hadn't slowed/stopped as suddenly as it did, I definitely would have poked Grian to pick his brain about what story elements fit his original imagining of the Watchers. So it was mostly narrative reasoning but they also served a mechanical behind the scenes purpose of transporting us to a new area which was necessary due to bugs we'd encountered with world gen etc.

What inspired you to flesh out the Eyes and Ears AU more in recent years? Was that mostly a personal creative decision, or was it influenced by fan interest?

Honestly I hadn't premeditated too much their reintroduction into anything that I was working on. Sure I'd seen a little chattering here and there about the Watchers but I honestly just wanted to write an individual story beat (albeit a tropey one) of c!Martyn snapping and turning on Ren but that never came to fruition due to Scar taking us out. The plan was always to backstab Ren then say a cool line like "Red Winter is over, Red Spring has begun" or something else punny. Seeing the fevered reaction of the audience though gave me some confidence that I could try my hand at some layered or entirely post-production storytelling, so heading into Last Life I was all guns blazing.

The Eyes and Ears AU is quite open-ended — do you intentionally approach it with the idea of leaving narrative space for fan interpretation?

It really is right? Yes, it's a very mindful decision to leave it open-ended but not so much for the audience's benefit or interpretations, but to give myself creative freedom to take the story wherever I'd like to. Committing to too many power scale, multiverse or narrative shackles early can really strangle stories I've noticed (from reading comics and manga) meaning back pedalling or aggressive retcons are required to explore certain paths, which is rarely a good experience for the reader. I do enjoy their versatility and capability to be applied to any Minecraft or adjacent story too. Some might call it too broad, I call it malleable.

How do you feel about fans expanding the lore through headcanons and theories? Have any fan interpretations stood out or surprised you?

I think it's brilliant! People inundate my inbox on Tumblr seeking permission to write stories or create characters / AUs but I've literally no authority on that. I suppose it might be a different conversation if they were profiting off of those works, but 99% of people simply want to write for fun which I highly encourage!! I'll be honest that I haven't read a great deal of AUs or headcanons, my exposure to them is mostly via chat messages during lore talk streams or questions that come through regarding the Eyes And Ears AU. As a general rule I try to avoid reading too much of other people's works on the topic because I worry I'll accidentally regurgitate it in some way then stumble into plagiarism, you know? It's why I focus more on digesting stories outside the fandom whether it's manga, Sanderson books, reading old Japanese folk tales and the like. I can source inspiration from those on how to weave narrative and execute plot twists without having to glance in my front yard.

Has fan content (art, theories, animatics, etc.) ever influenced how you think about or approach the AU?

Oh for sure they have. It's literally why after every season we'll do a sit down stream and talk about the lore in detail. Figure out the puzzle and potential trip wires of plot points from the episodes and how we can neatly pack them into the pre-existing story. A lot of people wouldn't do that as they'd be precious about their work and believe their opinion is th only correct one, but I looooove soundboarding with the audience on it. I also take that mindset in game and sometimes think about the scenery of an impactful moment whenever I'm able to control / design it. I'll have little quips or quotes cooked in my mind for how I'd ideally deliver a blow or plot twist, buuuuut given the nature of the Life series you very rarely get to execute things how you'd like haha! I definitely wouldn't have done as many of the poems had their not been such a positive reaction to those. I often see individual lines or entire passages make their way into art pieces as typography or highlighted in animatics which is really gratifying. It's why I also put such an emphasis and priority on audio production in my editing. If I can craft something that feels atmospheric, driving and punctuating with music, staggering vocals or sound effects then the auditory portion is already done, they can focus solely on the visual aspect of things. I try and be as cinematic / TV like as my skillset allows for that reason.

You’ve mentioned trying not to fully canonise the AU, but still referencing it consistently — how do you balance telling your own story effectively, while trying not to involve other creators, particularly on the Life Series, when a lot of your time is spent in a group?

The easiest way to do this, is to not do it. For the most part the only storytelling done with the AU is done in post-production. I never name drop the Watchers or Listeners in world (believe me, I was as surprised as all of you when I saw that Secret Keeper statue in Secret Life!!) and in recent seasons they haven't even reared their head as an influence whatsoever. They're on holiday, they deserve it. But when they do whisper in my ear, they're motivated decisions that I would likely make as a player/character anyway because the win objective is always the thing I'm striving towards. I can just pepper angst around it to make things seem more manipulated rather than selfish ha. I think that's why the open ended nature of the Watchers has served me well because as much as they have a singular motive which is to feed on negative emotions, that can be achieved in so many ways ranging from bloodlust to deception, heartbreak to panic. It's versatile for storytelling. It can be in your face, or a slow burn.

What do the Watchers and Listeners represent to you, symbolically or narratively? Do they serve a specific function in the stories you tell?

The Watchers used to represent the audience when Grian first introduced them, but after departing EVO I've definitely breathed more of an egotistical and sinister air into them. They're very much a unique entity / faction now, they in some ways represent gluttony, selfishness and neglect in achieving their goals. The Listeners on the other hand, are a lot of the opposite traits, but I'm still wanting to explore how being the hard end of most conflicts can be dangerous. I want to explore that at some point, whether it be with infighting or failures. They shouldn't be seen as simply bad/good, they're just, different. It shouldn't be too hard navigating that nuance but I want it to reflect elements and motives that we find in our own lives.

#inthelittlewood #eyesandears #trafficblr

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lennythereviewer · 2 years ago

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My favorite Kingdom Hearts fact is that one of the biggest plot-holes that Nomura has never been able to meaningfully retcon or write his way out, a plot-hole so big that it fundamentally breaks the very rules the series is written on...

Is the existence of Steamboat Willie

Let me explain for the uninitiated:

In Kingdom Hearts 2, there’s a small detour in the story involving Maleficent trying to invade Disney Castle, the home of King Mickey. She can’t step foot in the castle due to an artefact of pure light that wards off darkness locked in the basement.

Pete, who is working for Maleficent, opens a door into the past (Before Disney Castle, this land was known as Timeless River) and decides to remove the artifact from it’s place in time so it won’t be there to stop them from getting in.

Sora, Donald, and Goofy chase Pete into the past thanks to another magic door provided by Merlin, and through some shenanigans involving old cartoons and teaming up with Pete’s past-self, they lock the door the villains are using, and return the artefact to it’s proper place so it can exist in the present.

You with me so far? Pretty straightforward-ish time-travel plot right?

Here’s where it goes off the rails.

Time travel would go on to become a staple of Kingdom Hearts going forward and would come with a very strict set of rules over how it operates:

1. You can only travel to a point in time where a version of yourself exists

2. You basically give up your body to do so, and travel as a disembodied soul unless you have a vessel to inhabit

3. You can’t alter the past in a meaningful way, what’s going to happen will happen

4. You lose your memories of said trip once you return, but your actions could leave a lingering instinct on your other self that could influence their decisions

“Wait” you may be thinking “Why should anyone go through all those hoops? Wasn’t time travel super simple that first time?”

And you’d be totally right, because the existence of Timeless River completely renders all of these rules and restrictions meaningless.

There is no version of Sora that existed in Timeless River before he step foot there, everyone kept their bodies, the trio and Pete were able to mess with the timeline as freely as they pleased, and they all very much remember their trip.

Nomura has never been able to meaningfully explain this super simple, easy way of time travel and the more convoluted method co-existing other than a cheap-throwaway line from one of the villains saying that Merlin “broke the rules”

The hilarious part about this line is that it implies that PETE of all characters is actually more powerful than the actual villain of the series, because Pete opened a door into Timeless River through sheer willpower and nostalgia for “the good old days”

But the all-knowing chess-master of a villain who had an evil plan several decades in the making with countless moving parts and contingencies to account for had to use the roundabout, more complicated method of time travel where a lot could go wrong.

Pete though? Dude just casually broke all the rules of time travel because he felt like it. He's just built different.

TL;DR: Steamboat Willie breaks Kingdom Hearts lore in half, Pete is more powerful than Master Xehanort, and I fucking love this beautiful trainwreck of a series you guys it means so much to me

I love Kingdom hearts so much.

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mariasont · 3 months ago

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Sugar, Spice, Spencer's Advice - S.R

everyone expects spencer reid to fall for purely intellectual types, but what they don't know is your ability to remember his rambling lessons and your diligent googled research makes him feel irrationally turned on

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader warnings: established relationship, some suggestive content, brief mention of food-play (non-graphic, discussion only), spencer being protective, fluff af, spencer's negative outlook on sugar/food (super brief), teasing/banter, flustered spence wc: 1.4k request: here!

You’re happily licking at your ice cream cone, eyes soft with uncomplicated happiness, and Spencer thinks he’s becoming entirely too familiar with this feeling. It’s habitual. To observe you is like revisiting his favorite passage in a beloved book, each time discovering nuances he’s missed before.

He’d given in the instant your expression had turned imploring — big, pleading eyes, soft pout — your most effective weapon. Spencer has abandoned all pretense that he can resist your nightly sugar-driven rituals.

He’d pondered briefly the psychological undercurrents of your craving, but each theory usually ends up dissolving when he’s confronted by the smile you give him when he caves.

His attention drifts back just as your feet land on the dashboard. Spencer half-smiles at the sight of those slip-ons, your comfy choice through the entire day of painfully predictable romance movies. He was pretty sure he lost the plot somewhere around hour two — another mistaken identity plot twist, seriously? — but keeping track of said plot wasn’t really the point anyway.

He’d watch paint dry if it meant hearing you laugh like that, but thankfully you usually pick slightly better entertainment. Usually.

Spencer reaches over instinctively, his hand finding its place on your thigh, patting twice for good measure.

“Hey, feet off the dash, please,” he says. “Airbags deploy faster than you think, and personally, I’m pretty attached to the current arrangement of your features.”

His mind trips over the calculation against the embarrassment of sounding like an overbearing parent. He’s not even your husband yet. Yet.

But you immediately drop your feet without complaint, settling into a position that looks decidedly safer. Spencer breathes a little easier. He gives your thigh a grateful squeeze, his thumb brushing back and forth just once in a wordless thank you.

You tuck your legs beneath you, body angled toward him, elbow planted on the center console, cheek resting in your palm.

“My face appreciates you looking out for it,” you tease gently. “Always looking out for me actually. Is there anything else I do that’s, like, secretly super dangerous?”

Spencer’s eyes catch yours, and he lets out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Come here,” he murmurs, lifting his hand from your thigh to sweep his thumb along the edge of your mouth, collecting the vanilla ice cream that’s smeared there. “As far as dangerous decisions go, I’d say your habit of leaving candles burning unattended ranks pretty high. One of these days you’re going to burn the whole place down, sweetheart.”

“But you said most fires from candles happen because of flammable stuff near them, not just leaving them burning,” you remind him sweetly, nose wrinkling with affection. “So really, as long as I keep things away from my candles, I’m totally safe. And I always listen to you about that.”

His heart flutters with messy pride and affection that makes him feel embarrassingly sentimental. Sure, conversations about Marcel Proust or string theory aren’t exactly your cup of tea (he’s pretty sure you’d turn your nose up at the mere thought), but there’s this distinctly genuine and wonderful way you navigate the world.

You absorb everything he says — half-formed ideas, scattered facts, fleeting memories — in a way that weirdly puts eidetic memories to shame.

It’s dizzying, actually, the way you’re smiling at him right now, effortlessly beautiful and clearly unaware that he’s suddenly acutely conscious of how his pulse is pounding.

He loves you, he knows he does, deeply, and apparently by the way his face flushes hot and his breathing quickens, he’s more turned on by your quiet brilliance than he ever expected.

“Okay, so candles are covered,” he says with mock seriousness, “but what about all my advice on not talking to strangers or, I don’t know, not accepting free candy from mysterious vans? Are those making the cut too?”

“Come on, Spencer, you taught me better than that,” you say proudly. “I know all about risk assessment now, if someone seems sketchy or pushes too hard, it’s probably a danger sign. And,” you add with a satisfied smile, “that’s why you’re the only one allowed to take me for sweets. Want a bite?”

Spencer eyes the melting ice cream warily, the overly sweet scent doing nothing to tempt him, it’s essentially frozen sugar, after all, objectively terrible for him. The mental list of reasons to politely decline is endless.

But the knowledge that your lips have just been there sets off a chain reaction, desire eclipsing logic. Suddenly, he’s more than willing to abandon nutritional morals for the vague promise of an indirect kiss. Though, admittedly, he would much rather prefer the direct approach. But he’s fairly certain that running into a telephone pole would rank even higher risk wise than unattended candles or dashboard hazards.

So, instead, he ducks his head, taking a careful bite, instantly regretting it when the sticky sweet cold paints his cheek.

Your giggles ripple, making him smile sheepishly as you shift closer. He expects your thumb, mirroring his earlier gesture, but then your lips brush against his cheek, your tongue catching the vanilla drip. Every ounce of rationality deserts him into one helplessly smitten mess.

“You know, saliva actually cleans better than wiping,” you announce thoughtfully. “So, you’re welcome, Spence.”

He’s half certain he’s never mentioned anything about saliva enzymes, but then again, he’s so thoroughly distracted by you most of the time he might’ve. It sounds exactly the kind of oddly specific detail he’d share.

“Okay,” he manages, unable to suppress a smile. “Where exactly did you learn that one?”

“I googled it.” You tilt your head. “Like, I thought food-play might be fun to try with you?” You shrug lightly, expression utterly innocent as if discussing something far less suggestive. “But then all these articles said it can get kinda gross and messy, and honestly, Spencer, I realized you’d probably just stress about germs and clean-up, and there’s no way I’d enjoy it if you weren’t totally relaxed and happy.”

Of all the things he anticipated you might say tonight, casually mentioning food play research was not on the list. It lands like a dropped grenade, exploding into fragments of thoughts he cannot possibly hope to piece together.

His cheeks burn hot as images — sticky and indecent images — flood his mind without permission. Vanilla dripping slowly down your collarbone, lips parted in invitation, eyes sparkling with that innocent curiosity he adores.

But beneath this sudden rush of desire lies something even softer because he can almost see it — your earnest expression as you scroll through webpages, considering all the possible complications, all the ways he might react.

Spencer’s chest aches in a way he can’t pinpoint, a vulnerability spreading through him that he rarely allows himself to feel. He’s not used to people taking such gentle care of his anxieties, treating his quirks as something precious rather than burdensome. A small, quiet part of him wonders if he deserves this kind of thoughtfulness, this careful, intentional love you offer without hesitation. He wants to believe it, wants to let himself trust it completely, but the tender astonishment that grips him right now makes it hard to think straight.

“You know, angel, next time just come straight to me, okay? I promise my answers are better, and less traumatizing, than whatever you’ll find online.”

“Well, don’t blame me when you start getting texts at two a.m. about my random questions.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow at you. “I think we both know that if my phone goes off at two a.m., you’re probably not looking for statistics.”

You smile at that.

“I mean, yeah, probably,” you concede. “But honestly, Spence, I did read this thing about late-night dopamine spikes or whatever and —,”

He doesn’t think. He can’t think. The moment the car is in park, his body moves on its own, leaning across the console, hands gently cupping your face as he silences your adorable scientific ramble. He’s never felt such urgency, such an intense, overwhelming need to kiss someone as he does right now. It’s impulsive, reckless, completely out of character, and yet he feels no regret. Only relief. Only you.

For once in his analytical life, Spencer lets instinct win, savoring your lips and the small, surprised sound you make against him. He hopes you hear in his kiss everything he can’t yet put into words.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

#spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #dr reid #doctor spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid oneshot #🌺 maria writes

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willyoubemycherryy · 5 months ago

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Intimacy Cues (C. Kent)

Summary: Who better to teach you how to talk body when you never learned the language?

Contains: smut AND plot so it’s long,depressing past, the college au you all secretly needed, struggles with physical touch, struggles with any form of intimacy, one mild panic attack, Clark is understanding but hot, dumb ideas, hugging, bonding, kissing, making out, it starts off shaky then soft but quickly snowballs into horn-e central, size kink, slight dumbification, strength kink, first kisses, virginity kept but not for long just give me till the second part, Clark is a little infatuated, they’re so nasty about each other my word, grinding, kissing (no forreal), prayer bc we all need it

A/N- my stomach is fine, it wasn’t a tumor but a blockage because of something I ate that never digested, causing my tummy to bloat and swell but they fixed me up so I’m back😈

. .* ੈ✩‧₊•

“Nononono- no, stop!!”

This might be the worst decision of your entire life.

Clark pulls away again, looking down at you with his eyebrows drawn together in concern but also exasperation because-

“Hey! It’s okay- you’re okay. Remember…you were the one who asked for my help.” He didn’t say the obvious “but we’re not getting any farther” part out loud but it echoes through your head all the same and you breathe out a deep sigh; regretting it with the depths of your very being but, yes. You did ask him for his help.

Help with what? The answer would’ve ended your social life if anyone who wasn’t Clark had found out.

You needed his help with…closeness- intimacy.

Growing up you were always awkward. Not in a charming way or even unconventional, you just simply didn’t make the cut based by society’s standards. You were always too gangly, too weird, too timid; so imagine the surprise come middle of highschool to now college where you’ve finally grown into yourself.

You know how you like to dress and which clothes look hottest on you, you know what hairstyle suits best for your face shape, you’re still weird but you’re also sarcastic which somehow equals charm to people and you’ve also managed to come out of your shell a bit. Becoming more confident from people naturally gravitating towards you after your blooming stage and even more after letting your friends convince you to join your college’s cheerleading team. You’d become everything you wanted to always try.

Pretty, popular, and fun. The problem?

Thanks to how much of a late bloomer you were, you never got the chance to get comfortable with others intimately during your formative years. Nobody liked you in that way and you were terrified of embarrassing yourself so there was nothing. No first kiss, no first dance with a boy, hell- even now you still get uneasy when others stare at you too long. Hiding behind your image as a college sweetheart made everything you were still to unsettled to try easier. Don’t misunderstand; it wasn’t that you never wanted those things, it’s that you’re not used to others suddenly picking you for those kinds of things after being invisible and missing out on them for almost all your life to the point where you don’t know how to deal with it when those moments do happen.

Still, you acted like everything was fine.

Playing the role of pretty cheerleader- the flirty tease that was favored by many even though that favor was shallow as a tear on a hot day. You pretended. And it was working, nobody knew…or so you believed.

Cue to one of the football teams parties where you’d been flirting with a guy, coy smile painted on your face as you giggled softly whenever he spoke, batting your pretty eyes at him in your little mini skirt. It had been going well until he suddenly leaned closer, focusing solely on you and when you felt the heat of his skin from how close he was- it felt as if the color had drained from your face, leaving you frozen as you became so uncomfortable it was visible; nerves screaming at you to flee until you listened. Spinning on your heels and bolting, trying to calm your breathing enough to will the cotton out of your ears.

You didn’t realize it then but a certain pair of blue eyes had been watching the whole thing. He’s always seen you. Which is funny because you almost always actively avoid him. In fact, he’s seen you enough to know that this isn’t the first time you’ve had that reaction and one day after a particularly rough week of endless pondering over you; he decides to just ask you after practice is over. Clark waits until his and your friends leave, it being only you and him on the field when he starts to walk over to you. The sound of incoming footsteps make you look up and when you see him, he can hear the very second your heart stops; skipping a beat before it quickly begins to thrum out of rhythm.

Honestly, there genuinely are not enough words to describe how attractive Clark Kent was. He was so incomprehensibly beautiful that you avoided Clark altogether just to avoid getting a headache from staring at him for too long especially since the real suffering started when he’d smile. Seemingly perfect pearly white straight teeth but when his grin broadened, his sharp canines would show, leaving you breathless every time. The type of good looking that was flat out overwhelming. Besides being apart of adjacent stereotypes, you two didn’t go together but there was no animosity.

Clark stops and you have to look up at him because of his hulking size. At almost 6’4 he nearly dwarfed you and his proportions matched. Thick, beefy everything- everywhere and you swallow before forcing a smile on your face. While you preferred to avoid him for the sake of keeping yourself out of the psych ward from how crazy he could drive you; you were still curious as to why he came to talk to you. He takes a moment to just look at you, cerulean eyes almost glowing but he doesn’t realize how intense his stare is until you start to shuffle on your feet- dainty hands twitching nervously at your side and that’s when he speaks.

“Hey…I know we don’t usually talk or anything but are you okay?” Even his voice is dreamy but confusion draws on your face because you felt fine; nervous, like you were around any guy you thought was cute, but fine. Clark elaborates at your expression,

“Y’know because of what happened at the party last-”, that seems to jog your memory enough to snap you out of it, eyebrows shooting up as dread overtakes over your face. You whip your head around, making sure there’s no witnesses when you grab him by his sweaty shirt, dragging him all the way behind the bleachers as you slam him against the metal. Clark is caught so off guard that he just lets it happen; lets the pretty thing half his size drag him as you pleased. Your eyes shift as you glare up at him.

You’re positive he’s talking about your little freak out with close proximity guy, the one that made you leave the party completely; walking so fast you nearly burned a trail in the carpet. Heart pounding, you start to spiral.

He wasn’t supposed to see that. He- like everyone else- was supposed to be too drunk to notice anything.

Your nose scrunches, full lips curling in a snarl. “I swear if you say anything to anyone-!” You’re threatening him so fast, Clark falters, raising his hands in defense, debilitating blue eyes widening as he starts to plead his case.

“No no-! I didn’t! I-“, He stutters at your harsh gaze, the feel of your hands soaking through his shirt, warming his chest. He needs to hurry up and explain himself before you start disliking him. “I was just worried! Whenever I see you and a guy, even if you act interested-“, he rushes out, panting as he talks even faster, “the second they get too close you look like you’ll vomit!” Your hostility melts into shock and even more confusion and you let go of his shirt, stepping back as you study him, his words stuck in your mind.

“How..? Are you- you’ve been paying that close attention to me? When do you even see me?” You’re at such a loss for words that it’s hard to string them together to properly question him.

“…I”, he swallows harshly, “I always see you.” It’s pure adrenaline that motors his mouth- he thought he was over the time when lovely faced girls made him nervous but you were unexpectedly feisty. It lit something tingly in him. Your eyes search his face and he spills. “I see how you flirt but you’re sarcastic too. Everyone is so taken by your pretty that they don’t even notice, they just call it ‘wit”, he manages to catch his breath enough to sound less panicked now that you look like you won’t kill him, “I see how even though you’re a flyer, you hate heights-”

“H-how-?”

