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[sceletaflores]

HALF YOUR BRAIN JUST AIN’T THERE!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x babysitter!fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 11k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, pov switching, trailer park joel awooga wooga, tommy miller appearance because daddy i love him, joel is kinda sleazy and pervy, large girthy age gap (53/early 20s), and it’s very much brought up, finding joel’s porn drawer because he’s vintage, reader is called jailbait like once, reader is also a little creep lmao, just two freaks coming together praise, masturbation, fingering, brief allusions of fisting, the BAREST hint of ass play, p in v, rough sex, riding, pussy pronouns, spanking, finger sucking (told you i can’t stop), erectile dysfunction? yeah we don’t know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he’s twenty, porn with too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i blame tommy gunn for this…and my period for rearing its ugly head and making me act like an animal. i don’t know i guess my brain is just fully rotted, but y’all’s are too so here’s a nice little gift from me to you, i’m lovingly placing this on your dash xoxo. this isn’t really based on manchild sorry for the false advertising babies, i just thought the lyric was super cute and it’s been stuck in my head so yeah here we are lmao. hope y’all love it, mwah!

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S HEADPHONES: Manchild - Sabrina Carpenter

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! plus the delicious icon from @iamasaddie!

joel miller needs a babysitter, you’re back in town…

Gruene hasn't changed much. Not really.

You're not sure how much different it'd be after only a couple years away, but still. Something in you had expected it to feel even smaller—like the way old t-shirts shrink in the wash when you’re not paying attention.

The air felt the same when you first stepped out of your beat up Chevy, heavy and humid like a wet mouth. The pavement in front of your house still burned the bottom of your shoes, and the cicadas were buzzing in the dry grass like they never stopped.

You left for college thinking you’d never come back. And yet, here you are. Spending summer back in your hometown, a little more than half a degree under your belt, flat broke, and bored to death.

Your room’s the same, maybe just a little smaller now that you’ve lived other places, slept in other beds. All the posters are still up, faded from the sun and curling at the corners. Your mom left your old tennis trophies on your dresser, like maybe she thought you’d want to see them. You don’t, not really. You appreciate the effort anyway, at least she didn’t turn it into a yoga room or a place to keep extra boxes and Christmas decorations.

You try not to spend too much time at home, even though you technically don’t have anywhere else to go. You kill time with long drives down the streets you memorized years ago, past beat up gas stations with sun bleached lotto signs and eighteen wheelers parked in the back.

You try your hand at some half-hearted job hunting at a few different places that promise to call but never do. And you sit in the back booth of an old diner where you and your friends used to sneak fries from abandoned tables and smoke paper wrapped joints in the alley out back.

Every place you go feels like a ghost town version of what you remember. Familiar, but all hollowed out.

“You know who might be looking for help?” Your mom says one morning, standing at the stove fussing over a pan of bacon. “Joel Miller, you remember him don’t you?”

You pause, your fork stuck hovering just above the plate. “Sarah’s dad?”

“Mhm. I ran into him at the market a couple weeks ago and we got to catching up. He’s needing to pick up some extra work, and it’s just him, you know. Sarah’s starting high school in the fall but he’s still not wanting to leave her on her own. He looked stressed, poor thing.”

You hum warily, pushing your eggs around your plate to distract from the way your stomach flutters.

Joel Miller.

You haven’t heard that name in years. Not since you stopped babysitting Sarah, not since you left. It has something low and guilty stirring somewhere deep inside you.

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s floating back into your life like cigarette smoke—all pungent and sour and impossible to ignore. In a town of less than two thousand people, you were bound to circle around some old memories sooner or later. And Joel Miller was a big one.

Mr. Miller was a few years older than your mom, a single dad that lived with his daughter in the trailer park a few miles past the city limit. You met him when you were seventeen and trying to save as much as you could for college, when your puny part time job flipping burgers and serving ice cream cones wasn’t cutting it. 

He needed someone to pick up Sarah from school and watch her until he got home from work, you needed the extra money. It seemed like a perfect fit.

But Joel was always…different. He scooped you up off the gravel and carried you into his living room to bandage up your knee when you took a bad fall outside his trailer. He never ratted you out when he caught you smoking one of his Marlboros in his backyard after you put Sarah to bed one night. He drove you home when you got too drunk at a field party and couldn’t stomach the thought of calling your mom. 

You can still remember the way his truck smelled—gasoline, sunbaked leather, sawdust. 

He didn’t say much, just kept his gaze trained on the road as you watched him through glassy eyes while Johnny Cash floated through the cab. He looked back once, slow and quiet, like he was really thinking something over. 

It’s been a long time since you thought about that night, but the reminder of it resurfaces sharp and sudden, like a thumb pressed into a bruise.

Now, your mom’s pouring more coffee into your cup and saying his name like it’s no big deal, like she didn’t just drop a live wire into your lap. Like he didn’t take up way too much room in your seventeen year old imagination.

“You should go down there and talk to him sometime,” she says, casual. “It might be a good way to make some money while you look around for something else.”

You bite back a grimace, conflicted. “Isn’t Sarah old enough to stay home alone by now?”

Your mom shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe, but like I said Joel’s always been a little…anxious about leaving her on her own too many nights. She’s at that age, you know—boys, phones, lord knows what else.”

You frown, stabbing at your eggs. You only remember Sarah as the sweet little girl who’d beg to stay up and watch Disney with you, who was more interested in her Barbie dolls than any screen. You used to braid her hair while she did her times tables, let her wear some of your lip gloss when she begged.

You take a sip of coffee, the burn of it trickles down from your throat to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “You really think he’d hire me again?” 

Your mom shrugs again, plating the bacon. “I don’t see why not. Sarah always loved you, Joel too. He’s asked about you once or twice, said you were a real good girl. Very responsible and all that.”

You try not to laugh at that. 

Good girl. Responsible. Right.

You nod vaguely, standing to clear your plate into the trash even though it’s still half full. “Maybe,” you mutter. “I��ll think about it.”

Later that night, alone in your room, you find yourself scrolling through Facebook like an angsty teenager. 

You kicked your sheets off a while ago, cracked your window open to let in the cool breeze swirling outside. Crickets sing quietly in the background, only drowned out every once in a while by the sound of cars passing your street.

Joel’s profile is still public, but it’s sparsely updated. A new truck photo here, a blurry picture of Sarah’s eighth grade promotion there. She looks the same, maybe a little older. Her hair’s longer, but still curly as ever.

There’s no recent pictures of Joel anywhere. Not posted by him or any of his friends. You can’t tell if the feeling that blooms inside of you is disappointment or something else entirely.

You’re about to exit the app when finally, a tagged post catches your eye.

A post by an account with the name Henry B. attached to it. It’s just a grainy photo of someone’s backyard littered with wood pallets and stray tools, Joel standing in the middle of it all with a few other people you don’t recognize.

His account is tagged in the caption underneath. Big thanks to my buddy Joel Miller for the extra set of hands tonight. Saved our ass! It’s dated June 13, 2023.

You pause, your thumb hovering over the screen. So he’s still handy, you think distantly, chewing on your bottom lip.

You remember that much. There were always new projects cluttering the yard in front of his trailer. A crib for the expecting couple a few doors down, a rocking chair with ornate vines and flowers carved into the armrests, a soccer goal for Sarah to practice with when she started getting serious about it in the fifth grade.

You zoom in on the picture, just a little.

The angle’s weird and it’s overexposed as shit. Joel’s face is half shadowed by an old Longhorns baseball cap, but even still—there’s that jaw. That mouth. That same broad width of his shoulders you used to trace with your eyes when he’d lean on the doorframe after he got home from work. 

It’s still an older picture, and you can’t help but wonder how much he’s changed since.

You breathe through your nose, one long uninterrupted breath before you close the app and toss your phone face down on the mattress.

Joel Miller was handsome when you were in high school and stupid and still biting your nails. 

He was a late forty-something, tired around the eyes. Always in pair of ratty, stained jeans and those soft, worn down flannels with the sleeves rolled up. Sarah’s dad. The hot one, according to the girls at school. The divorced one, according to the snooty moms at the PTA. He was tall and strong, thick arms with dark hair dusted along veiny muscle. Big hands that were calloused and rough to the touch when he slipped you a couple folded twenties at the end of every night. 