“Your right leg shakes when they lift you, no matter how stable your base is.” Your mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out, heart racing when his voice goes soft,

“But what I’m saying is- so what that you’re not really what you give off? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. ‘Jus curious why you think it is…”, he blinks those long lashes at you and you find yourself explaining the tale of your sordid social past.

By the end of it he’s stunned speechless.

You? Just how bad was your awkward phase for nobody to be interested in you? Wait so that also probably meant that-

“You’re a virgin?!”

You slap your hands over his mouth with a speed equal to his own, face flushed as you shush him, hissing in a low whisper.

“Jesus Chri- shut up! Are you trying to tell the entire campus?!!” You let out another heavy sigh.

“…yes, I am”. You let your hands fall to the side, refusing to look at him while he’s trying to process; silence filling the space between you. You’ve accepted that your ego will never recover from the most gorgeous being on the planet knowing about all your…truths. That you looked and acted the part of a vixen just to hide that you secretly weren’t.

“…so you’ve never done anyt-”,

“No.”

Well then.

You can’t take another long drag of awkward silence, turning to face the boy who knew you probably more than anyone else did.

“Look- I would’ve loved to remedy this but I-”

“Can’t stomach whenever a guy gets too close due to previous deep rooted societal wrought insecurities…” Bingo.

“Well for what it’s worth,” he gives you one of his disarming grins and a flush creeps up your neck; warming your ears, “I think you’re doing fine now.” You snap your head down to see that you two are standing fairly close or at least closer than you normally allow and you don’t have that itch to get him as far away from you as possible. That’s when you get the idea that- “Oh my god! You can help me get over my thing! This is perfect!”! You’re practically vibrating with glee, excited to finally have all your firsts without that looming of touch related dread haunting you. Clark however is swarmed with various images of him “helping” you and can’t keep his ears from reddening at all the different scenarios where he’d be required to be close to you and begins to stutter.

“W-well, I wa- not that I-! I don’t think that’s a good idea, I mean w-we-”, you cut him off before he can weasel out of it, eyebrows creasing in frustration. You unconsciously step closer, your sweet smell bathes his senses as he stares you down, trying not to gulp too hard. “Please, Clark?”, you start and he swallows harshly at how his name sounds in that whiny tone from your lips.

“It can’t be anyone else because you’re the only one who knows! We’re not close now but we could be-“, and the double meaning makes him tune out completely as he only watches your plump lips move; not even registering the sound coming from them. He was thankful you didn’t ask him why he watched you so closely because the answer was one he wasn’t ready to even admit to himself.

Your lips stop moving after a while and them paired with your begging doe eyes make him cave, Clark nodding in hopeless defeat. He was supposed to be over the influence of pretty girls.

“S’okay, I’ll help you out. Your secret’s safe with me.” The corner of his mouth tilts up in a lopsided smile that was somehow both attractive but made you feel safe and you smile shyly back. You were nervous but you know Clark is a good guy- reckless as hell with his charms- but a good guy. What could go wrong?

•

Standing in the middle of your dorm room with your arms wound tight around yourself is when you find out that alot can go wrong.

Clark came over and you two came up with a starting plan that seemed the easiest: talk and slowly close the distance between you two until he was touching and looking at you without you getting uncomfortable or pushing him away. It sounded simple enough at first only…. you severely underestimated how you’d react to Clark. The way his deep mellow voice sounded in your ears, how he always held such steady eye contact as he moved towards you, that heavenly jawline tilting when he’d think too long. Already, Clark was big from afar but up close he was even bigger. Strong arms and broad shoulders; chest so thick it was noticeable through his shirt. You were used to others falling at your feet but Clark stood fine and it affected you in ways you didn’t prepare to deal with, so you tried to do what you always did- ignore it.

Matching Clark’s light conversation as you two eventually get more comfortable, gradually gravitating towards each other with slow short steps. The air shifts when you exhale and the breath tickles his chest. This is when you normally get squeamish but you merely hesitate for a few minutes before taking a deep breath and pushing yourself by letting him keep his distance.

His hand twitch and he shuffles a bit closer, biceps flexing as he reaches out, resting his hands on your shoulders; your conversation quiets as he stares at you with perfectly blue lidded eyes and then you feel the stirrings of restlessness under your skin. That impeding urge to get away. Despite the way you feel, the slow atmosphere helps you tremendously to not pull away but your pulse spikes all the same. His hands felt nice. You take another deep breath as you try to come to terms with what you were feeling.

Clark was a guy.

A guy who was standing in your bubble, touching you- looking at you.

A million emotions fly across your face at record speed and Clark doesn’t move any more for the next couple minutes. No, he waits for you; large rough palms warm on your bare shoulders while his pinky idly messes with the thin strap of your top. Your skin was soft. The heavy rise and fall of your chest has him focusing on you more intensely, trying to get a read on how you felt until you break the silence with a shaky exhale.

“We can keep going- you can keep touching me.” He knows you don’t mean it that way but his ears burn anyways as he nods. Taking a second to think before taking his hands off you to take yours, ignoring your big eyes look as he places your hands around his waist- inevitably moving closer and his voice softens like he’ll frighten you away if he were to speak any louder.

“You can touch me too. Promise I don’t mind…this is for you after all.” You suppress a whine because being so close was already hard with you fighting every instinct yelling at you to get gone and go somewhere where nobody could comprehend you but now with Clark staring at you like that, it was even harder. Your eyes flick about the room as you flatten your palms more against his back, mentally rolling your eyes back at how his muscles feel. You don’t even realize you’re biting your lip but Clark does, instantly alert the second he felt your small hands nervously press against him, his eyes zeroed in on the swollen skin dipping under the pressure of your teeth. He feels bad because while he was supposed to be helping you, he couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy you were being so shy but hardheaded enough to build up the grit to go for what scared you because you wanted it.

Without taking his eyes off your face, he rubs his hands up to your neck, making you squeak before smoothing them back down your shoulders; repeating the motions with a gentle hum.

The room feels hot- you felt hot and jittery but it’s too much. Unable to keep the waves at bay, goosebumps trickle over your skin and your eyes scrunch in panic as your breathing picks up. He was close. Close and touching you. You can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes because you know when you do, you’ll be naked for all to see and you scream.

“Stop!”

Nobody can see you-nobody’s supposed to be seeing you, the girl who was never even chose last as you were overlooked entirely no matter how badly you wanted to reach out. Maybe that’s what started your fear. Maybe you were scared of losing experiences because of rejection.

Clark doesn’t move away but he isn’t touching you anymore and you aren’t touching him as your hands fly to the sides of your head, trying to calm yourself down and guilt pours over him. He wants to hug you; comfort you but he knows that pulling you against him in a hug will only worsen things right now so he waits. Closing his eyes to help you feel at ease, listening closely to the beat of your heart until your breaths quiet and he hears it fluctuate back to normal. He keeps his eyes closed until he feels your small trembling hands slide back around him and instead of putting his hands on your shoulders, he moves his arms around them; resting them against your back but not pulling you in yet. It’s quiet besides the hushed sounds of him cooing at you and your breathing. The air now has an underlying current and you shift in his heavy arms, inhaling deeply as you finally look up at his face. Shyly, you cut the silence; voice soft as how you feel.

“…you can open your eyes now..” Clark feels his own heart speed up before he responds, low tone matching yours and electricity hits you when it clicks. This is intimate.

“Are you okay? We can stop and try again some other time; I don’t wanna upset-,”

“I want you to look at me.”

His eyes pop open at your command, peering down at you in such a way that your breath catches; anxiousness rising up you again but you stay right where you are. Willing yourself to embrace the exposed way he makes you feel.

Under the heat of his stare it’s like he’s seeing everything you’ve ever hid or been but his hold is steady enough to let you know he’s there with you and he’s not going anywhere. You still feel naked but more than that, you feel safe. Comfortable enough to not shy away from his warmth, you take another breath; looking up at him through your lashes- it makes his head fuzzy.

His eyes shift from their usual blue to the shade of the sea after a storm and you’re swept away, logic going with you as you slowly glide your hands up his sides to his where his arms hold you. Feeling every dip and curve of his strong build until you reach his hands, repositioning them around your lower back. You move closer but because you two were already standing so close- your chests touch and Clark stops breathing. The soft swell of your breasts move against his body with your every inhale and he finds his senses filled with you.

Your gaze is torn away when you turn your head, looking down as you drop against his chest. Arms looping around him making his own instinctively curl around you, holding you tight to the firm but soft muscle of his chest. You both pause for a few minutes- waiting for the urgent panic but it never comes. Instead, you melt into him with a relieved sigh, warm breath bleeding into his shirt. You two were officially hugging.

And you were in heaven.

You never knew close contact with the opposite gender could be so delightful. Clark was just so big and warm and smelled so good, you bury your face into the meat of his pec almost deliriously, sighing happily. Fuck, you really had been missing out. His arms are firm and heavy against your back, effectively locking you against him. The endorphin rush hitting you has you practically purring; the sounds of your bliss vibrating Clark’s chest and he smiles, letting you get your fix as he enjoys the way you fit into his arms.

Unsurprisingly, you two stay like that for a while. Fitted against each other in the silence of your cozy bedroom. He sees the top of your head move and he’s suddenly looking into your eyes, pupils blown so wide that your eyes are black. Clark has to bite his lip to keep from smiling at how cute you look. Your eyes flit down to his mouth to see the peek of his fangs that always show, letting out a small breathy ‘oh’ when you do. You’re still reeling in all the best ways as you rest your chin against his chest, unabashedly looking at his handsome face.

Clark raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the phantom hearts in your eyes and the way your small feet are standing on top of his larger ones while you make no attempt to separate your bodies, completely content with his proximity. He likes you so he likes your closeness and he’s even more elated that you seem to like him being so close too. Speaking lowly so he doesn’t disturb you, he checks if you’re still on the planet with him.

“This okay, sweetheart? Y’enjoying yourself?” The petname slips out but you don’t move or rush to correct him as your blood simmers, a numbingly pleasant heat washing over you so strong it’s hard to think. Running your hands in a slow caress up his back, you feel the muscles flex as his arm twitches and a smile grows on your face as you blink dumbly- brain currently taking a break, you mumble sweetly,

“Mmhm, yeah. Never better.”

And it’s true. You’ve never felt this safe, this free with anyone that wasn’t immediate family or your best girl friends. He was touching you and seeing you but you didn’t care because you knew whatever he was seeing and touching, was safe as it would ever be with him.

Clark huffs out a laugh at your belated response, moving one of his hands in a warm caress up your back, feeling you shiver and he bites his lip again. You were so alluring without even having to try and he breathes to reign himself in since he was currently the first and only to have you melting like this from a hug alone. If a hug got you like this he could only imagine how beautifully you’d respond to-

“Um, C-Clark?” Your soft voice brings him back as he hums, flicking his eyes down lazily at you.

“Yeah, baby?” Your sweet little gasp makes him realize that he just called you another nickname but you don’t seem to mind, flustering prettily in his arms. He leans down closer to your face, only to hear you better, eyes patient as he stares at you.

“I know this is supposed to be about me but how do you feel? You’ve been so good with me..I just wanna make sure you’re okay too.” Clark smiles, moved that you’re worrying about him even with all his experience.

“Yeah I feel good but how about you? Want me to let go or we can try something different?” He would’ve asked if you wanted to stop but he was going off your body language and it was telling him distance was the last thing you wanted and he was right as you shook your head before resting your chin back into his chest, looking up at him with those pupil eclipsed doe eyes.

“I feel great but…”, your voice gets smaller as it takes on an almost needy tone before stopping altogether. You snap your face back into his chest and he’s even more curious to get it out of you but you just can’t say it.

“You really don’t need to be embarrassed. Clothed or naked, we all start somewhere”, he whispers against the top of your head, stroking your back soothingly as you try to talk yourself into asking him before you chicken out, “with me you can start wherever you want and you know I’ll never tell. Or make fun of you..”,

His voice is tender with warmness and it turns your reservations to raindrops as you look back into his eyes. Steeling your nerve, you ground yourself with the way you feel in another persons arms for the first time in your life- his arms and decide to go for it.

“You said- we can try something different?” Your heart begins to race again as Clark’s starts to pound. He can’t keep the heat out of eyes as he returns your stare, nodding.

“Yeah. We can do whatever you want.” His breath wafts across your face, forehead resting against yours and the rate at which you find yourself needing him- scares you. You’ve been depraved of this kind of contact to the point of fear since forever but now…

“Then…can we-“, you blink rapidly, not wanting to verbalize it but not wanting to go without even more.

“Can we kiss please?”

Clark has to shut his eyes. You looked so sweet, felt so soft and even though you couldn’t keep the neediness from seeping into your words, you still asked so politely. Blood rushes through his ears as he feels a familiar stirring in his groin, taking a deep breath because it wouldn’t do for him to lose control now, his voice is heady with pure want when he answers,

“F’course. I’d love to kiss, baby.”

Large hands settle around your waist as you get pulled completely flush to him, legs almost intertwining while your pelvises touch; bodies glued together. The languid heat of arousal thrums through you, making your head spin.

Your lips part when Clark presses his forehead more firmly against yours, lighting you from the inside out when he dips his neck to slot his open mouth over yours.

Immediately your chest burns, heart feeling like each pump is gasoline, fueling the fire hes started in you. Clark’s full lips slide against yours, alternating between suckling at your top lip then bottom lip slowly, coaxing you to follow his lead, groaning his approval and the sound turns you up as you press yourself harder against his body. You feel so good you’re thrumming- heat steadily pulsing through you.

Your heads move from how hard you’re kissing, slick sounds coming from your mouths intensifying as you get rougher, delicious shivers all up your spine. Clark presses his lips fully against yours, moving them open wider with his own, hot breaths mingling as he licks hotly against the opening of your mouth. A bolt of pleasure hits you so hard that you gasp, wrenching your mouth off his as you moan- the needy little thing so whiny it makes his cock fatten in his pants as you pant against each others lips. Fuck. He can smell how wet you are. The sweet, heady smell makes his mouth water with him tossing shame clean out the window.

“Can I put my tongue in your mouth? Please, pretty girl?” You move your arms around his neck to get as close as possible, nodding desperately.

“God, yes-” His mouth is back to consuming yours before you can finish. Opening your lips with the force of his swollen ones, he sucks your bottom lip before lapping his tongue into your mouth. You twitch in his hold, even more turned on when he doesn’t have to move to keep your squirming in place, casual show of strength making you lightheaded as he swallows your moans. Wet smacks fill the air, your grip on him tightening when he sucks your tongue into his mouth. You get wetter and he can tell, growling in pleasure as he suddenly lifts you; your legs locking around his waist as he uses his hold on yours to grind you against him. The result is instantaneous. You melt like cotton candy, chest shaking against his from your pleasured moans as your shared spit wets your lips. Still aware of the fact that you need to breathe, Clark pulls away with a suck of your lips- staring at you hungrily with dark eyes.

He can’t even remember when he picked you up but the tiny undulations of your hips let him know it was a welcome decision. You looked so good. Lips puffy n slick, doe eyes teary and blown out, wet as fuck with your hard nipples poking through your top…you could ask him for every one of Saturns rings and he’d get them for you.

Clark takes a deep lungful of your tantalizing scent before he checks on you again.

“How was that, sweetheart? Y’first kiss right?” You nod, cupping his face. You can’t help the way you smooch more pecks onto his pink lips, aching as you answer.

“It was so good”, you drag your nose down his jaw; kissing his ear as you whisper into it, “you feel so good, Clark..”. You have him completely hard at this point, thick and fat as his tip oozes pre when you start to whine. He almost feels bad that you’ve waited so long, being so pent up wasn’t healthy and you deserved to feel good everyday.

“What’s wrong baby?” The low timbre of his voice makes your pulse skyrocket, causing you to absolutely dissolve against him, hips twitching as he helped you rub yourself on him.

“I-I need..-“, you let out a soft cry and he quickly soothes you. Kissing you deeply before pulling away, licking his lips of your taste as he verbalizes exactly what you need.

“Need to cum?”

The heat in your chest blooms up to your face as you nod, suddenly growing shy but still comfortable. You purr as Clark presses a sweet kiss to your cheek, looking at you with pretty lidded eyes.

“Would it be okay if I made you cum princess?”

The utterly wrecked moan that comes out of your mouth has goosebumps scattering up his arms, holding you tighter as you nod vigorously.

“I need words baby”, he whispers. Giving you another kiss to tempt you and it works. He was too irresistible and he knew it.

“Yeah, you can make me cum Clark.” And with that he carries you over to your bed, laying you on the plushness as he takes over your mouth again with a hungry groan, your hands touching everywhere until he pulls away- fangs on display as he smiles making fire sweep through your veins.

Massaging your legs, he rises on his knees- taking off his shirt as your mind checks out from how hot he is, shifting restlessly as the ache in your pussy throbs with the best pain. Whining his name, Clark cooes at you; big hands moving to pull your clothes off. Your nerves are going haywire but you need this- need him to make you feel things, lifting your hips to help him slide your shorts and underwear off, spreading your legs as you let him get a good look at your messy wet hole twitching in need.

Clark swears, hooking his hands under your knees and bending them towards your chest. Exposing you more as he licks his lips, keeping his eyes glued to your cunt.

“Atta girl, jus’ lay there nice n pretty and I’ll give you what you need..”

Part ✌🏽…

#smallville #Tom welling #smallville x reader #smallville fanfic #clark kent smallville x reader #clark kent smallville #tom welling x reader #tom welling smut #tom welling smallville #smallville smut #clark kent smut #clark kent x reader

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svtiddiess · 9 months ago

Text

Thot Hour

Synopsis: You're supposed to be mad at Mingyu, but how can you when he's looking so delicious working out…wearing only his boxers?

Pairing: Mingyu x afab!reader

Genre: smut, one shot, established relationship

Rating: mature

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: pet names (baby, puppy), unprotected sex (don't do this!), penetrative sex, overstimulation, sub!Gyu, thigh riding, creampie, jealous reader, biting, Mingyu in Calvin Klein boxers (yes, that needs a warning), jealous reader, kinda mean dom!reader, big dick!Gyu, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This was inspired by a dream I had. Guess which part I dreamt of.

Big love to @tomodachiii and @tusswrites for helping me with the plot and beta reading!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

"Baby, I said I was sorry."

You could hear the desperation in his voice as he apologised for the umpteenth time today. He stands before you, placing your hands against his chest, whipping out the puppy eyes. You'd fall for it in any other instance, but today, when you're this annoyed, nothing works.

"Baby, I told you what I did was just fan service. They don't mean anything. You're the only one I have feelings for," you hear him almost whine as he pouts at you.

Yes, that's what you're pissed about: him giving fan service. You may seem petty, but you have valid reasons for getting upset. You don't mind him giving fan service; it's part of the job. But lately, it seems as if he's giving a bit too much fan service.

Several moments of his fan service have gone viral, littering your feed with constant comments from fans stating how he's the perfect man. And he is, but just not at the moment. Not even when he looks down at you with his precious big eyes blinking at you, resembling a puppy. If you stared hard enough, you could swear his ears had drooped a bit, lips pursued in a pout that seemed to dissolve your anger.

Stay strong; you have to prove your point.

Huffing, you snatch your hands back from his, afraid you'll cave in if you stare for even a second longer. He lets out a defeated sigh, walking away, leaving you to brood alone.

Several minutes pass, with you wallowing in your self-pity before you are interrupted by the sound of grunting. Straining your ears, you catch on to the louder grunts and huffs from the other room. Shifting your eyes to the nearby clock, you stare at the time and widen in realisation.

It's 6 pm.

6 pm is Mingyu's usual workout time, infamously known as Thot Hour. Why, you ask? Well, it's the time of day when you sit back, relax, and shamelessly ogle at your beefy boyfriend working out. If you're lucky enough, he might end his workout with cardio, which involves you between his legs.

Losing the silent debate in your head, you make the right decision to go and watch him work out; just cause you're mad at him doesn't mean you're not allowed to appreciate eye candy. You will not let the fangirls take this away from you.

You enter the home gym that Mingyu has slowly built over the years, jaw-dropping at the sight. There he is, your boyfriend, Kim Mingyu, working out in nothing but his Calvin Klein boxers.

"What are you doing?" You ask, clearly not expecting the sight in front of you.

He sets down his weights with a grunt and then looks at you with a straight face.

"Working out," he deadpans as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"In just your boxers?" you ask, waving hands around his body to emphasise your point.

"It's a hot day today," he shrugs casually, but you can see him fighting off a smirk.

Cocky, arrogant son of a bitch.

You scoff and turn around to take your prime seat to watch him work out; you will not let him win. You pull out your phone, purposefully ignoring him (or trying to, at least). Upon noticing this, Mingyu grunts and moans even louder, trying to win your attention. And while you try your best to ignore his obnoxious sounds, you can't help but get a peek at him from your peripheral vision.

Ooh, you're drooling on sight. His muscles contract and relax every time he moves. His head's thrown back; his eyes scrunched up in concentration while his already big muscles visibly get even bigger due to the pump. Your eyes are drawn to the sweat dripping down his almost naked sculpted body and the prominent bulge straining against his boxers.

Fuck, he looks so juicy.

Your boyfriend was big everywhere, and he prides himself on it whenever he splits you open. His bulge looks so big, and he's not even fully hard yet. Gulping hard, when you notice a small wet patch on his boxers. Too bad he notices you staring and smirks.

"Like what you see, baby?" He asks with a cocky cadence to his voice.

You quickly snap out of it and scoff, remembering you're supposed to be angry at him. You go back to staring at your phone, making him chuckle. God, you wanted to wipe that smirk off his face so bad.

Then it hits you: the perfect revenge plan. You smirk to yourself as you put away your phone and start stripping down to your underwear as well.

Two can play that game, Kim Mingyu.

He's halfway through his set when he notices you. He drops the weights and turns to look at you, visibly confused.

"What're you doing, baby?"

"Like you said, it's a hot day," you shrug, mirroring his actions from earlier.