You haven’t seen him since the summer after you graduated, but sometimes you still think about the way he used to look at you.

Like he shouldn’t.

Like he knew he shouldn’t, and did it anyway. 

You can still feel it. That heat, that weight. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long when you bent down to grab your homework off the coffee table. The way his voice got low and syrupy when he asked what you were doing that weekend.

You were young then, but now?

Now you’re not sure who you are, not entirely—but you know you’re not that same girl. You’ve lived. You’ve done things he couldn’t even guess at.

You’ve grown up. And you wonder if Joel would notice too.

You don’t plan on going. Not really.

The next day, your mom leaves a note taped to the fridge that says she’s out running errands and won’t be back until later. You stare at it for a while, then glance at the clock.

It’s barely noon.

You have nothing to do. No plans. No job. So you get into your boiling hot car, roll the windows down, and drive.

You’re not sure what makes you do it. 

Maybe it’s the antsy feeling that’s been worming around under your skin since you got here. Maybe it’s the way Joel’s name has been bouncing off all the corners of your mind like a moth against glass ever since your mom said it.

Either way, you find yourself veering onto a familiar exit off the highway, tires crunching under gravel until it turns to dirt when you pull into the same trailer park on the edge of town. The same one you spent most nights back in high school.

You sit in your car for a little longer than necessary, keys still in the ignition, engine ticking quietly as it cools.

The place hasn’t changed much either. Same sloped roof, same white paneling, same wind chimes clinking together on the porch. There’s a pair of muddy work boots by the steps, and your stomach knots.

You didn’t bother calling ahead. You don’t even know if he has the same number. You’re regretting that now.

You should leave. You really should. But you’re already pulling the car door open and stepping into the dry afternoon heat. The air’s thick again, the sun sitting high and mean in the sky. Your shirt sticks to the sweaty skin along your spine as you walk through the gate and up the short gravel path.

You hesitate at the foot of the stairs, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple times like that’ll magically relive all your nerves. You wonder, and almost hope, if Sarah will be the one to open the door. If she’ll even remember you.

Then, the screen door cracks open before you can knock.

Joel’s standing there. He looks the same as the last time you saw him.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters, opening the door wider. He’s in jeans, barefoot, nothing but a tank top clinging to his chest, a dark patch blooming at the collar where it’s damp with sweat. “Look at you.” 

No, not the same.

Older. Broader, somehow. More worn in, like a favorite jacket that’s been well loved. His hair’s longer than you remember, messier. His beard is thicker too, dusted with more gray, and there’s a little more weight around his middle. But his eyes are just the same—dark, steady, and sharp in a way that makes you feel instantly, achingly seventeen again.

He looks you over once. Not quick. Real slow. Real deliberate. A single drag of his eyes from your flip flops to the shorts you maybe shouldn’t have worn. His gaze sticks when it reaches your chest, lingers there a beat too long before flicking back up to your mouth. And then, finally, your eyes.

You shift your weight, offering a small smile. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Don’t start with that ‘Mr. Miller’ bullshit. You’re grown now.”

Your stomach tightens.

“I, uh...my mom said you might be looking for help,” you say, fighting the urge to squirm where you stand. “With Sarah, I mean.”

He leans against the doorframe, one hand gripping the wood above his head. The movement lifts his shirt just enough to show a strip of his stomach, a trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweats. “She did, huh?”

You nod, still frozen in place at the bottom of the steps.

Joel lets the silence hang in the air, heavy and charged. Then he huffs a quiet breath through his nose—half amusement, half something else—and steps aside. “You comin’ in or what?” he asks, jerking his head impatiently, giving you another long, lazy once over. “Ain’t polite to keep an old man waitin’, kid.”

Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, and with one last quick, steadying breath you hope Joel doesn’t notice, you climb the stairs.

Joel hadn’t expected to see you again. At the very least like this, showing up at his place in the middle of the day—standing at the bottom of his porch like a mirage in the heat, older and more grown in all the places a man like him shouldn’t be noticing. 

And sure as hell not in those shorts.

He watches you walk past him into the living room, slow and uncertain, that little sway in your hips you maybe don’t even mean to have. Or maybe you do.

Either way, it’s a goddamn sight.

Joel closes the door with a soft click, dragging a hand over his mouth like that’ll help wipe the look off his face. It doesn’t. The look of you—bare legged and smiling, sun kissed and back in his house after all this time—sticks to the inside of his skull like syrup. 

You look around the room with a small smile, eyes scanning the familiar furniture. Some of it’s new, some of it’s the same. Joel’s never been much for decorating. You pause in front of the bookshelf he built a few years back, Sarah’s old school pictures still sit in a few mismatched frames next to a couple of paperbacks.

He clears his throat, scratching at his beard so he has something to do with his hands as he walks to the kitchen. “You want somethin’ to drink? Water, iced tea? I think I got Coke in the fridge somewhere.”

“I’m good, thanks.” You follow slowly, looking younger somehow in the kitchen light. You rest your hip against the doorway, eyes watching him as he walks to the fridge. “I won’t stay long. I just figured I’d stop by real quick and see if you still needed some help.”

Joel pulls the fridge open anyway, grabbing a beer from the half empty six pack. He cracks the tab with a soft hiss and leans back against the counter. “Sarah’s mostly independent now. She don’t need a sitter like she used to, but I still get caught up workin’ late. Don’t like the idea of her bein’ here by herself too often. 'Specially not with some of the boys sniffin’ around lately.”

You laugh, soft and bright. “Well, I’ve got time,” you say, toying with a loose thread on your cutoffs. “I don’t know how much help you actually need, but my schedule’s pretty much open. I can do evenings, weekends, whatever you want.”

Joel has to bite back a grin. Whatever he wants. 

If you only knew the half of what he really wants.

Joel shifts his weight against the counter. “It wouldn’t be every night,” he says, shaking his head. “Just the evenings I pick up extra hours, or if I get called out for a job.”

You nod. “I can help. You don’t have to worry about paying me a whole lot. I’ll just be happy to keep busy.”

His mouth pulls into something that might be a smile. “I’ll pay you,” he says, almost gruff. “You’re doin’ me a favor.”

The silence that follows feels familiar. Not awkward—just full. A little tight around the edges. 

He’s always known how to talk to you, but now there’s something different to it. You’re not seventeen anymore. Not biting your lip and looking away when he catches your eye. You’re standing there calm as you please, looking straight at him, like you already know he’s thinking things he shouldn’t.

Joel watches you from across the kitchen, beer can sweating against his palm. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring warm air that doesn’t help much with the heat climbing under his skin. You’re standing there across the way from him like nothing’s changed, like you never left. Like no time has passed at all.

Except that it has. And it shows.

“You still in school?” he asks, voice rougher than he means it to be.

You blink, head tilting to the left. “Yeah. I’m up in Chicago now, Northwestern.”

“Big shot,” Joel whistles low, nodding appreciatively. “That’s a ways away from here.”

You shake your head, smile small and bashful. “It is. It’s expensive as hell too, my scholarship’s the only reason I’m there.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat, impressed. “Smart girl.”

“I try.” You shrug, but there’s pride under it. “I’ve got one year left, usually I stay for the summer to try and make as much as I can in the city. I—I just needed a breather, I guess. Some time to figure shit out, you know?”

There’s something soft in your tone when you say it, an openness he didn’t expect, and maybe shouldn’t pry into. But part of him wants to. Always has.

“You don’t seem like the type that needs figurin’ out,” Joel says, voice a little quieter now. “Always thought you had your head on straight.”

Your smile flickers into something crooked, something secret. “That’s because you didn’t really know me.”

He chuckles, deep and rough. “No, sweetheart. I think I knew you just fine.”

Your eyes lock for a second too long after that, thick enough with heat and history to make the air feel heavier than it already is.

You look away first, your eyes flicking to the living room. “I, uh–sorry, do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Joel gestures vaguely with his free hand. “Go ahead, you remember where it is.”

You push off the doorway with one last grateful smile and duck down the hallway, footsteps silent against the linoleum. Joel watches until you disappear around the corner, his gaze dipping low without shame.

He waits until he hears the click of the bathroom door shutting behind you to exhale a slow breath, setting his beer down on the counter harder than he has to.

Jesus Christ.

She’s not a girl anymore, he thinks to himself. And you’re not, you’re far fucking from it.

But that feeling, that ugly one churning deep down in Joel’s gut, it’s still there. It feels just as dangerous as it used to, maybe even worse now. All because of you. 

The look of your glossy lips forming around the words whatever he wants. The shape of your thighs, those damn shorts clinging to you like a second skin. The way you were looking at him, eyes all wide and shiny under his shitty kitchen light. 

Joel can’t help himself, he thinks back to a few years ago. You, curled up on his couch every night when he got home from a long build, looking so soft in the hazy glow of the TV. Barefoot and sleepy, blinking up at him in those skimpy little after school clothes you’d always throw on.

It was a vision, something to settle his aching bones.

He thinks about how he started looking forward to it, coming home to you. It was sick, he knew that much, the fucked up little game of house he played, projected onto you. An old man like him leering at you, thinking of you long after you’d left, waving sweetly from the window of your moms car.

Joel should’ve known better. Should’ve done better. But that never stopped him before, not when it came to you.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. Two quick raps, followed by a heavy creak.

“Joel?” Tommy’s voice fills the trailer before he can even move, loud in the quiet. “You home?”

Joel sighs, brows pinching together as he pushes off the counter. He didn’t even hear the damn truck pull up.

Tommy rounds the corner, sweaty and covered in dirt. He’s got a ratty bandanna hanging from his jean pocket, sleeves pulled up around his shoulders and a pair of aviators covering his eyes.

“You ever heard of callin’ before you just barge in on someone?” Joel doesn’t try to hide the annoyance in his tone, brow arched as he stares at his brother.

“Hello to you too, jackass.” Tommy just walks past him like he owns the place, opening up one of the cabinets above the sink. “You gettin’ memory loss already, old man? You said Saturday.”

“Yeah, well now ain’t a good time, Tommy.” Joel cuts his eyes to the hall, to the light bleeding out from under the bathroom door.

Tommy just snorts, still rifling through the cabinet. “Yeah right, you got a woman over or somethin’?”

Joel doesn’t answer, eyes still fixed on that thin sliver of light glowing under the bathroom door like it might give him away.

Tommy catches on, turns slow with a shit-eating grin already stretching across his face. “You do have someone here.”

Joel gives him a hard look, one that should tell him to shut the hell up—but Tommy only laughs, knowing.

“C’mon,” he drawls. “Didn’t know you were even seein’ anybody. You been holdin’ out on me?”

“It ain’t like that,” Joel mutters, too fast, too defensive.

Tommy tilts his head, chewing on that like a dog with a bone. “Huh. So she’s not yours then?”

Joel doesn’t get the chance to answer. Before he can shoot back with something mean enough to shut him up. From down the hall, the bathroom door opens with a quiet click, and then—

Then you're back, smoothing your hands down your thighs as you reappear around the corner, voice drifting back into the space.

“Jesus, that sink is still running freezing cold water? I nearly put my-oh…” You’re clearly caught off guard, your eyes catching on where Tommy stands in front of the sink. “Tommy?”

Joel watches it click in real time—your eyes lighting up with recognition, mouth parting into a surprised smile like you’ve just stumbled on an old friend. Which, in a way, you have. Tommy was around a lot back then. Backyard beers, watching football on the TV, leaning against Joel’s truck while you wrangled Sarah inside for dinner.

“Well shit,” Tommy says, slow and low, pulling his sunglasses down. “That isn’t the little babysitter, is it?”

You smile, sheepish and sweet, and Joel feels something sour twist in his gut. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.” Joel watches Tommy take a good long look at you just like the one he did, eyes wide as his gaze rakes from your head down to the bare skin of your legs and back up all over again. “No kiddin’.”

It makes the space behind Joel’s ribs burn with something hot and ugly, Tommy’s eyes on you. Shameless and obvious as all hell. He might just be the biggest hypocrite in the country for it, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Tommy goes on, leaning in like he can’t help himself. “You home for the summer?”

“Yeah, just for the summer,” you say brightly. “I thought I’d see if Joel needed help with Sarah again.”

“Oh, I bet he does,” Tommy says, and Joel’s had about enough of this.

“We were just finishing up,” Joel cuts in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air. “She was about to head out.”

You don’t seem to notice the tension, if you do, you ignore it with grace that makes it worse somehow.

Your eyes flick to him, and for a second, Joel thinks maybe you notice something’s off. But your smile is still easy. “Yeah, I should probably get going.”

Joel gives a short nod and steps toward you before Tommy can open his mouth again. “I’ll walk you out, honey.”

You look between the two brothers for a second longer, then nod and head back into the living room, Joel right behind you. The sound of Tommy’s boots are hot on his heels, following.

You bend down to swipe your keys off the coffee table, not by much, just enough for your shirt to ride up and your shorts to dip low. Joel nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of lace. Bright pink, thin. A pathetic little scrap of fabric clinging to either side of your hips.

Joel’s throat goes dry, heat rolling under his skin like a slow burn, thick and unrelenting. You straighten back up, smooth the hem of your shirt down, but the damage is done. He feels that familiar ache stirring low in his belly, his cock twitching with interest in his sweats.

He doesn’t look at Tommy, he doesn’t need to. The quiet crunch of a beer can bending under a tight grip is all he needs to know that he isn’t the only one taking that lace peeking out from under those damn shorts as a neon sign flashing all the wrong kinds of welcome.

Joel barely has enough wherewithal to drag his eyes up to your face when you turn back around—that sweet, oblivious smile still pulling at your lips.

“Okay.” Your fingers toy with your keys, the metal soft and jangling in your palm. “Ready.”

Joel gives you a short nod, jaw tight. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Tommy, of course, steps in the silence, voice syrupy. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright? Good seein’ you again, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parting into a lazy little grin. “You too, Tommy.”

Joel holds the door open for you, watching the way the light hits your shoulders, the back of your thighs, the little shadow that dips right at the curve of your spine.

The cicadas are buzzing, your car parked half crooked along the curb. You walk slow, gravel crunching under your sandals. Joel stays beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sun’s lower now, soft gold spilling across the lawn.

You open the car door, pausing with your hand on it. “That was…fun.”

Joel nods, biting back a frown. “Yeah, sorry about him. Tommy hasn’t got much of a filter.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s okay, I missed you guys.”

Joel’s heart kicks hard in his chest. He’s not sure what to do with that. 

“You know where to find us,” he says finally.

You nod, climbing into the car. The engine kicks up and the window rolls down.

“Thanks for the talk,” you say. “And the job, I’ll call you?”

Joel leans down a little, arms resting on the open window frame. You’re so close like this. Too close. He can smell the sweet perfume mixing with the bright tang of sweat on your skin.

“Of course,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smile. “It was nice seeing you, Joel.”

Joel watches you drive off, his reflection shrinking in your side mirror until he’s nothing but a speck in the dust your tires kick up.

He lets out another long breath, turning to walk up to steps. When he comes back inside, Tommy’s on the couch now, feet kicked up on Joel’s coffee table.

Joel shuts the door a little too hard behind him.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I told you,” Joel says, low and firm. “Now ain’t the time.”

Tommy’s grinning. “No shit it ain’t the time. Jesus, Joel. She’s what—twenty? Twenty one?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel says, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Oh, well never mind then, that makes it fine,” Tommy says, laughing. He cracks open the beer in his hand, taking a slow sip. “You’re outta your fuckin’ mind, you know that?”

Joel clenches his jaw, not bothering with an answer. His heavy silence speaks louder than any words could.

Tommy watches Joel closely, taking his silence for what it is and grinning wide enough to show off the sharp point of his canines. “She filled out real nice though, didn’t she?”

Joel shoots him a warning look, brows pinched together. “Don’t.”

Tommy holds his free hand up in surrender, but he’s still smirking. “All I’m sayin’ is—I remember when she was this pretty little thing runnin’ around here. Now—” He makes a vague gesture at his own chest. “—jailbait’s a whole lotta grown.”