He looks with intensity as you move to unroll a yoga mat. You smirk to yourself when you hear him groan when you begin stretching and purposely manoeuvring your body into tempting yoga poses. From the corner of your eye, you can see Mingyu get more and more riled up as the poses get more and more provocative. You hear him whine by the time you’re doing the 'Cat-Cow' pose, your ass facing him. You shift to face him with a cocky smirk on your face.

"Why're you whining, Gyu?"

"I can't focus if you act like this baby," he whines.

"Like what?"

"You know what," he huffs and pouts like a child.

You shrug, then go back to doing more poses. You see him approach you with a permanent pout plastered on his face. He crouches down to your level and tries to touch you, but you quickly swat his hand away.

"Thought you were working out?"

"Baby, please," he whines, and you can almost taste the desperation in his words. This is fuelling your ego a bit too much.

"I need your help; it's becoming too painful," he strains, and you look down at his now fully hard bulge. It was huge and had you salivating, but you can't give in, not yet, at least. Not when your pettiness from earlier sets in.

"Go ask your fangirls for help," you huff and scoot away from him, sitting down on the mat.

He shifts to kneel in front of you. "Please, baby. I'm sorry. I'm yours and only yours. I promise I won't act out of line ever again. Please, please, please just touch me. It hurts so bad, baby, please," he's full-on begging at this point, and you're sure you can see tears pricking the corner of his eyes.

Something about a 6-foot-something man kneeling in front of you and begging for you to touch him makes you feel powerful. You smirk, knowing you have Mingyu exactly where you want him, desperate and needy in front of you. If he's going to act out of line, then you'll just have to put him in his place.

"You want me to touch you, Gyu?" You tilt your head and pout in faux sympathy.

"Please," he whispers, voice straining as he tries his best not to cry.

"Sit down."

You stand up, giving Mingyu room to sit on the yoga mat. He sits down with his legs outstretched on the mat. Shifting above him, you move to sit on one of his thick thighs, almost moaning at the contact.

"You're gonna sit here and take whatever I give you like a good puppy; if I catch you touching me, I won't let you finish. Okay?"

He nods frantically, desperate for anything at this point. Slowly, you start grinding against his thigh, moaning his name and holding onto his shoulders for support. He moans at the feeling of his thigh slowly getting more and more coated in your arousal. He throws his head back and grips onto the yoga mat below to prevent himself from touching you.

You lean forward and start leaving bite marks on his neck and shoulders. You make sure to bite down extra hard in places that would be visible even if he was wearing a shirt. He whimpers and groans at the feeling of your teeth digging into his skin.

"Mine," you mumble against his skin.

"Yours, only yours," he whimpers, body straining to keep still.

You start grinding on his thigh faster, determined to reach your high; Mingyu notices this and flexes his thigh, giving you more stimulation. You pant and whine out his name, getting close to the edge.

"Fuck, please cum. Cum all over my thigh, please," Mingyu whines out desperately, tipping you over the edge.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, making him hiss as you cum all over his thigh, your arousal drenching the bare skin. Resting your head against his shoulder, you take a minute to catch your breath.

"Baby, please, need you so bad. It hurts too much," he whimpers.

You look down and notice the wet patch on his boxers got bigger. You snake your hands down and cup his bulge, making him hiss.

"Yeah? It hurts?" You whisper whilst grinding your hand against his bulge, making him moan out and nod frantically.

"Please, I can't take it anymore," he whines, tears escaping his eyes.

"I don't know, Gyu; I don't think you earned it," you hum in faux pity, jutting your lips in consideration.

"No, no! Please, I'm begging you. I can't take it anymore," he cries out, desperately bucking into your hand.

"Why don't you ask your fangirls, huh? Since you seem to be more desperate to please them than me," you mock, squeezing him hard, causing him to let out a desperate sob.

"No! No, please! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! It's only you that I want. I'll be good. I promise!" He cries out, distraught clear in his eyes, with tears now streaming down his face. You can see him try so hard to restrain himself from touching you.

You smirk with satisfaction as you watch your big, beefy boyfriend break under you. You remove your hand from his bulge and move it to wipe his tears from his face.

"Oh, you poor thing," you coo, "How badly does it hurt baby?"

"It hurts so bad," he sniffs, "I need you so badly, please."

"I don't know," you hum and move to get off his lap, "You've been a bad puppy lately, and you know bad puppies get punished, right?"

His eyes widen, and his hands fly to grab your hips to prevent you from moving away from him.

"No, no, no!" He begs, "Please, don't leave! Please!" Tugging you back onto his thigh, he pleads, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll be good! I'll be a good puppy! I swear!"

"What did I say about touching me?" You tch, and his mouth falls open in realisation, and he quickly retracts his hands as if he's burned you.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, please. Forgive me, please," he whimpers.

You shake your head and sigh. "I did warn you, Gyu," you sigh and stand up.

In an act of desperation, he manhandles you back onto the mat, making you lie on it. You let out a squeak as your back hits the mat.

"Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he murmurs before smashing his lips onto yours into a messy and desperate kiss. You kiss back with equal fervour, tangling your fingers in his permed hair. He starts grinding against you like a bitch in heat, letting out small whimpers and pants between the kisses.

He separates from you and quickly discards whatever remaining clothing the both of you have, throwing it to god knows where. You look down at his cock; it's thick and angry, with beads of precum dripping down it. Spreading your thighs, he aligns his tip against your entrance and starts slowly pushing in. You gasp and grab onto his shoulders; no matter how many times he fucks you, you can never get used to his huge size.

"I don't think I can go slow," he rasps. He's not even halfway in, and you already feel so full. Without warning, he slams the rest of him into you, causing you to scream out his name so loud you're sure the neighbours heard you. Your eyes roll to the back when you feel his tip kiss your cervix.

His thrusts are sloppy and erratic. Neither of you are thinking straight anymore. Your thoughts are only filled with how big he is and how good it feels being split open on his cock whilst his own thoughts are only filled with how warm you feel and how you're perfectly wrapped around him.

"S-Shit, I'm cumming," he pants out. He cums whilst moaning out your name, filling you up to the brim with his seeds. He chokes back a whine, but he doesn't stop thrusting. He snakes his hand down to your clit and starts rubbing it in circles, desperate to make you cum as well.

"Please, cum. Please cum all over me," he whines out, body shaking from overstimulation. After a few more thrusts, you cum, hard, convulsing around him. He pants and whines as you squeeze around him. After a few more clumsy thrusts, he collapses onto you.

"Gyu! You're heavy!" You whine.

"But you're so cuddly and warm," he says breathlessly as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you, making you grumble.

"Are you still mad at me?" He looks at you with a pout.

You grin an easy smile, wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing him, causing him to groan reflexively.

"I don't know. Maybe you should fuck me again just to be sure."

2K notes · View notes

soaps-mohawk · 7 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Cimson Blood

Chapter 41: Revenge

Summary: A surprise trip to America has things turning in a direction no one thought they would

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,390

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, a/b/o, alternate universe, dead dove: do not eat, graphic violence, torture, on screen death, stabbing, knives, choking, punching, blood, aftermath of death, emotions, angst, trauma, very small hint of comfort

A/N: Please, please heed the warnings. This chapter deals with some heavy topics and rehashes a lot of Chapter 34. I've put a trigger warning before everything starts and if you don't want to read it then skip from there to the next section. You'll be able to put two and two together from there.

Also if you haven't seen, I went back and changed a pretty major plot point from chapter 34 onward and it will need to be read to really understand this chapter

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“You’re in charge.” John says, passing over the keys to Dr. Keller. “Hold down the fort. Take some time for yourself.”

“Invite over Ashley.” Kyle winks as he passes.

“Cute.” Dr. Keller says, rolling her eyes.

“Call if anything happens.” John continues, ignoring Kyle’s remark. “You know how to get a hold of us.”

“I do.” Dr. Keller nods. “I’ll make sure the cottage is still standing when you get back.” She glances at the car. “Take care of her.”

“We will. We’ll make sure she’s still in one piece when we get back.”

“You better.” Dr. Keller says, giving him a look. “Safe travels.”

Kyle closes the car door, cutting off the rest of the conversation. You’re squeezed in the back of the car between him and Johnny. It is a tight squeeze between the two of them and their broad shoulders. It’s not the most comfortable position, but the decision to leave one car behind has sealed your fate.

Simon is in the front passenger seat, looking about as happy to be there as you feel. His arm is leaned against the door, his gaze set out the front windshield. His scent is thick in the air, musky and leathery. It’s a mixed cocktail of scents in the small enclosed space, but Simon’s is the loudest.

John opens the driver’s side door, climbing into the car. It felt cramped before, but now it feels almost claustrophobic.

“Just an hour drive and you can stretch your legs.” He says, and you know he’s talking to you.

“Where are we going?” You ask as he drives down the long driveway.

“America.” He says, giving you the same answer he gave you before.

“Why?” You ask, knowing what the answer is going to be.

“We have some things we need to take care of.” He answers simply.

“What things?” You pry, already guessing where this conversation is going to go.

“I already told you.” He replies. Simon glances at him, but says nothing.

“You told me nothing.” You purse your lips.

“It’s a surprise.” He says, almost like he’s rehearsed this before.

“I hate surprises.” You say, leaning back in your seat, your scent souring a bit. “If you bothered to pay attention you’d know that.” The last bit is hardly more than a murmur, but you know he heard you in the enclosed space.

It falls silent in the car, the five of you sitting there awkwardly after the exchange. It’s been a long time since you’ve been so bombarded by their scents all at once, and it’s been a long time since they’ve been so surrounded by your own scent. It reminds you of that time months ago after Simon returned from his solo assignment when you’d kissed in the car and nearly drove them all insane with an explosion of your scent.

Only this time, your scent has gone sour with your displeasure and agitation at the lack of information from John.

This time Simon is the first to cave, cracking the car window to let in some air and disperse the heavy scents.

It’s going to be a long hour.

Traveling is your worst nightmare.

Or, at least, traveling like this.

It’s only the five of you on the plane, some private jet that Kate had procured. It’s a nice plane, but at the same time, being enclosed with your pack for nine hours isn’t exactly ideal. You thought the cottage was bad at times, but at least there you could go outside and escape from them.

Now you’re really stuck with them.

Thankfully they’ve mostly left you alone for the duration of the flight, letting you sit in your seat with a book in silence. John and Simon have been in a corner conversing for the better part of the flight, glancing at you every so often. Johnny has slept through most of it, reclined in a seat not far from them. You wondered for a moment if he was faking it to listen in, but when the snores started you knew he really was out. Kyle is in a position not unlike your own, huddled in a seat with a book, minding his own business.

You really want to know what John and Simon are discussing, what has held their attention for so long. It’s gotten heated a few times, John’s brows pulling into a frown, his lips moving rapidly. Simon’s shoulders keep squaring and relaxing, giving you insight into the rise and fall of emotions during the conversation. You can imagine his face mirroring John’s, his brows pinching in worry or frustration or perhaps even anger.

Whatever it is, it’s serious enough to last a good part of the flight.

You’re ushered into a car almost as soon as the wheels touch the tarmac and the plane has stopped. You’re stuck between Johnny and Kyle again, but at least the SUV is spacious enough to not have you crammed in like sardines. Your legs are stiff and sore after sitting for the better part of eight hours, but you’re not about to complain. Not with the way John’s hands are gripping the steering wheel.

If you didn’t know better, you might have thought he was having second thoughts about whatever is happening.

You still don’t know.

They still haven’t told you.

The airstrip the jet landed in looked to be a private one as well, isolated in a grassy area with rolling hills of green and a few sparse trees missing their leaves. You almost fear it might be Texas again, given the warmth of the air for a time so late in the year, but you want to believe they wouldn’t be that cruel to you. At least you hope that’s the case.

The drive takes longer than the one in England, time seeming to stretch on endlessly as it did in the plane. You’re tired after the flight, but curiosity is keeping you awake and aware. You almost wish you had your book, but it’s stuffed in the back with the small bag you’d been allowed to bring. The others had small bags as well, and you can only imagine what is inside them.

It makes your insides crawl with nerves.

The exhaustion becomes too much as the naked trees and rolling hills continue to pass by outside the car. It’s quiet in the car, the tense silence not even enough to keep you awake as your head begins to droop onto Kyle’s shoulder.

You’re jolted awake as the car comes to a stop.

The muffled sound of car doors closing outside reaches your ears as you peel your eyes open.

“Come on.” Kyle says softly, gently shifting you with his shoulder. “Time to get up.”

You let out a quiet grunt, rubbing your eyes. The world outside is full of grey sky and naked tree limbs from the angle you’re at. John and Simon’s doors slam as they exit the car, the warmth on your other side disappearing as Johnny gets out as well. Gravel crunches outside as Kyle opens his door, easing you so you’re sitting upright.

The SUV is parked facing another one, and the world behind it opens into more green fields. Kyle slides out of the car, hitting gravel before offering you a hand. You blink the sleep from your eyes, taking the offered hand.

There’s three other SUVs parked in the gravel, people dressed in plain clothes moving around an old, rickety barn. John is standing halfway between the car and the barn, conversing with Kate. You blink in surprise. You haven’t seen her since she dropped you off with your pack almost a year ago now.

Whatever they’re discussing, it seems to be serious.

Kyle puts a hand on your back, leading you towards them.

“Hi honey,” Kate greets you with a small smile, the seriousness melting on her face in almost a performative manner. “How are you holding up?”

“I don’t know.” You say, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Depends on why I’m here.”

“You didn’t tell her?” Kate says in surprise, turning back towards John.

“I knew what she’d say if I told her.” John says.

You purse your lips again, disliking being talked about as if you’re not standing right there.

Kate looks like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t, instead she takes half a step back. “Better get this over with, then.”

John turns towards you, wrapping a hand around your wrist. “Come on.”

You almost dig your heels in and demand he tell you, but you don’t. You have a feeling you’re about to find out regardless as he leads you towards the barn. Simon and Johnny are waiting by the doors, Kyle following close behind you. Nerves are starting to flutter in your stomach, your insides twisting in fear. What the hell is on the other side of those doors and why does everyone seem so serious about it?

Johnny’s face is hard set, Simon’s eyes blank as John pauses in front of the door for a moment.

They’re not themselves.

You’re looking at Task Force 141.

Simon slides the barn door open, your stomach clenching painfully. It’s dark in the barn, but not dark enough you can’t see. Grey light seeps in through holes in the roof and sides, giving the barn an eerie look, like you’re about to step into a horror movie.

John’s hand tightens around your wrist, tugging you forward into the musty air inside the barn. You want to dig your heels in now, fight him and scream not to drag you inside. Your hand is shaking, curling in on itself until your nails dig into your palm.

“Hi darlin’. Didn’t know you’d be joining us too.”

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut, the breath leaving your lungs.

“Phil.” You breathe, nearly choking around his name.

He’s seated in the middle of the barn, restrained in a chair. He looks far too comfortable and casual sitting there, greeting you like he would an old friend.

There’s a table beside him filled with all sorts of instruments. Knives, scalpels, an ice pick.

Your stomach twists as you realize what’s about to happen.

The other four approach Phil, leaving a gap so you can see him as you linger behind. You have half a mind to turn and run out the now closed door, but something keeps your feet frozen to the ground.

“You’re wasting your time.” Phil says, addressing the four members of your pack now. “I don’t know where Shepherd is.”

“That’s not why we’re here.” John says, his voice deeper and rougher than it had been just outside. “You tortured a member of our pack.”

“Our omega.” Johnny says through gritted teeth.

“Oh I see, a little revenge then.” Phil says, a smirk lifting on his lips as he stares at you. “And you brought a little audience.”

***Content Warning: Torture ***

You jump as Simon takes a step forward, rearing back before punching Phil across the face. His head snaps to the side from the force of it, a grunt leaving his lips. Simon grips his chin, yanking his head back to the other side so Phil is looking up at him.

“We’re going to do the same to you that you did to her.” He growls out.

The words have a shiver tickling down your spine.

Simon releases Phil before drawing his fist back to throw another punch. Nausea churns in your stomach as something cracks, the sound echoing in the silence.

“Solid hit, big man.” Phil grins, spitting onto the floor before sitting up straight again. “You’re going to have to hit me harder than that.” His eyes flicker to you as you stand there in shock. “You can ask your omega how hard I hit her.”

Johnny surges forward, wrapping his hand around Phil’s throat. “Give me a knife. I’ll cut his tongue out.”

Phil lets out a choked sound, your own throat constricting a bit from the memory of Phil’s hand choking you. Tears fill your eyes as Phil’s face begins to go purple from the lack of oxygen.

“Easy.” John says, easing Johnny off of Phil. “We’re not done yet.”

Phil lets out a choking cough, his hands straining where they’re tied to the arms of the chair. “Not bad.” He coughs out, his face still red. “Gonna have to try harder than that.”

John punches him in the face, sending his head snapping the other direction. Blood trickles from his lip, his tongue darting out to lick the wound.

“Of course the alpha would spill the first drop of blood.” Phil says, letting out a chuckle, his gaze returning to you. “This is going to take a while, sweetheart. Why don’t you go back outside and wait for your boys to be done, hm?”

“No.” John says, his hand closing into a fist again. “She’s going to watch every last bit of this.”

Your stomach churns as he throws another punch at Phil, this one landing with another sickening crack. You don’t really want to watch this, but at the same time, there’s a sick sense of satisfaction filling you as your pack takes revenge on your behalf. Your omega is nearly purring, watching in glee as they drive punch after punch into Phil’s face.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that.” Phil chokes out around Simon’s hand where it’s wrapped around his throat.

“We’re just getting started.” Kyle says, grabbing a knife from the table.

Phil lets out a pained yell as Kyle stabs the knife into his bicep, slowly dragging it down his arm. It’s deeper than Phil had cut you, blood pouring out of the open wound. Your stomach twists, nausea bubbling up into your throat. How easy this all seems for them.

How easily Phil had tortured you.

Your fingers trace the thin, pink line down your own arm, your skin burning with a reminder of what happened to you.

The realization of what’s happening settles in as Kyle drives the knife into Phil’s chest, dragging it downward in another deep cut. You do want to turn around and go outside. You don’t want to watch this anymore.

The soft call of your name has you coming back to yourself. Your pack has turned to face you now. You hadn’t even realized that you had turned your head away. Tears have trailed down your cheeks, your breath hitching.

It’s John that’s called your name, his hand outstretched. He’s holding the ice pick. Your shoulder throbs at the sight of it. The memory of one almost exactly like it being stabbed into your scent gland has a whimper leaving your lips. You know what he’s asking, what he’s offering. Phil inflicted the worst pain you’ve ever felt onto you. Now you’re being offered the chance to do the same to him.

Your omega is screaming, yelling at you to take it, to return what he did back to him. It’s his fault this happened. Weeks of pain and agony that you will always remember. He did that to you.

You’re moving before you even realize it, your fingers wrapping around the cold metal. Your omega is taking over again, driving that instinctual violence forward again. Simon is standing behind Phil, holding his head to the side. He looks like shit, his face already bruising and covered in blood. The metallic scent of it is strong, your mind flickering back to those soldiers, his soldiers, the ones you killed with that knife. You wonder what happened to it, if it’s still laying out in the forest, the last lingering remnant of the violence that happened there.

You stare down at Phil, at his exposed neck. He’s jerking against Simon’s hold, as if he knows and understands what’s about to happen, as if he can already sense the pain that’s about to be brought on him. Does he? Does he really understand?

He’s about to.

Your hand moves before you can stop it, driving the ice pick as hard as you can into his scent gland. He lets out a yowl of pain as the metal slides under his skin and into that sensitive spot. You remember it, the lightning-like pain rushing through your body, every nerve-ending on fire, every movement agony for days and days and days.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” You say, pushing the ice pick as far as you possibly can into his body. “It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Worse than all those years I sat in that institute thinking about my family, the family you helped tear me away from.” You take a step back, leaving the ice pick in his shoulder. “You’ll never forget it, that kind of pain.”

Simon wraps his hand around the ice pick, pulling it free. Blood seeps out of the hole, pouring down Phil’s chest. He jerks in his restraints, his eyes squeezed shut.

“You deserve to feel that kind of pain.” You say, taking another step back.

“Look at you.” Phil laughs, tilting his head up with a wince. His eyes are on you, focused solely on you as you stand there. “Tough little thing. Turning more and more like your father, aren’t you?” His words bite at the back of your brain, your omega screaming at the insult. His eyes leave you, instead roaming over the three members of your pack standing in front of him. “No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t hide her away from this world, could you?”

He’s not talking to you anymore.

“You’d always leave a stain on her. Eventually it would come around. She’d get caught up in a life like this, a life of violence and bloodshed. Proud of yourselves?” He lets out a chuckle. “You ruined such sweet innocence.”

“Shut yer fuckin’ mouth.” Johnny growls as Simon moves back around so he’s standing next to you.

“Ooh, hit a nerve did I?” Phil laughs, turning his gaze to you. “You know your dad never checked you made it to the institute? As soon as you were out of his sight he could finally stop caring about you.” Phil licks his lips. “I should have just taken you right then. No one would have known the difference. None of this would have happened. You’d still be just a sweet little innocent girl, just like you always should have been.”

Anger and rage burns through you at his words. Years of repressed fears and emotions surging out all at once. Later you’ll wish you could blame it on your omega, that she took over in this moment, but that’s not the case. It’s you in your true form, in your own rage at Phil for his words, for his actions, for the ways he’s ruined your life even still years later.

Time slows as your fingers wrap around the knife strapped to Simon’s side. It slides out of its sheath easily, your body moving forward as you grip it tightly in your hand. It won’t be the first time, your brain flashing back to all of those men, men who would have done worse things to you had your omega not acted on instinct. She’s screaming at you now, still, clawing at the poorly constructed cage you’ve forced her back in, calling for violence.

You’ll give it to her.

The knife cuts through his skin easily, sliding downward as you stab it into his neck. Blood spurts out, coating your hands in the slippery liquid. Adrenaline courses through your body, your vision going red as you yank the knife from his throat, blood spraying out of his artery from where you’ve severed it. It’s like some gruesome renaissance painting as you’re pulled back, an arm around your waist tugging you backward away from the quickly fading body in the chair, your mouth still open in an enraged scream.