Joel takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”

Tommy raises a brow, and the air goes real still between them for a beat. Joel knows his little brother—knows he’s testing the waters, seeing just how deep the river runs.

Joel shakes his eyes off him, walks to the kitchen and snatches his forgotten beer off the counter.

He hears Tommy chuckle again, more to himself than anything, his voice is louder so Joel can hear him. “You better watch yourself, man. That one? She’s trouble.”

Joel downs the rest of his beer in one long, bitter swallow, eyes peering out the window—locked on the road your car disappeared down. His voice, when it comes, is low and final.

“You got no idea.”

It’s almost too easy, falling back into the routine of it.

A few nights a week, just like before. Joel calls. You come over. The knock on the door doesn’t even feel necessary anymore, since Sarah already knows it’s you when she yanks it open and launches into talking before you’ve even stepped inside. 

You know where the snacks are. The remote. You know how to work the tricky thermostat and still have all the emergency contacts scrawled on a paper tacked to the fridge memorized.

It all comes back like muscle memory—like no time has passed at all. 

Sarah’s older now, a little more sarcastic. Witty and bolder in a way that surprises you sometimes, just enough edge in the way she talks to you that reminds you how much time has passed since you used to sit on the same couch and color. She’s brimming with the kind of secrets she’s aching to spill to someone she knows won’t tell her dad.

You’re still not quite a “grown-up” in her eyes, but you’re not a kid anymore either. You’re in that sweet spot—a cool older girl with her own car who lets her say things like shit and dickweed when Joel’s not around.

You’re not supposed to let her stay up this late, but you both pretend not to notice the clock. She’s curled up next to you on the couch, draped over the armrest only half watching the reruns you turned on with her chin propped on her palm.  

"Can I ask you something?” Sarah says suddenly, grinning. 

You narrow your eyes at her, mock suspicious. “You can, but I’m not promising I’ll answer.”

She laughs, kicking you gently with a socked foot. “Did you ever, like, sneak around when you were my age? Steal beer? Hook up with anyone?”

“Jesus, Sarah.” You raise your eyebrows, but she’s too amused to be embarrassed. You toss a throw pillow her way lazily. “You know your dad would kill me for answering that, right? He’d think I’m giving you ideas or something.”

“That’s not a no,” she sings, smirking.

“No comment.” You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. “I don’t need to give you any blackmail material to use on me later if I piss you off.”

“Please,” she huffs with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I’d never narc on you like that. Besides, Dad still thinks I’m eight, I don’t even think he knows that I know what “hooking up” means.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you turn your attention back to the TV. “You’re his baby.” You shrug as a new episode of Daria starts. “It makes sense that he’s treating you like one.”

“Gross,” Sarah huffs again, letting her head fall back against the cushion to stare up at the ceiling. “He’s just so overprotective sometimes. I mean, I guess I get it but, come on? I’m basically in high school now, I’m not really a baby anymore.”

You glance over at her, and she isn’t. Not really. Not the gap toothed little girl who used to fall asleep on your shoulder watching Finding Nemo. She’s growing up in the kind of terrifying, beautiful way that makes your chest ache a little—already too smart for her own good.

She cracks her eyes open a bit, peering across the way at you. “Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently.”

You blink. It’s not the words that shake you—it’s the timing. The way they hit, low and close to the bone. 

Because yeah, you did notice. You still do. Especially now. Especially here.

Before you can say anything, the alarm you set on your phone blares loudly, cutting through the quiet.

“Alright!” You push her feet off your lap and stand, happy for the distraction as you clap your hands together. “That’s curfew.”

Sarah groans, but she rolls off the couch with no argument and starts down the hall. 

You busy yourself with tidying up the living room as she brushes her teeth, pointedly ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. Her words ring in your ears like church bells, her voice tolling a little too close to something you’ve pointedly ignored since you got back. Something half buried and dangerous.

Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently…

You breathe out slowly, shutting off the TV and dropping the remote onto the couch a little harder than necessary. You shouldn’t read into it. She didn’t mean anything by it. Just a kid mouthing off, reaching for connection, for understanding. 

But it rattles you more than you want to admit, especially here—especially in his house.

You swallow hard, clearing the dirty dishes off the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. You just won’t think about it anymore, it’s that easy.

You're just being ridiculous. Paranoid. That's all.

A little while later, you’re still tidying up.

The dishes are all done, washed and drying in the rack next to the sink. The living room looks better than when you got here. It’s damn near pristine. 

Sarah went to bed almost half an hour ago. You crane your head down the hallway as you fold an old blanket, her door is cracked open enough that you can see the light from her alarm clock shining in the dark. The soft sounds of waves drone quietly from her noise machine.

You smile, a warm fondness blooming in your chest.

That fuzzy feeling doesn’t last long, not when your eyes drift almost on their own, landing on Joel’s door. 

Joel’s room.

It’s cracked open too, just like Sarah’s, but there’s no light shining from inside. You keep folding the blanket, distracted. It’s not like you haven’t been in Joel’s room before, you have. Passing through it with clean loads of laundry or sneaking his phone charger from the plug near his nightstand when your phone died.

But you’d never gone in alone, and you’d never stayed long. Sarah was always hot on your heels, catching your wrist in her tiny hand to drag you back out—following you around like an overexcited puppy. Not to mention it was always in the light of day, never at a time like this. When the moon is shining high in the sky and the stars are scattered across vast velvety darkness like spilled sugar.

You drape the folded blanket along the arm of the couch, eyes still glued to the door. The cogs in your mind turn and turn, spitting out an idea that has your stomach clenching with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, eyes cutting to the clock above the door.

11:53

Joel told he’d be a while tonight, before he left. He said they’d be short a man, that the job would drag on because of it.

That’s not an excuse, you know that.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

Your feet are moving before your brain can catch up to how bad of an idea this really is.

Your steps are silent on the linoleum, barefeet not making a sound. The wood of his door is dark and shiny, cool against your hand when you lay your palm over it. You give Sarah’s room another sideways glance, you can see the shape of her beneath the covers. Sound asleep.

The door creaks when you push it open, just barely. The sound isn’t enough to scare you off, and you step inside. The carpet is plush under you, it silences your steps even more as you walk to the nightstand and flick the light on.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you take it in. The messy, unmade state of Joel’s bed. The covers are thrown back, there’s a dip in the pillow where his head rests. The nightstand has a paperback open and laying face down, a pair of wiry reading glasses resting next to it.

The room smells like him. 

That scent that used to cling to you by accident when you were younger—clean cotton and cedar, a little motor oil and sweat, and whatever body wash he’s been using for years. It hits you all at once.

It has something stirring in your core, the familiarity of it. You look around some more, greedy eyes taking in every tiny detail you can. There’s a few paintings and framed pictures littering the walls. Pictures of Sarah, of Tommy, all kinds of different Texas landscapes. 

An old guitar rests on the wall across from you, you can see that it’s a little beat up even from where you’re standing. The glossy wood chipped and well loved.

Then your eyes land on the dresser.

It’s old, stained a light brown. You wonder distantly if he built it himself.

Your gaze catches on the top drawer, the pull handle worn with use.

Again, you know it’s wrong. That you’ve already crossed every line imaginable by just being in here, but you seem full to bursting with bad ideas tonight. 

You’re across the room with your fingers resting gently on the handle before you can even blink. Slowly, like something’s pulling you on a leash, you slide it open.

Socks. Boxers. Old, ratty belts. It’s nothing special, but heat climbs up the back of your neck all the same.

The next drawer has shirts, old band tees and fancier button downs that really should be hung up. You press your hand against one of them, feeling the starchy fabric beneath your skin.

The third drawer sticks a little, enough that you need to yank on it harder than the last two. It slides open with a dull thud. You wince, your eyes flicking to the door like Joel could be standing there, catching you rifling through his underwear like a sick little perv. 

The darkness of the hallway is all that greets you. Quiet, empty.

You take a steadying breath, but your hands don’t stop trembling as you tug it the rest of the way open.

You’re not sure exactly what you’re looking for, but then, you see it.

There, tucked toward the back under a couple old flannels, a small stack of magazines. 