The knife drops from your hand as you’re tugged backwards, your body falling against a solid one. Your legs feel like jelly as the adrenaline pumps through your system, your blood covered hands shaking as you stare at the lifeless body of a man you once thought of as a family friend. A man who played such an integral part in your life behind the scenes. A man who was almost your alpha, a man who would have been your alpha had it not been for the woman standing outside.

The man who tortured you and brought you more pain than you’ve ever felt in your entire life.

He’s dead now. He can’t ever hurt you again.

Nausea churns in your stomach as you sit there, staring down at your blood-soaked hands. It’s deep red and sticking to your skin, no matter how much Kyle tries to wipe at it with a t-shirt. Your body has gone numb as reality has settled in.

You just killed a man.

“Easy.” Kyle says, his hand warm against your chilled skin as he wraps his fingers around your arm.

You’d jerked away from him, nearly slipping off the edge of the trunk. The trunk of the SUV is open and you’re seated on the edge of it, toes pushing into the gravel below to hold yourself up. Kyle had been trying to wipe the dried blood off of your hands, but no matter how hard he scrubbed, some of it wouldn’t come off.

“Here.” Footsteps approach in the gravel, the rocks crunching under boots. “Go help Simon.”

Rougher hands replace Kyle’s, wrapping around your wrists. You jump when the cold water hits your hands, shocking you out of your dazed state. You lift your gaze up to John’s face as he wipes the blood from your hands, the shirt quickly becoming stained with red streaks.

“This wasn’t our intention. I just want you to know that.” He says, his gaze focused on your hands. “We didn’t bring you here to kill him. I just thought you might want to know what was going to happen to him. Closure. Maybe you could rest easier knowing he wasn’t ever going to see freedom again.”

“He won’t see anything ever again.” You murmur.

“It doesn’t make you a bad person. Heat of the moment. He was saying some vile things to you.” John tries to comfort you.

“But that doesn’t mean I had to kill him.”

“Maybe not. He wouldn’t have lived much longer regardless.” Your hands are starting to feel raw with how hard John is scrubbing them. It’s almost like he’s trying to wipe the fact you’re a murderer from your hands. “None of us will think any less of you for what you did.”

You stare down at your hands as John finally relents his scrubbing. The blood is gone, but you’ll always remember the look of it staining your skin. “I’m sorry.”

John squats down in front of you, his hands closing around yours. They’re so warm compared to your own chilled skin. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I do. Phil was right. I’m not innocent anymore. I’m not a good omega. I lost that when I let her take over.” Tears slip down your cheeks, warm against your skin.

“That doesn’t make you a bad omega.” John says, reaching up to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “You’ve done what you had to do to survive because of our failures. We failed to protect you like we promised and we forced you into situations you shouldn’t have ever been in. We will never be able to apologize enough for what we did.”

“I’m scared, John.” You whisper. “I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

His brows furrow. “Be like what?”

“I still feel like she’s in control.” You say, more tears sliding down your cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve come back to myself at all.”

Tears still sting your eyes as you sit in the back of the car, watching the flames through the rearview mirror.

“Unfortunate that the old barn burned down.” Kate says, her voice slightly muffled through the closed car door.

“Feel sorry for the poor soul stuck inside.” John says.

“Too bad they’ll never be identified.”

Their words nearly make you sick again. How easily they talk about it, how easily they can detach themselves. It is their job, you suppose. This is just a normal occurrence to them. It scares you, how easily they confront death and dismiss it. It’s cold and unwelcoming, just like their attitudes had been upon your arrival. You should have known just by that. You should have turned and left when you wanted to.

Maybe then you’d have less blood on your hands.

Phil did deserve it, after everything. At least this way you know he won’t try to find you again, won’t try and get revenge of his own against your pack. One less loose string to worry about, John had said.

There’s just one more that needs to be tied off.

“Any sign of Shepherd?” John asks.

“None yet.” Kate answers. “Alex and Farah are investigating a couple of leads. You’ll be the first to know if they find anything.”

“Good. The sooner we can find him, the better.”

“He can’t hide forever.” Kate says. “We’ll find him eventually.” She glances towards the car. “You’ll be alright?”

John is quiet for a moment. “Eventually.”

“You need anything...”

“We’ll be sure to let you know.”

Cold air rushes in with the smell of smoke as Kyle opens the car door. He slides in, quickly closing it.

“We’re almost ready to go.” He says, shifting so he can put your seatbelt on for you. You’re glad he’s doing it. You’re not sure you could have managed it anyway. “Another long flight back to England.”

You feel like you’ve spent more time on a plane in the last few hours than you have in your lifetime. You’re not even sure what day it is, or what day it will be when you get back. A week could have passed and you’d never even notice.

“We’ll stop and get food before we go.” Kyle continues. You know he’s trying to talk to keep you distracted. “Anything you want in particular?”

Food is the last thing you want right now.

“Something we can eat on the road I suppose. Don’t want to linger too long anywhere.” Kyle trails off as the doors open, Johnny and Simon climbing in. It’s a tighter squeeze this time thanks to John’s coat that he put on you to keep you warm. You don’t really need it in the car, but his scent is the only thing keeping you sane right now.

“Ye doin’ alright?” Johnny asks as he puts on his own seatbelt.

You hum in response, not trusting yourself to answer. You don’t trust yourself to say much of anything right now.

The smell of smoke hits your nose again as John opens the driver’s side door, climbing into the car. “Let’s get out of here.” He says, putting on his seatbelt before the car rumbles to life.

You lean back in the seat, staring at the smoldering ashes in the rearview mirror until they disappear around a bend as John drives away from the scene. Warm fingers brush the back of your hand, Kyle’s gaze down on your lap as he slowly curls his fingers around your hand. You stare at his hand for a moment before you look away, curling your fingers around his.

You don’t remember much of the flight back. You slept through a good part of it, reclined in a seat just like Johnny had been on the flight to America. You barely remember the drive back to the cottage, spending most of it in a sleepy daze with your head propped on Kyle’s shoulder.

Dr. Keller is there to greet you when you return, some delicious smell wafting from the open door of the cottage. It makes your stomach churn after hours of no food. You haven’t had much of an appetite, the memories of what had happened too fresh to allow you much else but the blissful ignorance of sleep.

You drag your feet up the steps of the cottage, passing Dr. Keller in a haze as you head straight for the comfortable familiarity of your bed. You can hear quiet voices through the wall as you manage to work your heavy limbs out of your clothes and into something more comfortable.

You just want to sleep more, sleep forever if it were possible. In sleep you don’t see the blood staining your hands, the spurt of blood from Phil’s neck where you’d stabbed him. You don’t see the light fading from his eyes, his body falling limp as he dies by your hand. In sleep you’re not a murderer, you can go back to when things were easier, when nothing mattered but being a good omega for your pack. Back when your only stress was making a good impression and doing your job like you’re supposed to.

What a shitty omega you’ve become. You can’t even hold your pack together anymore.

It’s not like they’re putting in much effort themselves, though.

Maybe you should let things fall apart. Maybe it would be easier on everyone if you just moved past this, moved on to an unhappy, short life in a care facility while your pack got to live out the rest of their days with nothing but a painful memory of the short stint they got as a full pack.

Phil was right. You’re not a sweet innocent little girl anymore. That person died as soon as you were forced into this pack. Maybe this was inevitable. By being forced with them you would always become like them. Good omegas learn to adapt to mesh well with their pack, giving up personality and wants in favor of making alphas happy. Maybe this is what they want, maybe this was the way things were always going to end up. You were doomed from the start to become just like them.

You press your face into your pillow as tears slide down your cheeks, willing yourself to fall into the sweet embrace of sleep once again.

“John told me what happened.” Dr. Keller says as you sit outside in the cold morning air. “I just want you to know that it doesn’t make me think any less of you.”

You wish she would. You wish she’d yell and reprimand you for killing someone. You wish any of them would call you a bad person, a wicked soul capable of taking the life of someone else.

They’re all acting like it’s normal, like it was nothing.

You hate it.

“You’re not a bad person.” She says.

“I killed someone.” You retort.

“Did you?”

Her words make you pause. You did. You remember the blood staining your hands, the warm spray of it from Phil’s neck. It was your hand that drove the knife.

“I want you to walk me through what happened. Step by step.” She says.

You let out a sigh. It’s not the first time you’ve been over it in the last day. “They were torturing him, but he wouldn’t stop talking. He said that he wished he had just taken me instead of sending me to the institute, and how that way I’d still be an innocent little girl.” Your voice starts to shake. “I got really mad. I barely remember grabbing the knife.”

“Right there.” Dr. Keller interrupts you. “Walk me through that second by second. What were you feeling beyond just anger?”

You pause for a moment, thinking it over. What were you feeling? “Blinding rage.” You say. “I was so angry because he helped ruin my life just because he wanted me.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “Just the idea of being his...” Nausea churns in your stomach. “It’s like my brain went numb. It acted on instinct. I didn’t even know Simon had a knife until I was grabbing it.”

“What was your omega feeling in those moments?”

You pause to think again. You hadn’t taken into consideration your omega during your ruminations, when you’d told Dr. Keller your side of the events the last few times. “She was...angry too. But, at first, she liked it. She liked Phil being tortured. She wanted me to stab him with the ice pick.” You swallow thickly. “Why did I do that? Why didn’t I say no?”

“Revenge is a fascinating part of human thought processes.” Dr. Keller says. “In the moment, it fires up those reward centers of the brain. It feels good, feels satisfying. The desire to act on those impulsive needs to dole out justice against someone that wronged you is natural. While it’s not the best idea, it’s just human nature to want to get revenge. In the heat of the moment, logic is the last thing on your mind. Throw in an uncontrolled omega and you may find yourself doing things you don’t want to do, and you don’t know why.”

“So it was her fault.” You say, wiping your nose.

“Not exactly. Instincts are complicated things to consider. Instincts don’t care about your feelings or what society considers acceptable. They’re natural, ingrained behaviors in response to certain stimuli and events. A bear chases you, you run. An alpha threatens you, your omega fights back. While yes, what you did may be morally questionable, in the moment, your omega didn’t care about morals or societal expectations. You felt threatened and uncomfortable and your omega acted on your behalf.”

“It’s because she’s out of control.” You say.

“Yes. You let her out of that specially crafted cage you learned to keep her in, and now she’s going to fight tooth and nail to stay out. You’re in a very delicate state and it’s not surprising your omega decided to act for you.”

“She’s so violent.” You say quietly.

“Omegas and alphas only show themselves for a handful of reasons. Usually those involve danger or extreme emotions. Omegas especially show themselves when violence is needed. We are all fighters at our core, even omegas. You yourself may not be a violent person, but your omega is unsettled. She’s on high alert and any perceived threat could set her off, or any moments of high emotions, such as witnessing what you did.”

You look down at your hands, imagining them covered with blood again. “I wanted to leave. I should have.”

“We can’t change what we’ve done in the past. Your omega was likely largely responsible for what happened in those moments. While that doesn’t absolve you of guilt entirely, that also means you weren’t fully in control of yourself when it happened.” She reaches out, putting a hand on yours. “I believe you when you say you didn’t want to do it. I don’t think you’re capable of it in your right mind. You’ve been through a lot over the last few weeks. I thought it was a bad idea to take you, but you know John.”

“He thinks he knows what's best because it’s what he thinks is best.” You murmur.

“You can confront him about that.” Dr. Keller says, leaning back in her chair.

You snort. “That will go well.”

“It might. Your pack has expressed their willingness to change, to adapt to what you want. You have the power to change your pack. If you don’t like the way they’re doing something, then tell them.” She gives you a pointed look. “They won’t know what to change if you don’t tell them what you want to change.”

“I’m scared to ask them.” You admit.

“Why? Why are you scared to ask them?”

“Good omegas adapt to their pack, they don’t ask. They don’t ask their pack to change just for them.”

She gives you another look. “Don’t go regressing that far on me.” She shifts in her seat, leaning closer to you. “We’ve talked about this before. You’re a part of this pack too, just as much as they are. You have a right to communicate your needs and your wants just as much as they do. You’re an equal in this pack, and they’ll be the first to agree with that. While their actions of late have been questionable, they do still care about you and want to make you a true equal in this pack.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” You huff.

“Then let them show you.” She says. “What’s the harm in asking?”

“They say no.” You say. “I don’t think I could handle it if they said no.”

“But what if they say yes?” Dr. Keller squeezes your arm. “You’ll never know until you ask. In my professional opinion, I think you hold more power now than you realize. A lot of things happened to you, but a lot of things happened to your pack as well, and within those bonds.”

“Yeah. They’re all fractured now.” You say.

“They’re in rough shape, but they’re not unfixable. You have to want to fix them. You’re the only one that can fix them.”

“I don’t like that power.” You say. “Part of me wants to end things.”

“But, that means there’s a part of you that wants to repair them. As your doctor, I suggest listening to those thoughts more than the ones telling you not to. It won’t be easy, but I think it’s worth your time to try.”

Tears fill your eyes as you sit there, thinking over her words. You do want to try. You want to try so badly, yet you can’t help that nagging in the back of your mind that everything will go back to the way it was before.

“What do you need?” Dr. Keller asks softly, brushing some of the hair from your face as you cry.

What is it you need? A new brain, a reset button, some amnesia? All things you can’t have. You’ll have to choose with what you do have. What do you have? A pack that desperately wants to help you. They’ve told you that themselves. Kyle told you things would get better, but here you are with more blood staining your hands. Kyle wouldn’t lie to you. Not like that.

You have the power now.

“Johnny.” You sniffle. “Get me Johnny.”

NEXT ->

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jungkoode · 2 months ago

Text

5 SECONDS TO FREEDOM | prologue

˗ˏˋ debts unpaid ˎˊ˗

"In Tokyo's underground, there are only two currencies that matter—respect and reputation. When someone threatens to take both, you don't just race them. You destroy them."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 3.5k

content: street racing culture, debt collection, first meetings, midnight races, dangerous driving, Spanish endearments as provocation, the dynamics of Tokyo's underground scene, and your first defeat in nineteen months.

✧ author's note ✧

Soooo here we fucking go.

I've been obsessing over this story for months—I think we all know that lmaooo I think I posted the teaser like a couple months ago and I was devastated because it barely got 50 notes. But you know what, this was still in my head so I did write some drabbles—and I kind of shaped the prologue, which is what you’re gonna read below hahaha.

“But Kiki we just sent you 45 asks telling you to rest” AND I SAID SIKE??? No actually, I’m okay I promise! Usually writing different stories is what prevents me from burning out, because I get frustrated with the same storyline so it’s like… I write something else and my brain goes ‘yay thanks’. You know, ADHD—shiny new toy, mind dances to the music.

Anyways, so. I love this. I love this because as always I get to experiment with different personalities and psychological backgrounds and what I fucking love about these two is the masks they wear and how opposite they are. He’s cocky and arrogant, but in a different way FMU!jungkook is. She’s determined and ambitious, always pushing for more, but still very distinct from all my other Y/N’s because she’s handling different situations (you’ll see in later chapters).

And Hachiroku and Jaque aren't just racing personas—they're escapes. And what makes this delicious is that they're running from opposite lives. One from privilege, one from struggle. Both finding freedom in the same five seconds at the starting line.

And yes, the cars matter. They're not just vehicles; they're extensions of identity. The AE86 is legendary for a reason—not the most powerful, but perfectly balanced in the hands of someone who knows exactly what they're doing (sound familiar?). Meanwhile, the R34 Skyline is raw, unapologetic power held in check by someone who understands precisely when to unleash it.

AS ALWAYS—READ THE AUTHOR INTRO AND TW listed in the index post. This is a must before reading this story.

Fair warning: this isn't going to be a clean race. These characters are messy. They make decisions that will make you want to scream at them. They'll crash into each other's lives and leave debris everywhere, and the kind of attraction that feels like a guardrail giving way on a mountain pass.

But that's the point, isn't it? The most interesting stories happen in the dangerous curves.

So buckle up. We've got a long road ahead.

Ready? Light’s about to turn green.

Also. Notes for this one are pretty high, that’s intentional. Like I just wanted to post the prologue to have it out for a bit but I still need to work on the arcs and major plot points. So I don’t have the story fully shaped out for now, which is why I want this to rest and check for engagement and reactions. Seriously—don’t crash out, I know this one will take time and that’s absolutely my intention!

Edit: prologue takes place 6 months before the main storyline!

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Respect isn't given in Tokyo's underground—it's paid in cash or blood.

You roll the cherry lollipop against your teeth, counting seconds in your head like engine timing.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours since you left Kalo and his overpriced Supra in your rearview on the Hakone downhill, his taillights disappearing around the corner while you took the perfect line through the hairpin that everyone else brakes too hard for.

It's nighttime at Daikoku.

You cross one leg over the other, letting your heeled boot dangle casually off the edge of your AE86's hood. The mini skirt wasn't a random choice. Neither was showing up without your racing gear.

Because tonight isn't about driving—it's about collecting.

"Kalo's nowhere to be seen," Maya says, leaning against your car's hood, arms crossed. "Dipped hard."

You don't bother looking at her, just shift the lollipop to the other side of your mouth with your tongue. The neon from nearby signs reflects off the polished black and white paint of your 86.

"What?" Maya catches your expression. "I'm just saying. Word is he's been avoiding this spot since you embarrassed him."

"While still flashing cash at that club in Roppongi," you add, voice flat. "Buying drinks for anyone who'll listen to his bullshit version of what happened on the mountain."

You tug at one of the layered chains around your neck, watching the crowd that's gathered tonight.

The usual suspects are here—wannabes with more money than skill taking photos of each other's cars, veterans huddled around hoods talking suspension setups, scouts looking for the next race.

Everyone except the one person who should be here with your money.

"So what's the plan?" Maya nudges your shoulder. "Just gonna sit here looking pretty until he magically appears?"

You roll your eyes. "Since when do I just sit and wait for anything?"

"Fair point." She grins that wolfish grin of hers. "So?"

"So I track his ass down." You twist the lollipop stick between your fingers. "He owes me fifty thousand yen. But more than that, he owes me the respect of paying up and admitting I smoked him fair and square."

Maya snorts, exactly as you expected. "Called it. Knew you wouldn't let this slide."

"It's not about the money." You straighten up, adjusting your cropped leather jacket. "It's about the principle. You lose a race, you pay your debts. That's how this works. You don't just disappear like some amateur who can't handle defeat."

"Especially not when he talked all that shit beforehand," Maya adds, picking at her black nail polish. "What was it he said again? Something about how no girl could ever handle his—"

"'No girl could handle my power on the downhill,'" you quote dryly. "Right before I passed him on the outside of that corner everyone brakes for."

The memory brings a slight smile to your face.

The shock in his eyes when you appeared in his side mirror where no car should have been able to fit.

The desperate overcorrection that sent him nearly scraping the guardrail while you smoothly accelerated away.

"Exactly." Maya pushes off your hood. "So what's the first move? Hit his usual spots?"

You pull the lollipop from your mouth with a pop. "Already did. Club Seventh in Roppongi. The garage where his uncle works in Setagaya. That ramen shop he's always at in Shibuya."

"Stalker much?" Maya raises an eyebrow.

"Thorough," you correct her. "There's a difference."

A brief silence falls between you as you both watch a metallic blue GT-R roll into the lot, bass thumping hard enough to vibrate the pavement.

Not Kalo's crowd—these guys run with the Yokohama crew.

"Kenji might know," you say finally, referring to your mutual friend who somehow knows everyone's business in Tokyo's racing scene. "He mentioned Kalo's been hanging around some new spot in Meguro the past week."

Maya pulls out her phone. "Want me to text him now?"

"Already did." You tap your boot against the bumper of your car. "He's supposed to meet us here in—" you check the time on your wrist "—fifteen minutes ago."

"Typical." Maya rolls her eyes. "That guy couldn't be on time if his life depended on it."

You're about to respond when you spot a familiar face weaving through the crowd. Kenji, with his signature sunglasses despite it being well past midnight, making his way toward you.

You straighten up slightly, not wanting to appear too eager for information.

"Ladies," he greets with that irritating smirk of his, adjusting his sunglasses even though there's absolutely no need. "Looking dangerous tonight, Y/N. Someone's not here to race."

"Just tell me what you know about Kalo," you say, cutting through his bullshit.

Kenji leans against your car without asking—a liberty you allow only because he's useful.

"Direct as always. That's what I like about you."

"Kenji," you warn, patience already wearing thin.

"Fine, fine." He holds up his hands in surrender. "Your boy's been hanging at this new garage in Meguro. Place called Midnight Rush. Trying to get in with that crew that runs the Wangan on weekends."

You raise an eyebrow. "The twins' territory? That's desperate even for him."

"After what you did to his reputation?" Kenji shrugs. "Man's gotta find somewhere to start over."

Maya laughs. "Not how this works. You don't just reset when you lose."

"Exactly." You shift your weight, boot heels clicking against the pavement. "So he's there tonight?"

"Should be. They're prepping for some big run tomorrow. Word is there's serious money changing hands. He's trying to buy his way in."

The conversation halts as the distinctive growl of an approaching engine cuts through the night.

Not just any engine—something with a tune you've never heard before.

Sharp. Aggressive. Perfectly balanced.

Heads turn as a midnight purple Skyline R34 GT-R glides into the parking area, before coming to a stop under the harsh parking lot lights.

"Who the hell is that?" Maya straightens up, suddenly alert.

Kenji's expression shifts from boredom to interest in an instant—a rare change for him. "New player. Goes by Jaque."

You study the car, assessing rather than admiring.

Aftermarket body kit, but tasteful. Custom wheels. The stance is aggressive but functional.

Whoever built this wasn't just throwing money at it—they knew exactly what they were doing.

"Jaque?" you repeat, keeping your voice neutral despite your curiosity. "What kind of name is that?"

"Latino guy. Showed up about a month ago." Kenji lowers his voice, shifting into the gossip mode he lives for. "Been cleaning up. Undefeated so far."

Your eyebrow rises slightly at that.

Undefeated is a bold claim in this scene.

"Never heard of him," Maya says, voicing what you're thinking.

"That's because he's been running mostly on the Wangan line. Outrunning cops, taking stupid risks. The kind of shit that gets you noticed fast." Kenji's eyes remain fixed on the car. "Word is he beat Hayato's record on the C1 loop last week."

That gets your attention, though you're careful not to show it.

Hayato's record has stood for three years.

This guy has broken it in a month.

Who the fuck is this?

Your question is answered when the driver's door opens, and the crowd's murmur intensifies. A figure emerges, oozing the confidence of someone who knows they belong anywhere they choose to be.

Not tall, but with a presence that fills the space around him. Dark hair, sharp jawline, and a smirk that suggests he's already three steps ahead of everyone else.

"He drives like he's got nothing to lose," Kenji adds, a note of genuine respect in his voice that you rarely hear. "Like he doesn't care if he crashes or dies. It's... I don’t know man. Something else."

You watch as the driver—Jaque, apparently—leans back against his Skyline, surveying the crowd like he's taking inventory.

His gaze sweeps across the parking lot, until it lands on your group.

Or more specifically, on you.

He gives you a small nod, as if acknowledging territory.

"Looks like you've got an admirer," Maya mutters, nudging your ribs.

You shrug, unimpressed. "Looks like another ego with a nice car."

But you don't look away, and neither does he. It's a standoff of sorts, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact.

You've played this game before with countless racers who thought they were hot shit.

You've never been the first to look away.

"Don't dismiss him so quickly," Kenji warns, surprising you. "I've seen him drive. I’m dead serious, it’s not normal."

"Nobody's unbeatable," you say, finally breaking the staring contest to look back at Kenji.

Just because you had to look back at Kenji.

"Maybe." Kenji shifts uncomfortably. "But this guy... he doesn't race like a normal person. It's like he's got some kind of death wish, but with the skill to back it up."

You scoff, though something about Kenji's tone—the genuine concern beneath his usual bullshit—gives you pause.

"Death wish or not, a car's a car, and physics is physics. There are rules to this game that nobody breaks."

Maya's watching you with that knowing look she gets when she can tell someone's gotten under your skin, even just a little.

"You want to find out, don't you?"

"I want to find Kalo and get my money," you correct her, though your eyes drift back to the Skyline against your will. "That's why we're here."

You scoff at Maya's knowing smirk, about to tell her to shut it when fragments of conversation float over from where the newcomer stands. One word cuts through the ambient noise of engines and chatter.

Kalo.

Your head snaps toward the source.

The Skyline guy—Jaque—leans against his car, talking to a small circle of racers. His hands move expressively as he speaks, gold bracelet catching the neon light.

"Kenji." You cut him off mid-sentence. "Who exactly is this guy talking to?"

Kenji follows your gaze. "Nobody important. Some Yokohama kids trying to get noticed." He adjusts those stupid sunglasses. "Why?"

"He just mentioned Kalo."

Maya straightens beside you. "You sure?"

No mistaking it. Not when you've been hunting that name for two weeks.

"Excuse me," you say, already moving.

Maya sighs behind you. "Here she goes again."

You don't look back. Your boots click purposefully across the pavement, moving slowly. Not rushing—you never rush. But determined.

Three guys surrounding Jaque glance up as you approach, their expressions shifting from interest to wariness. They know who you are.

He doesn't turn immediately. Keeps talking, voice carrying a rhythm unlike anything you've heard in Tokyo. An accent that doesn't belong here.

Only when you're close enough to count the stitches on his leather jacket does he acknowledge your presence.

And even then, it's just a partial turn. Forty-five degrees. Neck cradling slightly to look at you sideways.

Performative, if anything. Like he knew you were coming before you did.

You cross your arms, weight shifting to one hip. His mouth twitches upward at the corner, eyes traveling from your face down to your boots and back up again.

Not subtle about it at all.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this sight?" Velvet slides from his lips.

One eyebrow quirks upward, the slightest movement. His Japanese is fluent but different—consonants softened, vowels stretched in places they shouldn't be.

You narrow your eyes. "You mentioned Kalo. What do you know about him? What's your relationship?"

He studies you for two full seconds. Not answering. Just looking. Like he's trying to read something written in small print.

Then he chuckles, using two fingers to move a thin strand of dark hair that's fallen across his view. The movement is unnecessary. Theatrical. Done for effect.

"Why so serious, princesa?"

It’s Spanish, the last word. You know that much, know from the way the word rolls off his tongue, deliberate, inserted where it doesn't belong. Like he’s testing boundaries, hoping for a reaction.

"I asked you a question." You keep your voice unimpressed.

"And I asked you one too."

He turns to face you fully now, leaning back against his car with the casualness of someone who's never been afraid of anything.

"But since you came all this way... Kalo. The Supra guy, right? The one who races like he learned driving from a video game?"

The description is so accurate you almost smile.

Almost.

"I hear he owes someone money," he continues, watching your reaction carefully. "Someone who smoked him on the mountain course two weeks back. Embarrassed him so badly he's been hiding like a scared rabbit."

His three companions take subtle steps backward, no longer interested in being part of this conversation.

Smart.

Maya appears beside you, silent backup. Though her presence changes nothing in his demeanor.

"And how would you know about that?" you ask.

He shrugs one shoulder.

"People talk. I listen." His accent thickens when he adds, "Es lo que hago." (It’s what I do)

"Is that right?" You don't react to the Spanish. "Interesting that someone who just showed up knows so much about other people's business."

"I'm observant."

His eyes lock with yours.

"For example, I observe that you're not here to race tonight. That outfit? Those heels?" He clicks his tongue. "You're here to collect. To make a point."

Something cold slides down your spine. Not fear—you don't do fear. Something else.

Being read so easily isn't a sensation you're familiar with.

"What's your name again?" You ask it like you've already forgotten, though you haven't.

"Jaque." He says it with a slight emphasis on the second syllable. "And you're Y/N. The 86 driver who hasn't lost a mountain race in what, two years?"

"Nineteen months," Maya corrects automatically.

You shoot her a look.

Jaque's smile widens. "Nineteen months. Impressive."

"If you're done wasting my time," you say, turning slightly, "I have a debt to collect."

"From a guy who isn't here."

He pushes off his car, closing the distance between you by half a step. Not enough to be threatening. Just enough to make his presence unavoidable.

"And won't be. Not tonight," he adds.

"And you know that how?"

"Because I passed him on the expressway heading in the opposite direction. About twenty minutes ago." He taps his wrist where a watch would be. "Running scared, looked like."

You clench your jaw. If he's telling the truth, you've wasted your night. Another dead end in your hunt for the coward who owes you.

"So you just happened to recognize a stranger's car?" Maya asks, skepticism heavy in her voice.

"A white Supra with that terrible aftermarket body kit and the Rising Sun decal on the hood?" He makes a dismissive gesture. "Hard to miss. Hard to forget, unfortunately."

That description matches Kalo's car exactly; and the sick feeling in your stomach tells you he's not lying, as much as you'd like him to be.

"Well," you say, voice cooling by several degrees, "thanks for the information."

You turn to leave, disgusted at having your time wasted. First by Kalo's absence, now by this newcomer who clearly just wanted to get your attention. Another night, another waste.

"I'll pay you double what he owes you."

The words stop you mid-step.

You turn back slowly, measuring every movement.

"Excuse me?"

Jaque's expression hasn't changed, but something in his eyes has.

They’re gleaning.

"Fifty thousand yen, right? I'll make it a hundred." He says casually, like offering to buy a coffee. "If you beat me."

Maya makes a small sound beside you, something between a scoff and a laugh.

"And why would I race someone I don't know for money I don't need?"

You almost laugh. As if this is about the money. You were born into more yen than he’s ever seen—this is about respect. About principle. About owning your loss when someone beats you clean. No excuses. No saving face. Just bow your head and pay what you owe.

But he’s not done.

"Because you're curious." He says it like it's obvious. "Because you've been the best for nineteen months and you're bored. Because you want to know if I'm as good as they say."

"As good as who says?" You roll your eyes. "I've never heard of you before tonight."

"Then I must be doing something right." His smile shifts, becomes syrupy. "But if money doesn't motivate you, how about this—I win, I get to run with your crew. Race in your territory."

You can't help it—you laugh. Short and dismissive.

"That's not how this works. You don't just buy your way in." Your eyes flick to his car. "No matter how pretty your GT-R is."

"I'm not buying," he corrects, that accent slipping into his Japanese again. "I'm earning. Difference."

You narrow your eyes.

Maya leans close to your ear. "You're not seriously considering this?"

You should walk away. This guy is nobody. A newcomer with a nice car and too much confidence. The racing scene sees them every month. They come, they crash, they disappear.

But.

Something about the way he stands there, utterly certain of himself, gets under your skin.

Like he already knows your answer before you do.

And maybe it's the wasted night. Maybe it's two weeks of hunting Kalo with nothing to show for it. Maybe it's just the need to put someone in their place.

"One race," you hear yourself say.

Maya's head whips toward you in surprise.

"One race," you continue, "and when I win, you pay double what Kalo owes me, and you don't bother me again."

"And when I win," he counters, not missing a beat, "I race with your crew. Simple."

"If," you correct.

"When." He doesn't back down.

One calculated step closer brings his scent into focus. Leather, naturally, but beneath it something that doesn't compute. A scent that belongs to ryokan inns and meditation halls, not this arrogant foreigner.

Hinoki.

"You're awfully confident for someone who knows nothing about me or how I drive."

"And you're awfully defensive for someone who's supposedly unbeatable." His voice drops lower, meant for your ears only. "What are you afraid of, princesa?"

The Spanish word again. A barb. Challenging.

"Afraid?" You match his tone. "I'm trying to save you the embarrassment. And the money."

He laughs, so genuine that it catches you off guard. "So it's settled then. You and me. Tonight."

From the corner of your eye, you see Kenji approaching, drawn by the developing scene. Others are watching too.

Word travels fast in this world.

"Fine." You extend your hand, a formality in this world of verbal contracts. "My terms. My course."

He takes your hand. His grip is firm but not aggressive. Just right. His palm warm against yours.

"Your course," he agrees. "But I pick when."

You raise an eyebrow. "When, then?"

His smile widens, showing teeth. "Now."

Death has a rhythm.

Tonight, it sounds like Daddy Yankee.

The mountain is yours—every curve, every shadow, every inch of guardrail. You've memorized each crack in the asphalt like the lines on your palm.

Yet as you sit at the starting line, engine purring, the midnight purple Skyline beside you blasts "Gasolina" loud enough to vibrate your windows.

He's not even looking at the road.

Jaque's got hand on the wheel, the other tapping the window frame in rhythm.

Kenji stands between the cars, arms raised.

You grip your steering wheel tighter.

Focus. Calculate. This is your mountain. Your rules.

"Ready!" Kenji shouts.

You check your gauges, settle into position, drop your breath rate. Your 86 is an extension of your body.

"Set!"

Jaque turns to you—actually turns his head away from the road—and winks.

Winks.

What the fuck is his problem?

Your jaw clenches so hard you hear teeth grinding.

"GO!"

You snap into the first gear immediately, launching forward as your tires bite into asphalt. Perfect traction. Perfect release. Your 86 shoots ahead exactly as calculated, exactly as it always does.

The Skyline stays even.

First corner approaches—tight right-hander with a nasty camber that catches amateurs by surprise. You brake at the perfect moment, downshift, feel the weight transfer as you clip the apex.

Textbook. Flawless. The corner you've taken hundreds of times.

The Skyline mirrors you exactly, staying in your blind spot. The bass from his music is still thumping through the night air.

Second corner. Third. Fourth. Each attack perfect, each line immaculate. And still, he's there. Not gaining, not falling behind. Just... present. Like a shadow you can't shake.

"What the hell is this guy playing at?" You mutter, taking the next hairpin with a controlled aggression that should give you an advantage.

Should.

Doesn't.

The Skyline follows, its midnight paint swallowing the moonlight instead of reflecting it. Through the next three corners, it continues—you lead, he follows, neither gaining ground.

Until the straightaway.

The road opens up, and you floor it. The 86 responds instantly, pushing you back into your seat. This is where your lighter weight should shine.

But the Skyline surges forward, twin-turbo engine unleashing a growl that slices the night.

He passes you.

Not aggressively. Not dangerously.

Just... efficiently.

Like it's the most natural thing in the world.

For the first time in nineteen months, you're staring at someone else's taillights.

"No fucking way."

You push harder, finding speed you rarely tap into. The gap closes slightly on the approach to the next corner—a sharp left with a cliff drop on the outside.

No guardrail. No room for error.

Normal people brake early here.

Jaque, as it turns out, is not normal people.

You don't brake until the last possible microsecond, throwing the 86 into the corner. The tires scream, traction at its absolute limit. You can feel them searching for grip, dancing on the edge of adhesion.

You exit the corner a car length behind him.

"Come on!" You slam the gearshift, pushing for more.

The next section is technical—five corners in quick succession. Your territory.

It's where precision matters more than power.

You close the gap. Corner by corner, inch by inch. Three more and you're on his bumper. Close enough to see his fingers still tapping against the frame slightly to the rhythm.

The next hairpin is your chance. The inside line is risky—there's barely enough room—but it's your mountain.

You know exactly how much space you need.

You dive for the gap.

For one beautiful moment, you're alongside him. Equal. Your front bumper inches past his door.

Then he does something impossible.

Instead of defending the line—instead of doing what any rational driver would do—Jaque throws his car into a drift so aggressive it sends the back end swinging wide, nearly touching the guardrail.

The move creates an arc that cuts you off, forces you to brake or crash.

You brake.

The maneuver costs him speed, should give you another chance to pass on exit.

But before you can capitalize, he's already accelerating out of the drift, the Skyline's all-wheel drive finding traction where none should exist.

"What the actual—"

The move was insane. Suicidal. The kind of thing that ends with twisted metal and sirens.

And he pulled it off like he was parallel parking.

For the final stretch—three corners and the last straightaway—you throw caution aside. Push beyond limits you usually respect. The 86 responds, giving everything it has.

It's not enough.

The Skyline crosses the finish line two car lengths ahead. You slam your palm against the steering wheel.

The taste of defeat is metallic in your mouth, foreign and despised.

You bring the 86 to a hard stop, tires protesting at the sudden deceleration.

The music still pounds from his car. That same goddamn song.

You throw open your door, adrenaline and anger propelling you forward. The cool mountain air hits your flushed face as you storm toward his car.

Because that last move? It wasn't just reckless—it was deadly. The kind of stunt that gets people killed on these mountains.

Words build in your throat. Sharp words. Words about respect for the mountain and death wishes and arrogance.

His door swings open as you approach. The music blasts louder without the barrier of glass and metal. He slides out with that same casual grace you saw when he called you princesa, when he winked before accelerating.

And something stops the words in your throat.

He shakes his head slightly, dark hair falling across his eyes before he pushes it back with one smooth motion. His other hand remains on the Skyline's roof, some golden ring catching the moonlight.

When he turns to face you, there's no triumph in his expression. No arrogance.

Just... satisfaction.

Like he's found something he's been looking for.

His eyes meet yours across the short distance. That smile appears again—not the cocky smirk from earlier, but something more genuine. Lips curved just slightly at the corners.

"Thanks for the adrenaline rush, mami," he says, voice carrying over the pounding beat of Daddy Yankee.

You've never hated Spanish music more in your life.

goal: 500 notes

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joeloverture · 1 year ago

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hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.

You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.

Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.

Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax.

No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.

So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.

The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.

Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?

The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing.

You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.

Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.

The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.

Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.

You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.

Bingo.

Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.

You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.

You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.

And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.

It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.

His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.

You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from — Lucas.

TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.

A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky.

That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.

Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.

He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.

“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”

Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.

He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”

You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining.

“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”

“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”

Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.

Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.

“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.

Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”

You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.

“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.

He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”

He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down.

“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”

There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.

You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”

You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”

“Knew that already,” you mumble.

He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”

You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.

“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”

He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.

The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.

“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.

Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…”

When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.

“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.

He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.

You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”

“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee.

“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.

You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”

The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.

“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”

“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head.

“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.”

Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”

“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.

You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”

Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.

“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel.

Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.

“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.

Then — he stops.

His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?”

"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."

You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.

Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”

“Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”

You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.

“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.

You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips.

“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.

Oh.

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.

He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become.

A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”

If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.

“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.

When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.

“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.

“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel.

“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.

“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily.

“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.

“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him.

His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.

“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”

“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”

Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is.

Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!”

“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”

“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.

His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.

“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.

If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”

With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.

Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”

And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”

Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.

With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.

And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.

You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”

When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.

Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?

Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”

Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/f! reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic

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punishereditz · 4 months ago

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Capable

Pairing: Jack Reacher x f!reader

Warnings: 18 plus only! Minors DNI! DO NOT COPY! All smut, no plot. Heavy praise kink. Dirty talk. Fingering. Breast play. Size kink. Finger sucking. Marking. P in V. Unprotected sex.

AN: Did I write this after seeing the new season because after one of the scenes, I now believe he 100% talks you through it? Yes. Yes, I did.

Word count: 1.3k

Summary: After struggling with investigating a case, Reacher talks you through it

Reacher could see the distress righten all over your face as you were hunched over the computer in desperation of finding some sort of clue for the case. Every road you went down, came to a dead end. And after so many roads, it can get frustrating. Tiring, but refusing to a take a break just yet. You needed it, but didn't allow yourself to have it. So, Reacher made the decision for you.

He stepped behind you. Towering over you. His presence very much so stronger now that he's suddenly so close. Your body couldn't help but go tense at it.

"Close the computer." It was a demand.

"What?"

"You heard me. Close. It." He growled, and slowly, you saved the work and closed the computer.

"Atta girl." Your heart nearly pounded right out of your chest. Your breath being pulled right out of your lungs when he leaned down so that his lips were even with your ear. Mere inches away.

"Take a deep breath." You did as he said. Breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth. "That's it. Again." Another deep breath. He made you do it several more times before he whispered against your neck.

"Why did you start to stress?" His presence was intimidating, to say the least. Making you flustered and unable to find the answer he wanted. Stumbling over the words when you finally found them.

"Because I couldn't do it..."

"And what made you think you weren't capable of doing it?"

"I... the case isn't like any other I've taken."

His hand started to gently slide down your shoulder until it found the bottom of your shirt. Slowly unbuttoning it. You tried to hide your gasp.

"Why is this one different?" You couldn't think straight. Not when he had your top open and his fingers started to play with the straps of your bra. His hot breath on your neck and his lips brushing against your ear. "Answer."

"They're some of the smartest criminals... I've dealt with. They've... left no room for mistakes." Your words were a big of a mess as you were right now. His teasing touch gone as he suddenly stood up to his full height.

"Stand up." You did as he said, and he couldn't hide his grin.

"Good girl." His hands were on you again. This time, your hips. "Here's what we're gonna do. You're going to sit in my lap and I'm going to finger you until you're coming all over my hand. Then..." He pulled your shirt off. Unbuttoning your pants next and slowly pulling them down. "You're going to ride me until you understand you're capable of solving the case."

His words were a torch, and they just set you aflame and melted your brain. You were frozen in place as his rough hands gently pulled your panties down. His calloused hand grazing up your thigh and making the point of moving over the small patch of hair right above your cunt where you needed him most. But he didn't give it to you yet. Bringing his hand up torturously slow and unclasping your bra. He cupped your breast in his hands. His thumb and index finger gently twisting and toying with your nipples. The sensation making your head fall back on his muscled chest and a moan leave your lips.

"Are you ready sweetheart?" When you desperately nodded, he chuckled. Trailing kisses over your neck before he sat down in the chair. Pulling you down on his lap. You had to bite back a moan when you felt his hard cock pressed against your ass.

"Lean back and spread your legs wide." You leaned back until your back was against his chest. Head rested on his shoulder. Each leg on the arm rest. Completely exposed to him. He couldn't stop the groan from leaving his mouth at the sight. He left bite marks along your neck and smoothed each one with a kiss. One hand rested on your hip and the other moving down your body until his middle finger started to move through your folds.

"So wet and I haven't even done a thing." He mumbled against your neck, and you tried your best to suppress your moan, but it was useless. Especially when his finger found your clit and began to gently circle it. Your legs trembling and your breathing becoming desperate pants. His finger started to work faster. Making your stomach twist.

"That's it sweetheart. Let's see you take a little more." You almost shouted when he slid his finger inside you. Already stretching you. He chuckled against your neck. Curling his finger inside to hit that spot that made you tremble and get close to the edge. It was already so deliciously overwhelming, but when he added a second finger and used his thumb to circle your clit, you came undone. You moaned his name, and your entire body shook as you came on his fingers.

"Atta girl..." He praised as he helped you come down from the high. His fingers slowing to a stop. "Taste how good you did for me." When he offered his fingers to you, you happily took them. Sucking your cum off of his fingers. Allowing your eyes to close as you slowly calmed. The moment didn't last long though. He withdrew his fingers. Turning you around so that you faced him. Straddling his lap. He moved you enough so that he could pull his pants off. Falling to his feet. Pulling his shirt off with it. Now skin to skin with him. He started kissing your neck. Taking his cock in his hand and stroking it. You gasped when you saw his size.

"Like what you see?" He teased and you swallowed hard.

"Reacher... there's no way it's going to fit."

"There is a way." He mocked you. Guiding his cock along your folds. Using your arousal to wet his cock. When he pushed the head in, you gripped his arms, and you gasped. He held your hip and helped guide you.

"That's it. Fuck, you're taking my cock so well. Go ahead and take a little more for me." Now both hands on your hips, he helped you down so you could take a little more. Stopping when you whimpered. It took everything in him to not grip your hips tightly when your pussy clenched around him.

"It's... it's too much." You whimpered.

"You can take it. Go ahead. Take all of it." Reacher did all the work. You were too weak to lower yourself more, so he did it for you. Slowly... he bottomed out inside you. His cock filling and stretching you out. It was painfully pleasurable. Overwhelming good.

"Atta girl. Now... start riding me." He moved his hands away to ensure he wouldn't take control. His eyes on yours as you slowly thrusted your hips up and brought them back down. Your eyes closed and you moaned his name. Holding onto his shoulders. Once you adjusted to his size, you found your rhythm. Bouncing on his cock. Up and down. His cock throbbing inside you every time you clenched around him. Your stomach twisted and you could feel your second climax building. Reacher watched as your tits bounced in his face until he finally couldn't take it anymore.

He gripped your hips tight enough to mark and he started to thrust inside in. The sound of your skin clapping together and both of your moans filling the room. His cock twitched and his balls tighten. He had to keep it together. Just a little longer.