Playboys. A couple Hustlers. From the look of them, they're mostly 90s, maybe early 2000s. It’s so vintage, so Joel. The covers are glossy, edges curled and worn. 

Your breath hitches. The heat between your legs is instant, sharp and impossible to ignore.

You pull one out, heart hammering, and flip it open carefully. Your eyes skim over picture after picture, some of the pages sticking together as you thumb through them. The scent of paper and dust and something faintly musky drifts up, and the centerfold you finally land on is obscene—posed, yes, but raw in a way that makes your thighs press together. 

Legs spread wide on a bearskin rug, pink mouth parted, full bush and glossy nipples.

She’s brunette, hair poofy and curled up to Jesus like they used those big old school rollers. Her eyes are the same color as yours, half lidded and covered in a sparkly blue shadow.

You glance down at the caption under her photo. 

“Turn-ons: Older men. The kind that know how to use their hands.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You should be laughing. Maybe grossed out. But instead—

Instead you imagine Joel, sitting in this room, flipping through these pages alone. Hand between his legs. That rough, big, calloused hand. Not fast, not frantic. No, you imagine him slow.

Measured.

Probably gritting his teeth, because he seems like the type who doesn’t let himself sound desperate even when he is. Grunting softly. Breathing hard. Coming into a tissue or his palm or maybe just letting it land on his stomach. Because there’s no one here to see. No one to touch him. Just him and the sound of paper turning.

You shut the magazine too fast. Slide it back in place, heart pounding.

Before you can push the drawer closed, your eyes catch on one of the flannels that covered Joel’s little secret.

It’s an old one—soft looking, broken in, a faded green and black. You should put it back, lay it down exactly where you found it so there’s nothing even hinting at you digging around in places you shouldn’t.

Instead, your hand closes around it, and without letting yourself think too long, you hold it up to your nose.

God. It smells like him. Like his detergent, like summer sweat and wood and something faintly smokey. Warm and safe and so damn inappropriate in every possible way.

It’s too much, it’s not enough. It’s obscene.

You can’t help yourself, you push the rest of the flannels back over the magazines, but the one in your hand gets tucked under your arm.

You don’t even try to justify it. You don’t even look back.

You don’t touch yourself right away.

You wait. You ride the buzz all the way home. Eat a popsicle standing barefoot in your kitchen, flannel in a heap on the counter like a loaded gun. You pretend to forget about it. You go about your night like normal. Shower. Brush your teeth.

Then you’re in bed and it’s just there. Laying on your mattress.

You unfold it. Run your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. You should feel guilty. You do, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing it to your nose and inhaling a deep lungful. You crawl into bed, tearing your shirt off and kicking your shorts down your legs all at once.

You lay back against your sheets, flannel still clutched in your hands. You rub it along your chest, over your peaked nipples, down your stomach. Rubbing Joel’s scent into your skin like it’s your own personal brand.

Your free hand slides down your body, down the lacy fabric of your panties. You’re already wet. You’ve been wet since the minute you opened that drawer.

You close your eyes, fingertips teasing along the wet expanse of your pussy as you let your mind go there—

To the thought of Joel finding you like this.

His flannel draped over your face. Your hand between your thighs.

Would he be mad? Would he punish you for it?

Would he take it back? Rip it out of your hands?

Or would he make you put it on—just so he could see you wear it while he ruined you?

You want to come like this. Wrapped up in something of his. Want to ruin yourself in it. You dip your fingers into your underwear and finally—finally—brush them over your clit.

The gasp you let out is sharp.

It’s not just his cologne. It’s his scent. That hot-skin smell that clings to the inside of his hats and his truck and his work boots. It’s Joel, soaked into the fabric like he’s holding you down.

You rub slow circles over your clit, hips twitching. You can’t stop picturing him. Not just his face, but the sounds he’d make. The weight of his body over yours. The way his voice would rasp against your ear if he caught you doing this.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, so desperate you’re gettin’ off with my dirty laundry?”

You slide two fingers inside yourself and gasp, mouth falling open. You imagine his hands instead. Rough, thick, calloused. Bigger than yours. Slower. Crueler.

“Oh fuck, Joel—” you whisper without thinking, the name catching on your teeth like a sin.

You come hard, pressing the flannel to your face, thighs trembling, biting down on soft cotton as you ride it out. It rolls through you in hot waves. Shame, lust, guilt, need—all tangled up.

When it’s over, you lie there panting, the room silent except for your heartbeat in your ears. You relax your jaw, the flannel falling from between your lips, fabric soaked with your spit.

You drift off with it clutched to your chest. Still wet between your legs. Still aching. Still imagining what he’d do if he ever found out.

And you sleep better than you have in weeks.

You don’t think anything of it when you see Joel’s truck parked in front of the trailer. It’s not out of the ordinary, he’s almost always there to make sure you get in safe before he leaves.

You climb the creaky steps and knock like usual. Three little raps, your knuckles against the thin aluminum of Joel’s door, already shifting your weight to the side as you wait for Sarah to yank it open and start catching you up on all the latest gossip from her last summer soccer practice.

Only—it doesn't swing open. Not right away.

You frown, Sarah’s usually opened the door before you can even raise your fist to knock again. It’s only then that you notice how quiet it is. 

No music thumping out from her window, no light flicked on in her room. No hum of the TV playing. No voice yelling “Just a second!” from down the hall. Just the light hanging above your head buzzing faintly and the dull thud of your knuckles against the door.

You knock for a fourth time, less sure.

A few more seconds go by. One, two, three, four. 

You count all the way to ten before the door creaks open, the screen with it. Joel fills the frame, one shoulder leaning against it. The light floods out from behind him, a warm yellow glow spilling into the dark and haloing around his broad shoulders. 

He’s not dressed in work clothes, just an old grey short sleeve and a pair of jeans that ride dangerously low on his hips—a beer bottle held loosely in his left hand. He doesn’t even have shoes on.

You’re hit with a violent wash of déjà vu, your traitorous mind thinking back to the first day you saw him again. 

“Hey,” you say as casually as you can, shifting on your feet. You peer around him into the living room. Empty. “Where’s Sarah?”

Joel doesn’t move, head tilting as he watches you. “She’s stayin’ over at a friends.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” The corner of Joel’s mouth raises slightly, it’s not quite a smirk, but it’s close. “I texted. You didn’t check your phone?”

You shake your head slowly, but you can’t help the way your brows furrow. You had checked it, right before you left your house, like you awake do. No calls. No texts.

“I must’ve missed it.”

Joel gives you a lazy once over, eyes dragging down your front like a slow lick. “Huh,” he says, but it’s far away. “Guess you might as well come in anyway, wouldn’t want you to waste your time comin’ out here for nothin’.” 

He steps aside, holding the door open expectantly. 

“It’s fine, really.” You laugh, but it’s awkward. “I can just go—”

“Come inside.”

He says it low. Not a suggestion.

You hesitate for half a second, nerves suddenly scraping just beneath your skin. But you step in anyway, brushing past him into the cool dimness of the trailer, the familiar scent of cedar, beer, and Joel hitting your nose all at once. 

The door shuts behind you with a heavy click.

Joel walks past you, sets his beer down on the coffee table before his eyes find yours again. You can see his face better in the light of the living room, his eyes are hard. Dark in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. It has your stomach clenching tightly, the sour edge of alarm churning with arousal inside you.

“It’s good you’re here. We oughta talk.”

You open your mouth, then shut it. His tone is strange—off—but not angry. Amused, almost. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, rough, “I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’. Just been waitin’ for the right time.”

You frown. “Ask me what?”

Joel drags the silence out. He watches you try not to squirm, mouth tilted in another half smirk. 

"You go through my shit, baby?"

Your heart trips three times over in your chest, stomach dropping down to your feet. “I—what?”

Joel huffs hard out his nose, that smug smirk spreads. It’s all teeth now, feral and amused. “Did I stutter?”

You’re shaking now, hands trembling in time with the frantic beat of your pulse. “I just thought—I didn’t think you—”

Joel clicks his tongue, cutting you off. “Yeah that’s the problem, ain’t it? You didn’t think.” He takes one slow step toward you, eyes locked on yours, heavy and dark and hot enough to burn.