"Are you capable of solving the case?" He gritted through his teeth as he loudly moaned.

"Y-yes!" You shouted.

"Then be the good girl you are and cum."

As if you were at his command, your climax hit you. Harder than the first one. You soaked his cock, and Reacher couldn't hold back anymore. He harshly thrusted up into you until his cock throbbed as he filled you with his seed. Groaning loudly as he spilled every drop into you. His thrust getting lazy and slowing as you both rode off the intense orgasms. He prepped you with gentle kisses. His hand tangling in your hair.

"Do you need more convincing?"

#jack reacher #jack reacher x reader #jack reacher smut #reacher #reacher smut #reacher x reader #reacher fanfiction #alan ritchson #x reader #smut #smut fanfiction #fanfics #fanfiction

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ceesimz · 4 months ago

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Wings (part one)

You return to the Norway National Team. (autistic!reader)

Reverie fics here! I've put a lot of time and care into this one as I wanted it to feel absolutely right because it's been a plot point since the very first few paragraphs of the original reverie story. So, I really hope I've done it right and done it justice and that you all believe it fits too🙃 (and a p.s. thank you to @pickledwoso for coming up with some perfect ideas for me to work with and keeping me sane whilst writing, v v v grateful <3)

“Ingrid, I have something to tell you.”

It felt right to tell her the decision you’d come to only a few hours before, in a cable car somewhere in Norway; the decision you never thought you would be able to make again. A decision you knew Ingrid had hoped to hear for years.

“Okay.” Ingrid said sceptically, dragging out the ‘y’ at the end as she did so.

You held the phone away from your ear for a second, taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of your nose.

Bringing up the idea to Alexia had been one thing. Telling Ingrid about your intentions was another. It made it… real. Very real. And the words felt alien on your tongue, you sort of felt like they didn't belong to you. But, as Alexia and your family had encouraged you to the highest degree, welcoming and respecting and celebrating your decision with open arms, they did belong to you.

“I…” That deep inhale came right back out. Your mouth was dry and when there was a lump in your throat that prevented you from speaking clearly, your voice trembled and cracked with nearly every syllable in your next words. “I think I might try to… come back to the national team.”

For Ingrid, who was some hundred miles away in the same country, that might have been the last thing on earth she thought you would say in that moment. Not because she didn’t believe in you, of course not. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

“You are serious!?” The dark-haired woman exclaimed, almost leaping out of her chair where she sat at the dinner table with her family. Her brother rolled his eyes, used to her theatrics, meanwhile her parents glanced up at her with an anticipatory look.

Ingrid had been thinking about your situation with the national team for quite a while. She was certain that, at this point of your life, she could put her hand on her heart and say you would flourish if you went back. But you never spoke about it, so she never spoke about it, because it was a line she didn’t want to cross as it could have been catastrophic if she did. You had spent months thinking about your decision to leave all those years ago, you were a shadow of yourself as you struggled with the hectic nature of the career you’d delved into once the popularity of the women’s side grew, as well as the unkind and unfair treatment of the staff at the time. You almost didn’t come out the other side of it.

Your best friend had had a front row seat to how beautiful your life had turned out after your move to Barcelona. And this, well… she knew it would make your self-esteem, your confidence, your faith in yourself, it’d all sky-rocket. She didn’t have the words to express how utterly proud she was of you; it consumed her whenever she saw you smile, laugh, joke around with your teammates without overthinking everything or just going mute to prevent the possibility of an ounce of embarrassment. Whenever a tough situation came your way, you took your time to figure out the best way to get through it, and faced it head-on. You’d taken these last few years to discover yourself, to find out what you needed, what you were best at, and who you wanted in your life. There wasn’t a more perfect time to take advantage of all those lessons learnt, and tackle the one final thing that weighed on your mind.

“I think I might be.”

The squeal you were met with was deafening. However, despite how the pitch of it almost made your ears bleed, it overwhelmed you with relief. It didn’t matter that your fellow Norwegian hadn’t actually said anything yet, because that reaction spoke volumes. Literally.

“I am speechless.” Were the words she finally did land on. There was some hushed speaking in the background before you heard her excuse herself, followed by the sound of quick and heavy footsteps until it sounded like she slumped back onto her bed with a dreamy sigh. “You are joining the national team again.”

“Might, Ingrid. I might.” You corrected her, cautious that she was getting ahead of herself. Then, she had the audacity to click her tongue like it was you in the wrong. “There needs to be a lot of thinking going into it. I can’t just do it on a whim. I need to plan, and talk about it, maybe meet with the staff, I need to see what support they can give to me and h-”

“Okay, okay. I know this. Just let me be excited for a moment, let yourself be excited.” You could hear the smile on her face as she spoke, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t ease your anxiety a little. “We can plan it all another time, not right now. Be happy for yourself, this is a big milestone.”

Alexia, who had stepped out the room a little while ago to give the two of you some privacy, walked back in at that moment when you let out another deep breath, trying to will away the pit of nausea in your stomach. She expected you to be done on the phone now considering it had been a bit of time, however she was none the wiser to the twenty minutes of hesitation you had at pressing the call button. The door closed softly behind her and she leaned back against it, waiting and giving you the space you needed.

Honestly, having her there as you talked with Ingrid was comforting. Much more comforting than you thought. You weren’t sure why that was and when your opinion about such a situation had changed; normally these were situations where you did need to be on your own. It was a subtle change, it happened without you knowing, but it was a pretty big one. Having Alexia there helped to remind you that you could do this.

“It is.” You placated quietly, tracing your finger along the scratches and dents in the wooden desk that’d been in your bedroom since you were a teenager. “I am excited. Just very worried, and… stuff.”

“I am so proud of you.” Ingrid rushed out suddenly, and there was quite a significant amount of emotion in her voice then. “So proud. I- oh my god.”

“What?” You said, somewhat concerned at the slight shock she seemed to be experiencing. It was all explained when, no less than a second later, Ingrid bursted out into full-on sobs. “Ingrid, are you okay?”

“Yes! I’m okay.” She blubbered, to which you turned to Alexia with a slightly amused glance until you felt tears brewing as well. “Just proud. So proud. I can’t even say how proud.”

“Alright, alright. I get it.” You mumbled shyly whilst she continued to cry. It was all very… dramatic. But it also couldn’t have gone any better than it did.

“When we get back to Barcelona, I’m gonna come see you and I’m gonna hug the life out of you, okay?” Ingrid said sternly, and it was that determination of hers that made your first tear fall. “And then we’re going to make a plan together. We’ll get whoever we need. Me, you, Ale, maybe Caro or Esmee or Frido, whoever you need. We’ll sort things out and make sure you get to do this how you want, how you need. I promise.”

“Okay.” You nodded though she couldn’t see you. Another tear fell, and you realised you felt way too many things then to be able to express what you wanted. It was a flaw you loathed, but a flaw other people accepted. So you learned to accept it too. “I love you, Ingrid.”

“I love you too. I know you don’t like phone calls so I’m going to let you go, but just in case you didn’t know already, I am really proud of you for this.” You let out a huff of amusement and smiled at her. “Please text me whenever you need to about it, no matter when or what it is. Anything you need, snuppa. Always. I’ll see you soon.”

You thanked her, bid her goodbye, hung up, let your phone fall to your lap, and covered your face with your hands. Alexia waited a minute or two, trying to gauge your feelings, a frown on her face at the sporadic sniffles that came from you. She cautiously took a few steps closer as you leaned forward and took your hands away, resting your arms on the desk and your chin atop them.

“Ingrid is really happy about it.” You murmured, breaths stuttering as you told her. Alexia smiled and came to stand beside you, going to put a hand on your back before hesitating, and opting for the back of your chair instead.

“That’s good.” She hummed, to which you nodded. “Are you?”

“Yeah.”

Her smile doubled in size and she moved behind you, her arms wrapping around you and her hands landing on top of yours, her chin on your shoulder as she pressed her lips against your cheek.

“You should be. You should be so proud. We’ve all got you through this, I love you.”

You would never tire of hearing that.

—

Ingrid really wasn't lying when she said she'd hug the life out of you next time you were together. In fact that might have been an understatement.

At your favourite café, the one you had your first date and were soon to plan your biggest personal milestone at, you were nearly hugged to death by the person that'd watched you grow and had helped you get to this point. Alexia laughed quietly from her chair at the surprise on your face, clearly having underestimated the truth in Ingrid's promise. But then the three of you sat down together, Ingrid across from you with Alexia beside you, and delved straight into it. They didn't hover on the novelty of the decision, knowing too much attention on it might cause you to shut down and close off about it.

You spent almost two hours with them, making a plan and discussing what accommodations and support you would need to make sure things went as well as possible. An initial list was written, and once you had spent some time thinking about it and finalising everything, then you'd tell the staff at the Norway National Team that you intended to return. Your target was the February international break, but you hadn't written off the possibility that might be too soon. Ingrid and Alexia did well to remind you that it didn't matter when you went back. All that mattered was that you felt you were in a place that you wanted to go back. That was enough of an achievement in itself.

Some days you woke up determined that you could do it, it’d be a breeze, and nothing could dim your excitement. Other times, you were wracked with anxiety. So much so, it was hard to think clearly about it, which is where Alexia and Ingrid came in. Any time you got too overwhelmed at the fucking gigantic obstacle that stood before you, they brought you right back to reality. They gently eased your concerns, offering solutions and words of wisdom and comfort and rationality, to the point you wondered why you’d gotten so worked up in the first place. That happened countless times over breakfast at the café, and you got through it with the end result being a plan to get you back where you belonged.

“I think this is a good starting place now, no?” Alexia smiled over at you and Ingrid whilst you put the lid on your pen and slumped back in your chair, inhaling deeply.

The list was fairly long, featuring things like you getting to choose who you room with or even maybe rooming on your own (though you were sure you’d most likely want to be Ingrid for some peace of mind), making sure there was no pressure to participate in anything you didn’t want to do social wise, being able to drop out of camp at any point should you need to, having the final say in if you want to play in the matches or not, and a number of other things too. It was a good starting place, you were satisfied with the things the three of you had brainstormed so far. Though, it hadn’t done a thing to ease your overall anxiety. Sure, these things might help, but it’s still a terrifying thing to go through with.

After all, what if the staff there just say… no? To your requests? You can ask for help but you can't choose how people decide to help you, which makes such a crucial step so petrifying to approach. Especially when they had no qualms in doing so in the past, and it was probably why you never wanted to tell anyone at Frankfurt about your disability.

You’re an adult, you don’t need these things.

It’s unfair if we make these accommodations just for you and nobody else.

You’re being ridiculous and unnecessary, you have nothing to be so anxious about.

If you can't handle it, maybe you don't belong here.

Those were the kind of things they said to you back then and they still echoed around your mind anytime you thought about asking for support from anyone. What people don’t understand is that they have a much longer lasting impact than most realise. For the people saying them, they’re just a momentary thing, they’ll forget they said them an hour after the conversation ends. That’s not the reality for you. Hours, days, weeks, months, years after, their words will continue to taunt you and mock you, adding fuel to the fire of the malicious thoughts your brain musters up whenever you’re struggling.

The fact that your entire experience anywhere in the world lies in the hands of the reactions and opinions of other people, both in terms of support and general behaviour, is… there’s no words to describe the fear it induces. A large portion of the world won’t ever need to even worry about having to go through that, yet they’re the ones controlling the puppet strings. It’s very ironic, and unfair.

“It is. Anything else?�� Ingrid asked you gently, to which you shook your head. Your face communicated differently, like you still had a million and one things on your mind, which didn’t surprise either of them. “What are you thinking? Anything for right now or shall we finish up?”

The two of them gave you your space to think as you decided whether to voice these fears or not. They’d heard them a hundred times, Ingrid especially, but you still had them anytime you did something new and it would always be this way.

Your mouth opened and closed a couple times as the last remnants of hesitation slipped away, before you took a sip of your water and spoke afterwards.

“There is so much that’s out of my control.” You began, talking almost in a whisper as the weight of your fear prevented you from speaking any louder. Like, if your voice was half a decibel higher, the staff at the national team all the way in Norway would come storming into the cafe with pitchforks at the ready. “I tried for years to advocate for what I need and they hardly gave me anything. They could just do the same again.”

Alexia knew that was something Ingrid would have to answer to; not only because it was the team Ingrid played for as well, but also because… she’d had to fight for things at Spain camp too, everyone knew that, and everyone knew that things didn’t go well and still weren’t going well. So, instead of floundering to find the right words she didn’t have, she reached out to put her hand on your knee. Within a second, your hand slipped under hers, and she squeezed it instantly to offer some more comfort. You glanced at her and just one look at her face, at her soft smile that spoke volumes of her confidence in you and her eyes that were so loving and free of judgement, it grounded you. How was that possible?

“The staff that are there now aren’t the same as who were there in the past. There has been a lot of reshuffling over the years to try and make it a better place for everybody and I’m certain that it is much better. I would never lie or sugarcoat that, I mean it absolutely.” Ingrid answered honestly, and you could tell by the seriousness in her face that she did mean it absolutely. You looked at Alexia again for a moment, feeling extra secure in the response to your question when she nodded, even if she had no idea whether Ingrid was telling the truth or not. “The only person that is still there is Heidi, who you-”

“She does the best kjøttkaker med potetmos!”

At the mention of the one person that still worked for the national team, your face and mood lit up. Ingrid grinned and nodded, whilst Alexia chuckled softly with a shake of her head. Even in the time you’d been with her, which was years after you last played for Norway, Alexia had heard all about Heidi’s, one of the chefs hired by the team, excellent cooking, especially for one of your favourite safe foods from back home.

…surely, in only a few years, she hadn’t lost her talent?

“She’ll be so happy to see you again, kjære.” That reminded you of another worry you had.

“What about everyone else?” You mumbled sheepishly, insecurity clear in your tone that had your girlfriend frowning beside you.

“Trust me, they will all welcome you back with open arms. Please don’t doubt that for a second.” Ingrid said firmly, ensuring she didn’t leave any room for you to still fear such a thing.

It was understandable, of course it was. Both Ingrid and Alexia knew why you would be worried – in situations like that, the people you’re surrounded by could make or break your experience entirely. Regardless, it still killed them to hear you sound so uncertain if your return would be well received, and it hurt them even more that they couldn’t swear on their lives that it would, because it was just an unknown where the only way to tackle it was… by going through it.

If they could change the world to make it a better experience just for you, no matter the cost for their own livelihoods, they would do it in a heartbeat. They didn’t believe it was fair you had to live with these anxieties all the time, but if they could help by at least being there for you, then they would settle for that.

“Don’t forget that you aren’t doing this alone, engel.” Alexia chipped in softly as her hand squeezed yours once more. “You will have Ingrid there, Caro, Frida, Maren. There will be some you haven’t met or spent much time with and it’s normal to be worried about meeting them, but you won’t have to do that alone. You’ll have people there that love you. And I will only be a phone call away, for anything.”

These were all things that, when you were in the right mindset to think rationally, you knew. The anxiety that’s experienced with autism is a hard thing to describe, it’s different to a general anxiety disorder. Anxiety from an autistic perspective doesn’t involve just the fear of the unknown, it’s the chaos and the unpredictability of what is known. You know there’s people out there that hate you because of how your brain works, they could be next to you and you wouldn’t know until you do something that ‘provokes’ a reaction from. You know there’s people out there that believe you’re weak, that you’re worth less than the average human because of some minor things you can’t do, that are waiting for you to trip up so they can make a laughing stock of you. You know there’s people out there that are looking for an excuse to use your disorder against you. And there’s almost nothing you can do about it.

Nothing, but live your life how you want to. So that’s what you’ll do.

“Okay. I think that might be it for now.” You decided as, by that point, you were a little overwhelmed and in need of some time to process everything that had been discussed and planned. The two of them nodded, but they didn’t say anything. Ingrid especially just… looked at you. Very peculiarly. “What’s that face for?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged, though it was very clear she was fighting off a rather large grin. Then, it hit you what she was thinking and dying to do.

“Don’t say i-”

“I’m just so proud of you.” She beamed, and it was a miracle she didn’t start running laps of the café judging by the excitement on her face. You groaned and rolled your eyes, covering your face with your hands as Alexia laughed and put an arm around your shoulder to pull you into her side.

“I’m so proud of you too.” The blonde murmured, her lips grazing your temple in a soft kiss that had Ingrid rolling her eyes at the hopeless state of you both.

“We’re done. Home time.” You told them, shy and a little embarrassed under their constant praise, standing abruptly in your chair. They laughed, not at all offended because it was so you, and stood up too.

The three of you tucked your chairs in, you folded up the piece of paper your list was on, slipped it into your pocket, then suddenly found yourself in the centre of a group hug.

“Gruppeklem!” Ingrid called out a tad too loud for the small café you were in, though you didn’t find yourself caring. As they wrapped their arms around you and embraced you tightly, literally surrounding you with their love, you realised you couldn’t care less about the people around you when these two were by your side at all times.

Despite how well the planning had gone, the topic was still on your mind for the rest of the day – a day which was relaxed, with no plans, to allow you the time to come down from your stresses and process the onslaught of information you’d taken in over breakfast.

Luckily, you had the perfect solution to all your problems that evening.

A combination of two of your favourite love languages: physical touch and quality time. However, it wasn’t quality time in the normal sense, rather for people like you, it was more commonly called parallel play. Being in the same space as Alexia whilst you both did your own individual things, in your own worlds, was something you adored and wouldn't ever be able to describe why. And you both were in your own worlds; you playing a video game on the TV whilst Alexia had her nose stuck in whatever true crime book she’d chosen that week.

The midfielder was lay back against the sofa cushions as you sat against the arm of it, your legs across her lap and her hand on your thigh trailing her fingers absentmindedly, the only time she stopped being when she turned a page. Dinner had been and gone, it was late evening by that point, and a good forty minutes had passed since you last exchanged even just a word with each other. Because it wasn’t necessary.

On the other hand, Alexia knew that your mind was going a million miles per hour, she swore she could almost hear it. Instead of disturbing you, she let you be, like always. You would come to her if you needed it, which was exactly what you did. Even though you knew you were probably getting a bit repetitive at this point, sometimes you just needed a single reminder to put you at ease.

When you paused your game, Alexia noticed, but she didn’t react. You seemed hesitant to speak, though she knew you would eventually, so she didn’t push. You were almost certain you didn’t love anything else in the world more than how well Alexia knew you.

“You seriously think I can do this?” You whispered.

In an instant, her book was closed and her attention was on you. Her now free hand reached out for yours, her head dropped back against the cushions, and she gazed at you with a smile that revealed her answer before she even spoke.

“I have never been more confident in anything in my life, than I am in you right now.”

Well, what more could you ever need?

“That’s a bold statement, Ale.” You teased her lightly, a hint of a smile on your face with some pink cheeks that Alexia swore was her favourite sight in the world.

“It is one I believe in and you should too.” The look she fixed you with was a mix of sternness and softness, but it did little to settle you much. With a sarcastic roll of her eyes, she gently pushed your legs off of her and shuffled closer to sit on the edge of the couch, putting her hands on either of your cheeks. She kissed your forehead, a featherlight brush of her lips that caught you off guard with the pure tenderness of it, before she gave you that same look from a moment ago. “Stop thinking for tonight, okay? It’s not doing you any favours, so stop. Give yourself a rest. What can I do to help?”

You shrugged, not giving yourself a second to consider it because you didn’t want to ask for anymore from her. Until she raised her eyebrow at you, a light scolding that made you laugh quietly.

“Can’t we just… lay here, together? You help without even having to do anything.” You sounded incredibly shy as you answered her, she couldn’t help but grin in turn. Though, secretly, that was an admission that she was sure she would remember forever; it was all she could wish for.

So for the rest of the evening, that’s exactly what you both did. Alexia instructed that you lay on top of her with your head on her chest, which you were more than happy to comply with, and she resumed her story as you put on a show on the TV. One hand held her book whilst the other slid under your shirt, splaying out on your back and soothingly tracing shapes with her fingernails up and down. Then, the two of you retired to bed later on, and you woke up the next morning without feeling like an elephant was seated right upon your heart. God only knows where you would be without Alexia.

—

February came around much sooner than you anticipated, which meant it was time to leave. You decided a few weeks before that this was the right time to go, and with some back and forth meetings with the necessary staff, your accommodation requests had been met. Without any hesitation or argument or frustration. It went… oddly smooth.

The meetings and video calls were not good for your heart due to the anxiety they caused, but Alexia was there by your side when she could and you got through them all like they were nothing. Most importantly, you stood your ground. If someone suggested something else or wasn’t sure if it could be done, you hardly flinched, and assertively told them exactly what it was you were asking for. It was kind of hard not to be distracted during them when Alexia would grin like a proud maniac off camera every time you advocated for yourself.

And fortunately for you, by some miracle, the day you both had to leave her flight was later than yours, so you managed to spend the morning together where she helped to make sure you were absolutely ready to go, both in the sense of packing and how you were feeling mentally. You’d never reach a perfect state of mind about going, you were still an anxious wreck, but it was more nerves than anything else. You were prepared, you were ready, you wanted to do this and you were going to do it. Not only that, you were going to try your damned hardest to make sure it went well.

When you received the call that you were officially part of the lineup for the next camp, and when you saw your name in the call-up announcement, it was an unmatchable feeling. Sure, you already knew that you were going to be part of it considering it was all you thought about for weeks, but having your name down with your teammates, old and new, there were no words to describe it.

You were minding your business when the email came through, in the physio room after training for Barça when your phone went off with the notification. With no idea what it could be, you opened it, only to gasp so intensely you could have actually created a blackhole in the room for a second. Where in the past you would have kept that moment to yourself, you couldn’t help but turn to Esmee on the bed beside you and show her it. Her reaction was somewhat like yours, just a little less oxygen-stealing and a bit more reserved. She hardly had time to give you a hug before you were darting out the room and beelining straight for the locker room.

In the midst of your rushing, you nearly knocked over three different members of staff, all of which received flustered apologies from the culprit, you, who was already rounding the corner and out of sight. You hadn’t ever run so fast in your life outside of a football pitch, and you then gave each teammate the fright of their lives by how utterly loud the door slammed open. But it was worth it to see you so consumed by joy, it was written all over your face the minute you walked in. You didn’t exactly mean to announce the news to everyone in there, you only intended to tell Alexia and Ingrid what had happened, but in your excitement you sort of forgot to keep your voice at a minimum. That meant that one second, everybody was quiet and intrigued at what had caused such a reaction, and the next they were all surrounding you with their pride and their congratulatory words when you burst out the news.