“It’s real funny,” he says offhandedly, too casual—like you’re talking about this week’s forecast. “There’s only a few people who’ve been in and outta here lately. And I know Tommy ain’t the one riflin’ through my drawers, takin’ shit that doesn't belong to him. I ain’t dumb, baby.”

Your mouth opens and closes desperately, mind racing to say anything. To lie, to defend yourself, to beg for forgiveness. Nothing comes out. Your throat works around nothing, and your hands are clenched so tightly behind your back they’re going numb.

Joel just hums. A low, throaty sound that vibrates down your spine. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly, just enough to show the little strip of skin above your shorts. “You touch yourself in it?”

The question punches the air from your lungs. You don’t need to ask him what it is.

“I—Joel—”

“Don’t try lyin’ to me.”

Your face burns. You can’t bring yourself to nod, let alone speak. You don’t have to. 

Joel laughs—dark and low, like he already knows the answer. He trails his hand along the skin of your stomach, his touch featherlight. You can’t hide the shiver that wracks through you, goosebumps pebbling along your skin.

His hand falls away, only so he can drop down onto the couch behind him. Legs wide, thighs spread, jeans tugging tight across them as he leans back like he’s settling in for a show. His voice is pure gravel. “Go on, then. Show me what you did.”

You just stand there. Eyes wide. “What?” 

Your voice shakes, quiet and small in the tension. 

Joel shakes his head, sighing like he’s dealing with a stubborn child. He hooks one finger in the waistband of your shorts, tugging. You move without thinking, stepping into the space between his spread thighs.

“See, I don’t wanna have to ask you again, baby. So, are you gonna show me?” he says slowly, his touch dipping low enough to brush over the lacy edge of your panties. “Or am I gonna have to make you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your body in less than a second. “Joel—”

He cocks a brow. “What’s wrong, sweet thing? You were bold enough to sneak into my room, go through my drawers, take what don’t belong to you. Don’t get shy now.”

You feel it then—that impossible to ignore, deep, slick throb between your legs. Shame and heat twisting up your insides. Your whole being pulses with heat, phantom flames lapping over your skin.

You don’t know if you’re more humiliated or turned on—your body doesn’t seem to care either way. Joel hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

There’s no way out of this. And you’re not even sure if you want one.

You bite your lip, cheeks burning as your fingers trail down your belly, under your shorts and down between your thighs. Already wet. Slick with the shame of it, slick with how bad you want him watching you.

Joel swats your hip, not hard enough to sting. Just enough to make you feel it. “No ma’am, none of that shit. Shorts off.”

You freeze, your hand still buried under the waistband, your pulse thudding in your ears like a war drum. Apparently, you don’t move fast enough, not for him, and Joel’s already leaning forward, hands on your hips as he yanks them down himself—your shorts and panties in one brutal tug.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, almost to himself, dragging the fabric down your thighs and letting it pool at your ankles.

Your breath hitches as he sits back again, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, dark eyes fixed on the wet heat between your thighs like he’s starving.

You step out of your clothes, naked from the waist down, cheeks burning, heart beating so hard it’s making you lightheaded.

Joel tips his chin toward the floor. “Go on.”

Your stomach flips. You’re sure he can see it, the way your chest heaves, nipples pressing hard into the thin fabric of your top. Your hand drifts between your legs again, slow and shaky. Joel’s eyes follow every motion. Every tremble.

Your middle finger dips down and slides through your folds, slow. You let out a shaky breath. You brush over your clit, and twitch, hips jerking without meaning to.

“That’s it.” Joel nods, his hands clenched into fists. “See how easy it was, sugar? Feel’s good, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice threadbare. You’re rubbing yourself faster now, pressure building fast. “It feels so good, Joel.”

Joel groans at his name falling from your lips. “I bet it does. Bet you fucked your fingers into that tight little cunt while smellin’ me on the collar of that damn shirt. You nasty little thing.”

You nod, barely, lips parted as you circle your clit again, breath hitching on contact.

“I should spank your ass red for that,” he growls. “Should bend you over my lap like a fuckin’ child. You need discipline, don’t you?”

Your knees nearly give. “Joel. Please—”

He cuts you off again, gesturing lazily to where your hand disappears between your thighs. “Open her up. Let me see.”

You press two fingers between your folds, spreading them apart so he can see your glistening pussy, sticky and swollen from just a few strokes.

“Goddamn,” Joel groans, reaching down to adjust the thick shape of his cock hard under his jeans. “She’s fuckin’ drippin’. That for me, baby?”

You nod, lips slack as your thighs tremble.

“Yeah,” he drawls, stretching the word like out taffy between his teeth. “That’s real pretty.”

You moan at that. Loud and desperate. Your touch dip that much lower to push one finger inside. Then another, like you just can’t help yourself. You’re so wet there’s no resistance, your pussy welcoming them in like it’s done this a hundred times thinking of him. Slick drips down your thighs, shining under the light of the lamp.

Joel licks his lips slowly, deliberately. “Look at that.” He leans forward, pupils wide and dark as an oil spill. “Just a little rub like that, a little stretch and you’re already makin’ a mess.”

You whimper, hips rocking against your hand. “Joel, I—”

“Give yourself another finger. Show me how you take it”

You grind down onto your own fingers, mouth slack with soft moans that breathe to life before you can muffle them. You press in a third finger. The stretch burns, but you don’t stop. You’re panting now, skin dewy, hips jerking forward to meet your hand. Joel watches like a man starved.

He grins, smug and handsome and infuriating. “Yeah, three feels nice don’t it, honey?” He reaches out, his hand sliding up your thigh in one slow motion, lazy and unhurried through the slick. “Bet you could take my whole fuckin’ fist if you wanted it real bad.”

A pathetic little whine fills the air, more of a mewl than anything. It takes you a second to realize you’re the one making the noise, so desperate and gone from the tiniest amount of touch. It makes your walls clamp down harder around your fingers.

Joel sees. Joel knows.

And it’s all he needs to finally break.

“Come here,” he growls suddenly, jerking his head impatiently.

You scramble over, straddling him, bare thighs spread over his denim clad ones. Joel undoes his belt with one hand, the clink of the metal making your pulse trip. He pulls himself out of his soaked boxers, hard and straining, the rosy head drooling precome onto his shirt when it slaps up to rest against his stomach.

Your mouth falls open at the sight of it, flushed and big. Bigger than you’ve ever seen, outside of guilty late night porn searches. 

Joel chuckles darkly, taking himself in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, twisting his wrist over the head. “You think you can take all this?” he taunts meanly, dragging the tip through your folds, wetting himself with your slick. “You’re just a baby, sweetheart. You think you can handle this dick?”

You moan as he rubs himself over your sensitive clit, warm and wet. Your hips twitch down, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around nothing, overwhelmingly empty.

He slaps your ass, hard. He kneads the tender skin in his rough hand after, dragging out the sting. “How old am I? Tell me, honey. Say it.”

You gasp, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. “Fifty–ah! Fifty three,” you breathe, not looking Joel in the eye as you say it.

You can’t, not with the humiliation coursing through your veins like pure kerosine. It’s white hot, burning so bright, but it’s still not enough to stop your pussy from dripping sticky all over his cock like a broken faucet.

“Damn right,” he growls. “Old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.”

Joel thrusts into you in one brutal push.

You scream. Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that you feel the thin material of his shirt straining under it. The stretch feels like it’s tearing you in two, like your fingers didn’t do anything to prepare you for his cock carving a place for itself inside you.

Joel kisses you, sucks the noise right off your tongue. He tastes like beer, like sweat and salt and something that’s only him. You moan into his mouth, your fingers threading into the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips until it bends and breaks under the weight of gravity. “Come on, darlin’.” He slaps your ass again—once, twice—and you squeal, the burn sharp and perfect. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you couldn’t keep those thievin’ hands to yourself, huh? Well now’s your chance. Fuck me, give it to me good.”

You don’t ease into it, too worked to even think about starting slow.

You bounce on his lap like you’re possessed, thighs slapping, slick drenching his jeans. Joel groans with every roll of your hips, low and drawn out. He lets his head fall back against the couch, the tan column of his throat on display.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he pants. “Since the day you showed back up. Actin’ all grown. Look at you now. Cryin’ on my cock.”