You knew the time would come at any point after you had your last call with them, yet it still took you by surprise. It was one of the best feelings you ever had. And for once, the anxiety didn’t completely overboard you, you were on cloud-nine and your mind let you.

Until you actually had to leave, and the moment you were stood by the door with your suitcase, heart racing unbearably fast as you said goodbye to Alexia, it all came flying straight back.

You were, on paper, back where you belonged. But you had to actually get there first, which was a challenge in itself because it felt like the second you stepped out the door and closed it behind you, there really was no going back.

Though, you had to do it eventually as no amount of stalling with minutes spent in Alexia’s embrace was going to hold off the inevitable. It’s just that… two weeks apart from her sounded really unappealing. This international break felt different than the rest – whereas beforehand you would stay in Barcelona as Alexia went to Madrid or whatever country she was playing in for Spain, this time you were obviously heading to Norway. You were grateful that both games for you were played at home, but god you were going to miss her during the break more than you ever had when you’d been apart.

With a sickening amount of reluctance, you eventually did manage to drag yourself away from her and down to the car where both Ingrid and the driver had been waiting a bit longer than they’d hoped for you.

Then, a couple hours later, you were in Norway.

“I can’t believe I’m actually here.” You breathed out shakily as you and Ingrid stood before the hotel the team had booked in Oslo.

“You are actually here.” Ingrid beamed beside you, her arm linked through yours and nudging you out of excitement.

First order of business was finding your room, that was easy. But after that, there was a whole team dinner. Hell.

“I think I might be sick.” You swallowed nervously as the woman beside you laughed and shook her head.

“We’ve got this! Are you ready to go in?”

“‘Ready to go in,’ she asks.” You scoffed, though you contradicted yourself with how you headed towards the entrance. Ingrid tried her best to control her excitement, but she was very self-aware at the fact she probably looked somewhat in pain due to the intense smile she was holding off. Thankfully for her pride, however, you stopped in your tracks just outside the doors to go in, and in turn she frowned a little. You glanced at her, then the doors, and back at her again. “You’ll stick with me always?”

There was only one suitable reply from Ingrid.

“Like glue, søster.”

If there was anyone that stuck to their word, it was her. And it was that final push that gave you an ounce of confidence that was enough to go inside.

Luckily, the two of you were some of the first to arrive, and the others that also had were already up in their rooms, which made your first order of business just that bit easier. Introductions could be saved for later, at dinner.

A whole team dinner. Where the whole team would be. The team you hadn’t seen in years, or hadn’t even met. The team that could either love you or hate you for not representing your country once in the last few years. The team where each person would do anything for the crest on their jerseys, the names on their backs, and the anthem that played before each match.

What on earth had you done.

“Ingrid, I don’t know if I can do this.” You fretted a little later in your room after spending some time there, unpacking and overthinking, before you were due down for dinner. Time had gone far too fast for your liking.

Ingrid had a hand on the door handle as you stood behind her, shaking with nerves and sick to the pit of your stomach. Even forgetting what felt like your inability to socialise and greet people in that moment, you probably wouldn’t even be able to stomach a forkful of food during the meal either. It was merely a recipe for disaster.

“You can, I believe in you. I’ll be there the whole time, alright? You know that. Once you get there and get sat down, we’ll be okay.” She reassured you.

God knows how many times she’d uttered those words or similar over her life, yet she had no qualms doing it then and probably forever. It never failed to amaze you how much patience this woman had.

At that, you followed her out the room and down to the hotel restaurant with a feigned confidence that you wore like armour. If you told yourself you belonged, maybe you would start to believe it. So that’s what you did; you walked in, head held high and a calm expression on your face that you hoped worked as a good disguise for the absolute reactor meltdown happening inside your mind. Alarms going off, red lights flashing, system on overdrive, workers in hazmat suits running riot like headless chickens, buzzers beepi-

“Is this table okay?”

It was one of the ones at the back of the room, a little bit away from the front where Gemma, the manager, would stand with the rest of her staff to welcome everyone back.

Oh fuck. Would she welcome you back and make a big deal out if it?

“Kjære?” Right.

“Sorry, yes, here is fine. We’re the first ones here?” You asked, looking around at the sparse room apart from the cooking staff setting up off to one side.

“Looks like it.”

Over the next ten minutes or so, your teammates slowly began to trail in. Each one came over after spotting Ingrid first, until they spotted you. And every time, their faces lit up immeasurably more when they realised who they'd bumped into.

They were happy to see you. Or at least they seemed it, you weren't a mind reader so could only take their kindness at face value. One by one, they took their time to catch up with you or to properly introduce themselves, bright smiles on their faces and their tones welcoming. Maren and Ada gave you a huge hug, Caro wandered over with a quietly proud look in her eye, Frida immediately took a seat beside Ingrid and delved the three of you into conversation. Karina, Teri, and Celin filled the rest of the table after greeting you, followed by a couple others coming over before finding their seats within the room.

And as simple as that, the hardest part was over.

Did your hands tremble like a magnitude 8.0 earthquake? Yes. Did the amount of strangers in the room terrify you? Undoubtedly. But did you make it through regardless? Of course you did.

You were capable of so much more than your anxious mindset gave you credit for. It was cruel and it was evil, the tricks it’d play on you to make these sorts of things seem much more daunting then they were, but some things would never change and the terror that filled you in the anticipation and the build up to a nerve-wracking occasion was certainly one of them.

You’d built the situation up in your head so much that when you got through the ‘scariest’ part, you didn’t exactly know what to do with yourself or where to go next. All your focus had been on meeting everyone again, when it was over, it all felt very… anticlimactic. T’was a little humbling.

“You coming to get dinner? There’s someone there waiting for you.” Ingrid grinned slyly. Apparently you were so deep in your daydreams you’d missed how everyone had left to go collect their meals. That was a habit you could never shake off.

You stood and trailed behind the dark-haired woman, queueing up along with the team and slowly padding your way to the front. You heard her gasp before you saw her.

“Look who's back!” Heidi. God was it such a relieving sight to see someone you knew, someone that worked for the national team that didn't resent you when you asked for what you needed like they all did in the past. It was refreshing, relieving, and the exact perfect reminder that it wasn’t all doom and gloom, if at all.

The older woman didn’t hesitate in rounding the corner of the buffet setup to engulf you in a bear hug that felt comforting, like a warm welcome back.

“It’s so good to see you again.” You told her, only for her to squeeze you harder, almost forcing the oxygen out of your lungs with the sheer strength of it.

“You don’t say!” She let out a hearty laugh, and despite the years that had passed, not a single thing about her had changed.

Her hair, silver-streaked and woven into the neatest plait on earth, was hardly tucked away under the net she wore and the cool colour of it did nothing to distract away from the warmth her demeanor oozed, nor did the ice blue of her eyes. She was the picture of what living a true, kind life could lead to; one could only hope to age as well as her. Wrinkles dotted her face, though they weren’t from age alone, they were from decades of time well spent, laughing and smiling with people she truly valued, people like you. People whose lives she made a hell of a lot better by being who she was.

There was something about her that, upon first meeting, made you feel at ease, like you had at least one person who understood you in an environment where most didn’t. And years later, you still felt that way and more in her company. Even just her presence gave you a spark of hope, which would sound strange to some, but she was the type of person that restored one’s faith in humanity. The talented chef had stories for centuries, and somehow each had a different life lesson that left every listener dwelling on it in awe the rest of the night. She’d lived through some hardships, many more difficult than most could grasp, yet there was no bitterness in her.

Only when someone dared to mention retirement to her.

“You will never understand how happy I am that you are here.” After she let you go from her embrace, her weathered hands cupped your cheeks with a delicateness only someone like her possessed. They trembled the tiniest bit as her thumbs ran along your cheekbones, gazing up at you in wonder, as if you joining the national team again was like the second coming of Christ.

“Took me some time but nevermind.” You smiled shyly, only for her to tut at you with a stern eyebrow raise and a shake of her head.

“None of that. I have something for you.” Before you could stop her, tell her there was no need, she was rounding the counter and ducking down to grab something from the hot cupboard. She stood up straight, in her arms a silver food platter. And when she took the lid off to reveal a steaming hot meal, there was only one thing it could be. “Your favourite!”

It wasn’t on the menu, not at all, yet she went out of her way to make it anyway. No matter how small a gesture it may seem to others, it meant the world to you. Heidi didn’t have to do that, she didn’t have to treat you like her own blood, but it was just in her nature to be that kind of person. It turned your whole day around.

“Heidi!” You exclaimed, looking at the dish with an ecstatic expression. Single-handedly, she had just solved your food concerns for that evening, because the offer of a safe food cooked by the best that made it was simply no match for whatever tricks your anxiety tried to pull on you. “I can’t believe you! Thank you!”

“I also will make your favourite breakfast tomorrow too, the best vafler in the land.” The wise lady grinned coyly with a wink. “Think of it as a welcome back, to get you settled in, okay? I’m proud of you for coming back, now go sit yourself down before you miss the briefing. Come find me afterwards for a catchup.”

Speechless. You were utterly speechless at her kindness. Every time you saw her again, she seemed to one-up herself without fail.

Internally, Ingrid marvelled at the smile on your face as you sat back down with your food and took a photo of it to show it off to Alexia, before immediately digging into it. It was like night and day, what that one act of kindness had done, because suddenly you weren’t stuck in your head overthinking everything, and instead were just happy to be there. You hardly even flinched at the small message Gemma gave in her briefing at your return, you simply smiled and forgot about it when she moved on to the next topic.

Some things were so simple and easy and small, yet somehow always made the biggest differences. If more people understood that, how far a little kindness could go, God only knows what the world could look like not just for people like yourself but for everyone. For now, however, you were happy to settle for some incredible kjøttkaker med potetmos and the warm, bubbly feeling in your chest at the fact you were surrounded in your life by people that adored you so wholeheartedly, they’d even get excited at a fairly bland meal whilst they were hundreds of miles away in a completely different country.

Alexia decided to refrain from telling you about the teasing she got as a result of checking her phone every minute in the hopes of a text from you, and the gigantic smile with a pink tinge to her cheeks she adorned whenever she did get a message. That was information you would never let her live down.

—

With little fanfare and fuss, the first training session the next day was… fine. It was good. It was different from Barcelona and Frankfurt, every team’s training was wildly different, but you found your groove fairly quick. Some of your teammates and staff even went so far to say it was like you never left, you adjusted that well. Which felt like the highest compliment you could receive, and it was, considering the way it never left your mind for the rest of the day.

What came with your list of amendments and accommodation was the freedom you had to choose how your days went, aside from the football related activities. So once training finished and the cool down in the gym, where you were left alone from anyone you knew previously with a bunch of the players you’d newly met, went off without a hitch and the tactics discussion for the upcoming game came and went, you had the rest of the day to do whatever you wanted.

Initially, you floundered at the overwhelming prospect of plans thrown around by the people you and Ingrid hung around with, as well as others piling in their suggestions, so heading back to your room for a little while seemed like your best bet for the time being.

In your mind, as you sat on the edge of your bed, every idea someone had was an opportunity to try and fit in socially with the team. Slotting in well on the football side was good, best case scenario really and all you could ask for, but feeling like you belonged as a person and not just a player would be the cherry on the cake. So you thought through each suggestion, approaching them like they were tactical styles for a game and trying to guess which one would end in the best result for you, your hands tapping endlessly on your knees as you stared out the window in front of you.

Going out with Celin, Teri, and Karina could be fun, but they were a loud bunch. You were notoriously shy around people you didn’t know, you didn’t want to bring the mood down by being with them. So you could tag along with Caro and Guro and Sophie and a few others, though again apart from Caro you didn’t know them all that well. With people you don’t know, you can’t prepare for hanging with them, which opens up a world of awkwardness. There was Maren who wanted to catch up with you, Frida wondered if you and Ingrid wanted to go to a cafe she liked in the area, there were so many possibilities yet you had no idea where to start. It felt like you had too much to do with too little time, even though it was only the first full day.

Ingrid kept an eye on you from afar, ensuring you didn’t work yourself up too much, until that exact thing happened and you stood abruptly with a groan.

“What’s bothering you?” She prodded gently, dropping her phone to the bed and fixing you with a reassuring look.

“I don’t know what to do the rest of the day.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as Ingrid smiled. She stayed silent, giving you space to think. A moment later, you collected your thoughts and tried your best to construct them. “I just don't know. There's so many choices, I didn't know what was on the agenda for today so I couldn't really think in advance. I also don't want to drag you away from whatever you want to do, so that ma-”

“You know by now that I don't care about that. And if I ever did, if there was something that I was unbelievably desperate to do, I would tell you. But there isn't. I love spending time with you, that'll never change, you're my best friend. So, talk it through with me. Do your thinking out loud, it'll help rather than keeping it all stuck in there and overwhelming you.” Her interruption was stern but with good intentions, a minor warning that ticked all the right boxes.

“Okay.” You nodded, took a deep breath, and sat on the end of her bed, facing her with your legs crossed. “I want to get to know everyone if I can. I want to fit in as a person, not just a player. But I don’t know where, or who, to start with. Everyone is so welcoming and I didn’t really expect that, and now I don’t want to disappoint anyone by not seeing them today.”

“We have two weeks here, remember? We don’t have to do everything possible in Oslo today. Take it easy for today, do what feels right, what you want to do and not what you think everyone else wants you to.”

You considered it for a moment. Then decided that actually made a lot of sense.

“Getting coffee with Frida sounds good.” You stated sheepishly. You’d made a big thing out of nothing, once again. Though, you didn’t spend too long dwelling on that because to the people that mattered, they couldn’t care less about it. In a good way, that is.

“It does. So that’s what we’ll do.”

And that’s what you did.

An hour after your momentary blip, you were out walking the chilly but sunny streets of the capital. You hadn’t been there in a long time, so spending your first day refamiliarising yourself with the city with Frida and Ingrid was a good way to ease into the next fortnight. The young blonde midfielder was great company, and honestly you were glad to finally have the opportunity to get to know her more. Ingrid had sung her praises plenty of times, so to be with her now as well as the dark-haired defender as a buffer was perfect.

The whole afternoon was perfect. The three of you spent hours, dipping in and out of different trinket shops and cafes, whilst conversation flowed easily throughout. Most importantly, you didn’t feel the need to mask much, and that was always the best sign of a budding friendship for you. So when you trudged back to your room, bidding Frida a goodbye as you went your separate ways with Ingrid, you felt you’d had a pretty successful first day. Really, it couldn’t have gone any better if you tried.

There was just one niggle in the back of your mind as you slipped your shoes off and slumped down onto your bed; it was only the first day, and already you missed Alexia a million times more than you thought. You would have done anything to be able to have her waiting for you in the hotel room, ready to welcome you back with open arms and endless reminders of how proud she was. But no, she was in a different country, doing her own thing with her own team on her own schedule, and there was no getting around that. You took a glance at your phone to see it void of notifications from her, just to top it all off.

As a result, despite the day you’d had, you were left feeling pretty flat.

Unfortunately, when you got stuck spiralling, your mind was your own worst enemy. You took your longing for her as a sign that you possibly relied on her too much. Without giving it much thought, you decided that had to change. She didn’t need you nagging her, constantly talking about yourself and how your day went when she had to pull her team and its dividedness together. Distancing yourself from her was for the better, for her sake, or so you thought.

Not much could get past Alexia, however.

“Hi!” The Spaniard said down the phone the second you picked up a couple hours later, after dinner when you were just about to get into bed. Then she cleared her throat, trying to quell her unbridled excitement. “Hola, engel. How was your day?”

“It was good. Nothing… nothing much.” The first red flag of the phone call.

“Oh, really? Your first day training with Norway again was nothing?” She teased lightly, not quite catching the gist of your plan.

“Yeah, it was.”

There was an awkward silence as Alexia frowned in confusion where she waited in the elevator for it to reach her floor. She'd ran from the dinner hall the moment she could get away, just to talk to you. She was expecting an upbeat version of you, not the one she got.

“Are you okay?” She murmured. All she got in response was a half-assed hum.

Ingrid, who was gathering her things from her suitcase to have a shower, couldn't help but eavesdrop. She knew exactly what you were doing, hell, she'd been on the receiving end of it a number of times in the early days of knowing you.

Other people's opinions terrified you, and one sub-topic of that was how scared you were of people thinking you were incapable of doing anything on your own. Incapable of being your own person, of not depending on anyone, of needing your hand held through every little life event. And as someone that hadn't ever been in such a serious relationship before, and had also been called childish and other insults a million times for apparently ‘lacking’ independence, the line between missing someone and being too clingy was blurred for you. Consequently, you did what you did best: avoiding situations that made your chest ache and your mind spiral.

Except that was hard to do when you were doing it in front of two people that knew you best.

“Are you sure you're o-”

“Yes, I'm sure, Alexia.”

Alexia thought she might have been sick, it was so far from how she pictured the day ending. When she called you, she swore she could almost hear you relaying your day with a shy excitement to your voice before you'd even picked up the phone. As it turned out, things couldn't have been further from the truth.

On the other hand, the outsider in all this rolled her eyes. When emotions weren't tied into a situation, it was actually pretty easy to see the real picture.

With absolutely zero hesitation, Ingrid dropped her things on her bed and marched over to you. She could vaguely hear Alexia fumbling a response that you weren't paying a single bit of mind to, but before the midfielder could finish, the phone was snatched from your hands and put on speaker.

“Ingrid! What the hell are you do-”

“Alexia, please don't be discouraged by her. She's panicking because she misses you. And she's worrying because she's never had anyone to miss before, she doesn't want you to think of her as clingy or anything. When we both know she's not clingy, she's in love. So, be her girlfriend, tell her you love her, and get her to tell you how successful her day was. Thank you.”

Just like that, she handed the phone back to you and headed into the bathroom, the lock clicking behind her.

For a few seconds, the line was silent between you and your girlfriend. You were frozen in place where you lay, whilst Alexia had her hand on the handle of her hotel room, a small, amused smile beginning to make its way onto her face at the strange turn of events. Although it upset her to hear what you were really thinking, it was fixable, with only a few words of reassurance. And it just so happened to be that expressing how much she adored you was one of her favourite things to do.

“Is that true?” She asked, finally stepping into her room and leaning back against the door as it shut. There was another pause, until you scoffed lightly, and Alexia broke out into a grin.

“...Maybe.”

Some soft laughter down the phone had you groaning and slapping a hand over your face, whilst the culprit of your embarrassment slumped down on her bed and kept the grin on her face.

“Why would you think that, engel? I told you before you left that I want to hear from you, always, whenever you want. I have my phone notifications at full volume so I don't miss any of your calls or texts.” The blonde recalled the teasing she'd received the night before after Laia called her out for her attachment to her phone, the same teasing she was adamant she wouldn't tell you about. Well, she'd do just about anything to make you feel better. “Everybody keeps teasing me for being on my phone so much, apparently I don't leave it alone.”

“Apparently?” You joked, a small smile growing at the chuckle she replied with.

“Sí. How do you know I'm not checking the weather all the time? You know I hate the rain.”

“No, you just miss me too much.” You weren't wrong there.

“I do, and it's normal for you to miss me too much too. There is no such thing as too much, amor. You're not clingy. I want you to tell me everything, I wish I could talk to you all day every day, I wish I could be there in the cold with you. So please, tell me everything. Even all the boring things. Nothing is boring or too much with you, because it is you. Do you understand?” She spoke earnestly, not an ounce of judgement or mockery in her tone. She spoke with every intention of getting you to believe her, and you fell for it everytime, it was impossible not to.

“I have never missed anyone as much as I miss you right now.”

It was an admission you weren't expecting to voice but one you believed with every fibre of your being. It came out quietly and shyly, because you were sharing a certain truth that scared you. Alexia didn't scare you, that couldn't be further from reality. But sometimes when you thought about it, when you thought about how she was the first person in the world you showed every single part of yourself to, it terrified you of what she could do with all that. You hadn't done that before, ever.

Then she walked into your life, strolling over to you on your first day at Barcelona with an ease to her that gave you butterflies, and all of a sudden half your life was merged with someone else's. You'd spent years building up a wall between your heart and the rest of the world, something you didn't have much of a choice in if you wanted to protect your sanity and will to live. Someone was on the other side of that wall now, had your heart in the palm of their hands, and whilst that was the scariest thing you'd ever done, more than rejoining the national team, when you stepped back and remembered who it was, there wasn't a thing about it you would change.

The back and forth of fear and serenity was tiring, but it was happening less and less. This time, however, you knew it wouldn't happen again when-

“I feel the same way.” She stated definitively, leaving zero room for you to disbelieve her. “I would do anything to be there to watch you play in a Norway jersey with my own eyes. If I wasn't one more thing away from being kicked off the national team then I'd be there for you, of course I would. I really would give anything to be there in person.”

“Really?” You mumbled sheepishly.

“Yes! Yes I would. Without a doubt. I know it scares you that you feel like this, it scares me too. But nothing truly good ever comes without it being at least a little terrifying. Like now, you’re in Norway, playing for your country. It was the scariest thing you’d ever done but you’re there now and in only a couple days you’ll be out on the pitch, doing what you’ve wanted to do for the last few years. It’s always worth it in the end, no?” The last sentence was said with a knowing, soft intonation behind it.

To hear she felt the same was surprising. She was Alexia Putellas, someone that never appeared to show a bit of weakness or fear in anything she did. There was you, who could barely stomach the thought of going to a farmer’s market on a busy day. None of that mattered when you were on the phone with that very ‘fearless’ woman, who was openly admitting that the things she felt scared her, though she knew it was worth it. That you were worth it.

“I had no idea you felt the same way.” Again, she let out a little laugh, a sound that made your heart skip a beat even if that was an incredibly cliche thing to say. You were quickly learning that love actually was quite cliche, and you weren’t the slightest bit mad at it. As someone that never had anyone to experience the cliches with, you wanted to experience all of them, no matter how sickly sweet.

“This is why we talk about things, engel. It’s just me. You know I will never judge you for anything you say to me.”