You’re drooling. Dizzy. Brain turned to static as you ride him, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll bruise.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, raising his head to watch you. “This pussy wasn’t made for boys your age. Needs a man to stretch it out. To ruin it.”

You whine, your pussy tightening around the throbbing length of his cock. Joel notices, of course he does.

His hands grip your ass, urging your hips up and down faster. “You like that, sweet thing? You like lettin’ an old man fuck you raw like this?”

“Yes,” you whine, tears burning at your water line. “I love it, want you to come inside me so bad Joel, fuck-”

“I know, baby.” Joel kisses your cheek, softly. Too soft, too tender. “You ain’t ever gonna want some college boy after this. You’re gonna be thinkin’ about how Mr. Miller fucked you open better than they could.”

Your moan is muffled by his fingers pushing between your slack lips, filling your mouth. You whine at the taste of yourself coating his skin, sucking obediently as he presses them down on your tongue.

“Gonna make you mine,” he pants. “Mine. No more sneakin’ around, no more stealin’ my shit—you want something, you ask for it like a big girl, and I’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

You shake your head, babbling around his fingers. “Yes—yes, only you. I’m yours—”

You can feel your orgasm building deep in your belly, the coil of pleasure tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap.

Joel rips his fingers from your mouth with a dark growl, reaching back down to grip your ass again. He spreads you open, the cool air making you gasp. One finger, wet with your own spit, rubs over your rim. 

He doesn’t push in—just teases, circling, pressing, tugging—enough to make you clench and cry out as he starts pounding up into you. His hips lifting off the couch and filling the room with the loud noise of skin on skin as his balls slap against your ass with every thrust. Your pussy squelching around him with dirty, wet noises would make your ears burn if you weren’t so far gone already.

“You gonna let me play with this too?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your. “You lettin’ me train this hole next?”

That’s it. It’s all you can take.

You shatter with a scream, pussy squeezing so tight it makes Joel snarl and buck wildly up into you. He grabs your ass, choking out a strained string of  “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He curses, pulls you down hard onto his cock one last time as he spills inside you, so deep you swear you feel it behind your ribs. His head drops to your shoulder, breath ragged as he comes and comes. 

It feels endless, spurt after spurt of hot spend flooding your walls until it’s forced to leak back out along the fever hot skin of his cock, slipping down his balls to drip onto the couch.

It’s filthy.

It’s obscene.

It’s exactly what you wanted.

You both lean into each other, breathless and spent as you come down. Sweat drips down your back, rolling down your spine as your hands stay buried in his hair.

Joel strokes your thigh lazily, still inside you, watching the mess drip down where you’re spread open around him.

“You’re stayin’ the night,” he says simply.

You can’t fight the tiny, secret smile you press against the sweaty skin of his throat as you nod wordlessly, thighs still shaking violently around his hips.

You’d never make it to the door anyway.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: what's so funny to me about this is that i didn't realize how much i actually missed writing for joel until i took a little mini break to work on my other frankie and harry fics like it’s so dramatic truly, but baby we’re so back! back and hopefully pissing off the joel age gap haters!

shoutouts to baby rylea for giving me the flannel idea cause this fic might have been lost without it. it was rescued from being just another abandoned wip and instead turned into a literal monster which was never supposed to happen but uh that's chill i guess…two fics over 10k words in one month? that’s literally unheard of over here. ALSO my first venture into ass play to spite @ebodebo and @yuenity sooo that’s fun. i love them both really LMAO

once again it's four a.m because i just can't function like a normal person. thank you to femme bot by charli xcx, pink red bull, and ofc my geeky bar for letting me power through and finish this mess. okay i'm done now sorry for talking so much, i just love yapping to you guys :(( thank you so much for reading, love you!

[gojosconsort]

to add on for the oblivious wife fic w nanami (when she was trying on the bathing suit) u should do one when they’re finally at the beach

𓂃୨ৎ mdni. freaky nanami

“isn’t it gorgeous?” you call out to your husband kento, twirling in the sand, arms wide. the bikini top strains, triangles shifting, a sliver of nipple teasing the edge, and kento’s cock throbs painfully, tenting his swim trunks.

the beach stretches out under a merciless sun, waves crashing lazily, and your husband is already regretting this vacation. he’s sprawled on a towel under an umbrella, sunglasses fogged with sweat, gripping a book so hard the spine creaks.

you, his sweet, oblivious wife, are the problem—prancing around in that neon pink bikini he bought in a haze of desperation at the store, the one that barely contains your curves and has been torturing him since you stepped out of the hotel room.

every jiggle of your ass, every bounce of your tits, is a fresh assault on his sanity, and now you’re out there, glistening with sunscreen, drawing every eye on this damn beach.

kento shifts, book slamming over his crotch, a pathetic shield against the wet spot blooming dark from his leaking tip. fuck, he thinks, jaw locked, teeth grinding. he wants to pin you to the sand, rip that scrap of fabric off, and fuck you raw until you’re sobbing his name, public be damned—but he can’t, and it’s killing him.

you’re oblivious to his problem, laughing as you kick at the waves, ass rippling with each step. the thong bottom rides up, exposing more of that plump, perfect curve, and his eyes track it, feral, imagining sinking his teeth into it, spanking you red, then burying his cock deep until you’re dripping with him.

his balls ache, heavy, and he presses the book harder, the pages crumpling under his grip. every giggle, every sway of your hips, mocks his control, and he’s one deep breath from losing it.

then you come back, holding a dripping ice cream cone, vanilla soft serve already melting in the heat. “got a treat!” you chirp, plopping down cross-legged on the towel, thighs spread just enough to make his vision blur.

you lick the cone, tongue swirling slow, and a thick drop of cream slips free, landing square on your chest, right above the swell of your tits. it slides, slow and obscene, down the curve, pooling in the bikini’s pathetic triangle, and your nipples harden under the cold, poking through the fabric.

“oops!” you giggle, looking down, and the sound—fuck, that sound—sends a jolt straight to his cock. you wiggle, making your tits bounce, the ice cream smearing further, a sticky trail glistening in the sun.

kento chokes, a strangled groan trapped in his throat, and he’s picturing it: licking that cream off, tongue dragging slow over your skin, sucking your nipple into his mouth, biting just hard enough to make you gasp.

his cock leaks again, precum soaking through his trunks, and he presses the book so hard it’s practically embedded in his lap.

“lemme get that,” he rasps, voice raw, reaching for a napkin with a trembling hand. he leans closer—too close—your scent hitting him, coconut sunscreen and sweet vanilla, and his mouth waters, aching to lap up every inch of you. his fingers brush your shoulder as he dabs at the mess, napkin shaking, and you shiver, all innocent, smiling up at him.

“thanks, honey!” you say, taking another lick of the cone, and another drop falls, this time landing right on the swell of your breast, sliding toward the nipple he’s dying to suck. his control snaps like a frayed thread, and he freezes, napkin crumpled in his fist, fighting the urge to throw you down, lick you clean, and fuck you into the sand until the whole beach hears you scream.

“it’s so sticky,” you pout, swiping at it with your finger and popping it in your mouth. your lips close around it, sucking slow, and kento’s vision whites out. he’s imagining those lips around his cock, your throat full of him, gagging as he fucks your face, cum dripping down your chin onto those perfect tits.

his book’s a lost cause, pages warping under his grip, and he shifts, thighs flexing, trying to hide the huge bulge.

“stay still,” he growls, low and tight, grabbing another napkin. he dabs at your chest, every brush of his fingers against your skin a test of his restraint. he’s so close to saying fuck it, to dragging you behind the umbrella and stuffing you full, consequences be damned. your tits jiggle with each swipe, and he bites his cheek, blood sharp on his tongue, to keep from groaning.

“all clean?” you ask, tilting your head, eyes wide and sweet. you take another lick, ice cream smearing your lips, and he wants to shove his cock past them, make you choke on it until you’re crying. his trunks—thank god for the book—are a prison, cock throbbing, balls tight, and he’s leaking so much it’s soaking through to the towel.