“I know that.” You told her. Then you went quiet for a few moments, because something that you’d realised a couple months back suddenly made itself known, and in a second it felt like it became a life or death matter to tell the very person it concerned. “Ale, you’re my safe person.”

The woman in question didn’t know what that meant. It still made her blush nevertheless, and she lay in bed with a redness to her cheeks and a coy smile on her face like a lovesick teenager.

“What does that mean?”

It was your turn to blush as you turned to momentarily hide your face in your pillow even though she couldn’t see you. You weren’t embarrassed as such to tell her such a thing, but in your world it was a pretty big title to give someone. Hell, it was the biggest.

Like you had your safe foods, safe routine, safe places, Alexia was the encyclopedia for all that, as well as your best friend and someone you didn’t need to mask around and someone you were madly in love with. If telling her that didn’t scare her off, you might just have to start believing that she did in fact want to spend the rest of her life with you.

However… that didn’t seem like such a shocking thing to you anymore. Maybe in her books, it was a year too late to start thinking that for yourself. But it was new for you, unheard of actually. It brought you immeasurable amounts of comfort, contentment, and pride. It was one of the first notable steps of progress you could recognise within yourself that you felt deserving of, and that was sure to give way to a world of possibilities for your confidence.

She definitely was your safe person, there was no denying that, and you didn’t want to deny it. You didn’t want your insecurities in the way anymore. Ale loved you and that feeling was unrivalled; you couldn’t wait for a lifetime of it.

“It means… I love you. More than anyone or anything. It means that being with you is the greatest comfort of my life and nothing could compare to it.” You started, and Alexia swore she could feel herself growing emotional. “You make the world seem quieter and feel safer. You make me feel like I can do anything because I have you, whether that’s when you’re beside me or just on the phone. I’m more myself around you than any other person on the planet and I’ve never experienced that before. Even better, you love me like that. You love me. The true me. Not the masked version where everything people normally don’t like about me is hidden. You love me even when I don’t love myself and that makes me feel safe. Because in that I feel valued, adored, all those kinds of things and the security that gives me is something I've never had before. Now, I… don't know what I would do without it. I certainly wouldn't be here right now.”

Coincidentally, to Alexia, it was also the biggest compliment she could ever receive. All that you said, was all she could ever dream of hearing and achieving. There was a rush of emotions she felt as a result of your short ramble, too fast for her to identify anything so soon, but there were two outliers that she’d be able to recognise no matter what; love, and pride. God, she felt so much pride towards you and towards herself, because you had gotten yourself where you were then, and because she was the exact person she wanted to be in her relationship. The worries and doubts she had at the start with you couldn’t be further away, there was no world they could exist in when you were saying such unimaginable things to her. Fortunately, she didn’t have to imagine them, they were the truth. They were the reality of the dynamic of your relationship.

Neither of you could ever ask for anything more – from each other, from the world, from your lives. Everything you needed was within each other.

“I will always try to be that person for you, engel. There is nobody else I would rather be.”

That was a pretty big statement in itself.

She didn’t care for being a footballer, for being Alexia Putellas. All she cared for was being your girlfriend, your safe person, the best version of those two she could be. The rest were just bonuses to her now. The gravity of what she just said wasn’t lost on you, it was perhaps the greatest verbal demonstration of her love she had ever given. You were pretty sure your life peaked in that moment.

“So, stop making me cry and tell me how your day went.” Alexia said, and you heard her sniffle quietly afterwards. You laughed, and she laughed too, both nearly delirious with the affection you had for each other. “I only have so long before Irene comes back and she is not seeing me like this. Hurry. I want to hear it all.”

At her request, you spent the next half hour relaying the events of your day, whilst Alexia lay there on her back, staring up at the ceiling, a hopeless and proud smile on her face and a hand over her heart, trying to calm the fluttery feeling in her chest that only increased with every bit of good news you revealed. She would simply never be able to vocalise how proud she was, the short five letter word simply wasn’t enough for her.

But with a miserable amount of reluctance, there came a time where you had to hang up for the night. And as silly as it may seem, going from talking to her, albeit on the phone, and having the comfort of her again, only to hang up and have nothing but an empty bed was a downer. Thankfully though, you did still have the woman that led you to have that conversation with you.

After you dropped your phone to the bed with a grumpy sigh, you looked to your left where Ingrid was on her bed, earphones in on her laptop. It seemed you were filled to the brim with adoration that night, because you got up and went to join her. You slumped down beside the dark-haired woman and rested your head on her shoulder, though opted out of speaking. This, Ingrid knew, was a silent way of saying thank you for her intervention earlier. She smiled slyly, leaning her head down on top of yours.

“I did it for you, you know. Not to be against you or aggravate you. There was no way I was letting you sit there and prevent yourself from letting her be there for you just because you were too worried and caught up in your own head. She loves you, she wants to be there for you. You love her, so allow her to be there for you, alright?” You smiled and nodded, though it quickly turned into a fairly dramatic frown at the mention of the woman you’d just had to say goodbye to.

“I miss her.”

In another country’s capital, a certain Spaniard was in the exact same position. She hadn’t moved from where she was when she was on the phone to you, and the smile on her face hadn’t shifted either. Just her luck that Irene walked into the sight, and Alexia had no choice but to sit up, slide one of her hotel slippers off her foot, and lightly launch it at the defender, who laughed at her for the dramatic Romeo and Juliet-esque scene she stepped into.

When Alexia went to sleep that night, her cheeks aching from the sheer amount of time she spent smiling, it was to the sounds of her brainstorming of all the ways she could show off her pride when she had you back in Barcelona.

But before then, you had a game to think about.

—

Part Two

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #ingrid engen #woso fic #alexia putellas #fcb femení x reader #woso #woso community

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ego13 · 4 months ago

Text

think i should text my ex ── k.mj

─ while drinking with your ex-girlfriend, you both had no idea how the evening would end.

now playing : JAEHYUN ─ Roses

warnings, sensitive content : toy use (strap), rough sex, desparate sex, fingering, face sitting, cunnilingus, face fucking (kinda), breast play, porn with some plot, unprompted sex, hickeys, posessive behaviour, pet names, spanking, dry humping, switch!minjeong

word count : 3.5k+

authors note : this was a request from my pookie, but she asked me to leave her name anonymous, + I slightly changed her request, I hope you don't mind babe😭 AND I ACCIDENTALLY UPLOADED ONE OF MY DRAFTS, you didn't saw that..........

you don't call me

you moved on like you'd have enough

watching videos of her live performances where she acted like she was born to shine on stage, but you, alas, saw it too late. when you were going through a breakup with her, you couldn't even imagine in what direction her whole life could turn, and obviously, on the one hand, you felt envious that she became more successful only after you leave, but on the other hand, you were incredibly proud of her, incredibly happy that the little girl you knew from school had achieved everything she dreamed of in her life.

you've been in a relationship with your... boyfriend for a few months now? it's hard to call it a relationship, because with his presence you're just trying to patch up the hole in your heart due to the absence of your only girl which you need. he understood this, that's why he treated you like shit, because if there are no feelings, what's the point of treating a person as an equal?

and you understood that because of your insecurity and hopelessness you had driven yourself into this corner with no way out, but can you blame yourself for trying to make yourself feel better? the key word is trying, because you've been living for a month now with the thought that without minjeong in your life you'll never be as happy as you are with her.

and it's really true, you knew each other almost from childhood, understood each other at a glance and always supported each other, but something was bothering you, you thought that you had cooled towards her, you left without turning around, not even suspecting that this would become your biggest mistake in life.

not a day went by when you didn't reproach yourself for breaking the heart of someone like her, such a bright, gentle and fragile person, and it touched you to the depths of your soul. but we are all human, we all make mistakes, especially those wrong decisions after which it will be impossible to go back.

was it all in vain? yes. definitely yes, nothing can compare to the painful, ever-reminding and aching emptiness you experience every time you look through your shared photos, memorizing each of them and putting them somewhere in the depths of your mind. in each photograph, highlight the smallest detail about her.

her silly smile, the way her hand rested gently and unobtrusively on your waist in almost every photo, you smiled weakly without realizing it, remembering how shy and embarrassed she was, how her beautiful face would blush a crimson shade every time your hand even accidentally touched her own and the way she would occasionally tug it back, as if afraid you would think she was being pushy.

is it forced upon you? fuck, no, you would give anything to feel her palm next to yours again, remembering how cold her rough hands were forever, how her fingertips, worn down by the guitar strings, touched the tender skin of your back in the morning, connecting the moles with her touches like constellations, the way she confidently remembered the location of each one.

suddenly you felt a transparent tear drop running down your cheek, forcing you to finally come to your senses. there was a half-empty bottle of whiskey lying nearby, which you were about to finish in less than fifteen minutes, and it would seem that the drunker you are, the bolder you are, and it was really so, because you felt like you wanted to break the silence with minjeong that lasted almost two years right now.

your hand unconsciously reached for the phone that was lying on the small coffee table in front of the leather sofa you were sitting on. obviously it wasn't hard for you to find her number, and within a few seconds you were in an empty chat with her, replaying in my head every sweet message of hers and every ridiculous and perhaps even sometimes inappropriate joke of hers.

you: minjeong? is that you?

not expecting a response from her, you were ready to put your phone aside and regret a thousand times that you had written to her at all, until it vibrated from a new notification.

mj: y/n? why are you texting me?

you: nothing, just wanted to make sure that you're doing fine

you: and just letting you know that im so proud of you, minjeong

you: the fact that now you have everything that you've ever dreamt about

you: you are a great girl and I am very glad that I once had a chance to be in a relationship with you and see your talent in conception.

fresh tears had already started to flow freely down your face, ruining your makeup, but now it was the last one that worried you, happy moments with her started to play in your head again, making you sicker and sicker.

mj: thanks, y/n

mj: are you okay? i don't think you would text to me so late

you: no, im not okay, just missed you so much, yk

mj: missed me?

you: yeah, just a little

mj: are you sure that you missed me just a little, y/n?

you felt your hands tremble as you read her last message, fuck, you forgot that this person knows you inside and out, and now you tried to hide such an obvious stupidity from her, what a pitiful sight...

you: okay, not just a little, is this what you wanted to hear?

mj: yes, I just like it when people tell me only the truth, without lies

you: only truth? and if I ask you what you want now, will you be able to answer the truth?

it was obvious that alcohol had loosened your tongue, so now you didn't feel any responsibility, any fear after your words, which surprised you, because if you were sober now, you would definitely fall into the ground just from the thought of texting her.

mj: you

you: what do mean?

mj: you know what i mean, i want you, and you want me to tell the truth, this is what i am doing now

your fingertips trembled even more as heat coursed through your entire body, was she serious? you really couldn't believe it, maybe she missed you too? maybe she's also going crazy from the realization that you'll never be together? maybe she also looks through the photos of you and your happiness every night with tears in her eyes?

it all seemed unreal, unreal, seriously, you couldn't believe in your life that after so much time of silence, suffering and regrets she still wants, still loves, still remembers you?

you: are you serious?

mj: *1 photo attachment*

mj: I'm in the studio now, you can come if you want

opening the photo she sent you with anticipation, all you could see was her lap, on which lay her black, slightly worn and sticker-covered electric guitar. at that moment your palms started to sweat, sweating from the realization that it could happen.

you: I'll come, minjeong, just wait for me, please.

just ten minutes later you were standing right outside the door to her studio, a bag of alcohol in your hands, knowing that you both would need it, at least you clearly weren't planning on doing... this sober.

opening the door, she greeted you with only a weak but sincere smile, gesturing for you to come inside the simple music studio, with posters of her favorite artists hanging on the walls, several vinyl records lay on the table in front of the mixer console, and crumpled, written-on pieces of paper were clumsily scattered across the table.

"sorry for the mess," she said, scratching the back of her head awkwardly, what the fuck is this mess? did she seriously think this was important to you right now? what's important are the fucking scattered drafts of the text, and not her presence, which you've wanted to feel next to you for so long?

"I see that you didn't come empty-handed," She smirked, noticing the cardboard bag of glass bottles that clanked every time you took a step. you just nodded awkwardly at her words, placing it on the table in front of a small, modest sofa.

her attention immediately fell on the contents, looking at the bottles with interest until her choice settled on a bottle of elite gin, which she took out of the bag, placing it next to two glasses.

"so shall we celebrate our little reunion?" she giggled as she poured the bitter alcohol into a glass, clinking glasses with you and drinking the entire contents in one gulp, unlike you, while you took a few small sips you felt the alcohol burning your mouth, feeling the slightly sweet chocolate taste of gin, immediately grimacing.

"so much time has passed and you still haven't learned to drink," she smiled, nibbling on a slice of lemon, setting her glass aside until her gaze finally focused on you.

"well, how are you? how is your boyfriend?"

you immediately started complaining to her about her, telling her what an asshole he is, how he makes you feel inferior, her gaze immediately softened, as if she was truly sympathetically listening to your entire monologue.

"damn... he really is an asshole, I bet he couldn't even make you cum after all this time."

your eyes immediately widened, hearing the words that flew out of her mouth, you thought that you were hearing things, that this was all just a figment of your sick imagination.

"what?" you asked, hoping to clarify whether she had actually said what you wanted to hear, or whether your drunken mind had simply made it all up.

"i said, did he made you cum at least once?"

you nodded your head shyly, confirming her words, which made her smirk again, moving closer to you until your knees touched each other.

"then maybe I should remind you what it's like to be with a woman?" her hand immediately slid to your inner thigh, stroking it through the fabric of your pants, making you sigh heavily, it was like giving her the green light to do her thing, leaning in until your lips were barely a millimeter apart.

her other hand slid up from your thigh, tracing slowly along your ribcage and the side of your breast, stopping just short of being inappropriate. she could feel your soft curves through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. fingers found your nipple through the dress, pinching and rolling the hardened nub between them. her hot breath was heavy against your neck.

"you're so beautiful... i missed this," she said, crashing her lips against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, her filthy tongue pushed past your lips, exploring your mouth and tangling with yours.

breaking the kiss, she trailed her lips down the column of your neck, sucking and biting at the delicate skin. her hands reached down and grabbed the hem of your t-shirt, yanking it up and over your head in one swift motion.

"god... look at you," minjeong breathed, her eyes roaming over your naked body hungrily, she leaned down and captured one of your nipples between her lips, sucking and flicking the hardened bud with her tongue, she growled, rolling your nipple between her fingers and giving it a sharp pinch, what made you groan loudly, leaning your back against the back of the sofa.

she started to switching between your tits, sucking and biting and licking until your nipples were stiff peaks, glistening with her saliva, kneading and squeezing your breasts roughly.

her other hand slid lower, slipping underneath the fabric of your jeans, to run a finger along your slit. she groaned at the feeling of your wetness, your arousal coating her digit.

"shit, you're so drenched," she muttered, not moving away from your chest like a small child who can’t get away from it. her fingers slowly massaged your clit, until her fingers dived under your panties, slowly sliding her finger inside, slowly stretching you out.

"tightest pussy ever, baby..." she buried her nose in the crook of your neck, gently biting the tender skin, leaving behind barely visible redness, slowly pushing into you, doing it so gently that the unpleasant sensations practically disappeared.

Her lips moved down to your other breast, sucking hard on the nipple as she sank a second finger knuckle-deep into your dripping core, thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

her hand slid down to your ass, squeezing and kneading the firm globes as she rocked against you. she could feel your arousal coating your thighs, feeling you tremble in her arms from the impending orgasm.

minjeong felt your body convulsing beneath her as your orgasm crashed over you, your velvety walls clenching rhythmically around her fingers, making her bite her lower lip at the sight of you underneath her.

"oh, cumming so hard for me, yea?" she licked her lips, gasping surprisingly when your shaking hands pushed her, causing her to fall backwards onto the sofa, hands immediately dived under her skirt, causing her to let out a quiet moan, throwing her head back.

"what are you..." before she could finish speaking, another moan escaped her lips, feeling the pad of your thumb touch her clit, and the sight of you slowly kneeling down in front of the sofa made her blush.

slowly, deliberately you leaned closer, your breath ghosting over the lace of hsr panties, you could smell her arousal, could feel the heat emanating from her cunt, making you lick your lips in anticipation. you tossed the lace aside and settled between her now bare trembling thighs, the sight of her glistening folds making your mouth water, you missed seeing her like this, so needy and trembling.

you kept you touch gentle, well... at first, not wanting to overwhelm her, so you slowly traced your lips and tongue along her slit, teasing her, tasting her essence, you could feel how she was trembling, hear the hitch in her breath.

"i could devour you all night, minjeong-ah," you punctuated your words with a firm suck on her swollen clit, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of her tongue, you could feel your squirming and gripping the skin of the sofa, a muffled whimper escaping her mouth, diving in and burying her face between her thighs, roughly squeezing them with his hands, not allowing her to bring her legs together, you licked and suckled her dripping sex with renewed fervor, wanted to make her fall apart on her tongue.

you could hear the desperate, muffled moans and whimpers escaping her mouth, her desparate sounds spurred you to redouble your efforts, tongue delving deeper, stroking and probing her dripping walls that was already clenching around nothing.

your nose pressed against that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, and you rubbed it in tight circles, breathing in the heady scent of her arousal, you could feel her start to tremble and tense, her thighs squeezing around your head like a vice.

"fuck, fuck, fuck! yes... don't stop, don't you dare to fucking stop, y/n!"

after those words she finished with a loud, muffled whine, repeating the your name, feeling her body tremble in an attempt to recover from the waves of orgasm that washed over her, arching her back, you continued to lick and suckle gently, helping her out the waves of her intense orgasm, licking her clean.

as she slowly descended from her high, you placed soft, reverent kisses along her inner thighs, savoring the afterglow, until her shaking hands pulled you by the neck, pulling you into a lazy kiss, still breathing heavily from the intensity of her orgasm.

"you're divine, fuck, i can't get enough..." she smirked into the kiss as her hands grabbed your hips and sat you down on her lap, causing her skirt to ride up slightly.

"sit on my face, now," her stern voice struck you, but you understood that you had no right to disobey, sighing nervously, you watched with anticipation as she tied her hair into a messy ponytail while you positioned yourself on her, with your thighs on the both sides of her head, when she nodded, giving you a sign, you carefully moved lower, feeling her hot breath on your wet folds.

she leaned in, dragging the flat of her tongue along your inner thigh, feeling her quiver and sigh, her breath was hot against your sensitive skin, she smirked up at you, her chin glistening with your slick arousal, as she continued to pump her tongue in and out of your tight, wet cunt. her other hand slid up your stomach, palming a soft breast, pinching and rolling the stiff nipple between your fingers as she could feel how you was arching into her touch, the way your beautiful desperation written all over your delicate features.

fingers of her other hand was digging into the soft flesh of your ass as you instinctively spread your legs wider, she alternated between long, slow licks and rapid flicks of her tongue, teasing your clit mercilessly.

after only a few minutes she could feel the way your body tensing, your breath coming in short gasps as she brought you closer to the edge, she latched onto your clit, sucking and flicking her tongue over it rapidly, could feel your hips bucking against her face, how your thighs trembling around her head as she brought you closer and closer to your release.

you moaned, repeating her name, your voice echoing off the walls of her studio as your body convulsed with the intensity of your climax, your pussy spasmed and clenched around her tongue, gushing your release all over her hand and face.

"yes, baby, fucking drench my face," when you got down on her knees, she leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on her tongue. pulling away only after a few minutes, she smirked, did you see in her eyes a spark of something... incomprehensible? as if she had started something that she would not say.

"close your eyes and wait for me," she said, kissing you on the lips before pulling away, despite the stupidity of this situation, you still closed your eyes. while she was gone, all you could hear was a strange rustling in the room, when you were about to open your eyes and look at her, you felt something... hard and silicone press agains your thigh, causing you to open your eyes in surprise, seeing her rubbing her strap against your skin.

"you're fucking pervert, minjeong, does all guitarists keep things like this in their studio?" your words made her smirk, instead of answering she covered your mouth with her hand, "you talk too much, baby..."

she slid a hand between your thighs, her fingers trailing teasingly through your still dripping folds, which seemed to beckon and invite her inside.

she used her free hand to squeeze your ass and line herself up, the swollen head of her strap nudging insistently at your entrance, she raised her hips up, burying herself to the hilt in one powerful thrust, continued to grind her hips in slow, sensual circles, dragging the tip against your G-spot with each move.

"fuck... you're damn tight, y/n..." she could feel the way the you trembled and quaked beneath her, could hear the breathless little mewls and whimpers that spilled from your beautiful kiss-swollen lips which made her to tightened her grip on your thighs, kneading the soft flesh, pulling you harder against her with each roll of her hips, the wet, obscene sound of your fucking shamelessly filled the room, the lewd slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls.

she could feel her own climax building, the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in her core, and after a few seconds you heard her breathing quicken, her movements became a little more jerky, but she almost immediately regained her pace.

"did you finish before me?" you giggled, to which you felt a rough slap on your ass, making you whine, "keep quiet," she punctuated her words with a sharp thrust of her hips, slamming up into your dripping cunt, and a series of repeated harsh slaps almost knocked you off.

minjeong could feel how your walls starting to flutter and clench around her, your body tensing as your climax approached, own surged up to meet your downward thrusts, driving her thick silicone cock deeper, harder, faster, the air was thick with the musky scent of sex and sweat, which slowly drove you both crazy.

with a final, rough thrust, minjeong buried herself inside your spasming cunt, she could feel how your release crashing over her in waves, your pussy gripping and rippling around her thick shaft like a vice.

"yes, baby... just like that, so beautiful for me, fucking only for me, not for your shitty boyfriend," as the final aftershocks of her orgasm. as the last feelings of your mutual climax began to subside, she slumped back against the couch, pulling your limp, sated body against her own as she slowly wrapped her arms around the you possessively, holding her close as you both struggled to catch your breath.

her heart raced beneath her ribs, her skin flushed and slick with sweat, pressed her lips to the top of your head, placing a surprisingly tender kiss in your wet disheveled hair.

"missed this, missed you..."

it's killing me to know

that there's someone else out there

buying you roses.

#gg x reader #girl group x reader #wlw #sapphic #kpop smut #aespa #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #girl group #girl group x fem reader #kim minjeong #aespa minjeong #aespa winter #winter #winter x reader #minjeong x reader

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