“yeah,” he lies, voice cracked, tossing the napkin aside. he leans back, book still clamped over his lap, and exhales hard through his nose. he can’t watch you anymore, not without breaking, so he stares at the horizon, counting waves, willing his cock to calm down. you hum happily, licking away, and every slurp is a dagger to his control.

the beach is too public, too crowded, and he’s too close to ruining you right here. he needs to get you back to the hotel—now—before he cums in his trunks or does something he’ll regret.

“we’re leaving soon,” he mutters, already picturing you bent over the bed, bikini shredded, screaming his name as he fills you again and again, his cum dripping down your pussy, pooling on the sheets, only for him to fuck it back in, deep and relentless, until you’re so full it leaks out with every thrust.

[stargirlygirl]

you're quiet during it

lads li's (except for raf; separate) x fem!reader

contains: nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, p-in-v, oral sex (f!receiving), p-link for xavier

⭑.ᐟ caleb

at first, it would throw caleb off guard, being the louder one when y'all are devil's tangoing. but it's no issue.

he learns your audial cues: when your breath hitches as you're about to cum, the little mewls that tell him he's doing a good job, and your sweet "more, caleb!" whimpers.

he's also attentive to your physical cues: your back arching as he messily eats you out, so close to an orgasm it's almost painful; your hands tugging on his silky locks when his tongue is lapping your folds; and how your thighs tense up and shake when you're finally swept away by a riptide of pleasure.

and caleb takes pride in hearing how loud he can make you. of course, it's only after an hour or so of overstimulation that you're more talkative and noisy.

he's fucking obsessed with how you cry out, "please, caleb! i can't. n-no more." chuckling against your slick cunt, the lower half of his face drenched in your release, he'll gaze up at you with hazy sunset eyes.

"c'mon, honey. just one more?" he coos so sweetly, rubbing your thigh and all. and when you do give him that one more, you're absolutely silent, lower lip trapped between your teeth as you writhe beneath him. the ecstasy is far too overwhelming for a sound to be made.

when he sucks on your clit harshly, that's when you nearly scream; exactly what he's been waiting so patiently for.

⭑.ᐟ sylus

sylus finds your hushed moans endearing.

i think he definitely teases you when he's eating you out, something akin to, "you're so quiet, kitten. doesn't this feel good?" but he knows you're in actual heaven right now.

when he's on top, thrusting into you so tenderly, i know sylus is groaning and panting in your ear the sweetest things. "you're biting your lip so hard, sweetie. careful—" he pulls your lip out from your chompers with his thumb, "or you'll draw blood."

especially when you're cockwarming him and whimpering softly in his ear, it makes him all the more harder. he'll throb inside of your snug walls, pre-cum leaking everywhere as he rubs your back and murmurs, "don't runaway, kitten, when you're taking me so well."

like caleb, he's got your sounds memorised. but unlike caleb, i don't think sylus pushes you to the edge. i think he'll stop as soon as you yawn, god forbid you do so as he's still rutting into you.

your bf will pull you into a warm cuddle and let you rest for as long as you need. he praises you half-lovingly, half-mockingly, until it's time to get cleaned up.

⭑.ᐟ zayne

i'm imagining this princess and the pauper "you're just like me, i'm just like you" moment between you and zayne the first time you had sex (whether that be oral, penetrative, mutual touching, etc).

because he's... somewhat controlled in the sound domain, he understands that your lack of loud sounds isn't because his performance is lacking (though he needed reassurance initially), but because that's how you are. he's never commented on it or teased you for it. zayne simply relies on consistent communication to ensure you're enjoying what he's doing.

let's say you two have a rare day off and spend the morning in bed. waking up, you're exchanging gentle kisses, which quickly become heated. but since you're both sleepy, it's this lazy kind of lust.

he's in between your thighs, taking you to the far reaches of the universe when he pulls off your swollen clit and asks breathily, "does this feel good?" releasing a low whimper, you nod and push his face back into your pussy.

you can feel his micro-smirk as he eats you out till you're trembling and softly mewling, your thighs clamped around his head.

and when you're spooning, it's tender and slow, zayne sliding every inch in before drawing back. you're wrapped in his warm embrace, panting a little. your bf let's out this cracked whimper as you squeeze around him, close to his end already.

he rasps out, "it's been so long since we've done this." you hum in response, your grip on his scarred forearms tightening before you see the stars together.

⭑.ᐟ xavier

like sylus, xavier finds it cute. with how tough you try to act all the time, it inflates his ego when you're a quiet, shaking mess beneath him.

he likes how your body does the talking. no words are necessary when you're rolling your hips up to his, hands pawing at his trousers in an attempt to take them off.

he'll tease you, "you really did miss me, huh?" but he delivers it in his soft voice.

and you, too needy to register that he's having a go at you, will just nod and whimper a small, "please."

i can't help but think of this p-link.

xav definitely mocks you during sex, asking you in his low commanding voice to be louder and to tell him how good he's making you feel, how much you need him, to tell him anything because he wants to hear your voice. specifically, he wants to hear it break as you try to speak.

and he only grows more demanding as his climax approaches. his sweet pants and moans tangle with yours as you grip his shoulders. holding onto them for dear life, a stuttered cry escapes your lips as he buries himself so deep and cums inside.

masterlist

star girl's final words: sorry if this is rats ass. just something that's been on my mind, which i wanted to get out.

[maxtermind]

telling f1 boyfriend that you’re pregnant

FINDING OUT THAT YOU ARE PREGNANT

( texts masterlist \ main masterlist \ let’s talk )

★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ★ : genre :: every couple got a happy ending appropriate to them <3 (i fought hard to not make this angst which is the direction these were taking lol)

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★ : a/n :: ignore the typos, comments, thoughts and reblogs are appreciated!

[amiratheangel]

marriage was something JASON TODD couldn’t settle into immediately. he was used to moving into safe houses after every mission, he was used to having to use violence as a way to express his feelings, but he wasn’t used to that soft love. everything in his body felt like jelly when you would give him those warm kisses, when your eyes looked into his like he was everything in the world.

just when he thought his life couldn’t get any better, you found out you were pregnant with a baby girl. every single part of him was hers the second she showed up on that ultrasound. from that moment on, the princess treatment was upped by a thousand percent. you didn’t have to lift a finger for anything. water? he’s got it. errands to run? he’s halfway out the door already. midnight cravings? he’s ordering door dash while half asleep.

a lingering thought stayed at the back of his mind. what if he wasn’t a good father? what if he couldn’t provide a life of innocence and purity to his little girl?

all of those doubts drifted away the second he held her in his arms. she was weightless, a bundle of love and affection, proof that someone could actually accept him for who he is. “hello baby anastasia.” he whispered, making a little ‘oh’ as she wrapped her teeny tiny fingers around his index. “hello, baby.” he smiled. she was everything he could’ve hoped for. smart, confident and a lot like him. she had his same black hair, his blue eyes and his nose. but she was a perfect mix of you as well, having your ears, your lips and eye shape.

now, ten months later on father’s day, jason wasn’t expecting a big celebration. of course he had gone all out on mother’s day, making a photo album of all of the pictures he had taken of you, annotating every one with reasons why he loved you.

so, in return, you and your ten month old woke up early to surprise him with his favourite breakfast- blueberry pancakes and bacon with coffee.

“annie! no!” you whisper shout at your baby, she was sitting in her high chair smooshing blueberries over her face. “messy girl..” you tut. she just squeals and claps her hands in response. “come on, let’s get you clean.” you wipe her face and she fusses a bit, so you put her pink pacifier in her mouth.

about twenty minutes later, you had managed to make a stack of pancakes and some bacon, and wrote his card without anastasia throwing anything on the floor. “come on, baby.” you coo, picking her up so she can lay by her dad for a bit. as soon as she’s by him, she smacks his face to wake him up. obviously, you don’t realise because you’ve gone to get his breakfast but jason wakes up.

“annie..” he frowns, “i was asleep!” he whines like a little child not being able to get a toy. “it’s okay.. i suppose. only because you’re my favourite girl.” she claps again and laughs when he pulls her onto his chest. then, he spots you balancing things on the tray. “is that for me?” he laughs, sitting up while annie clings to him.

“my girls treat me sooo well.” he says, kissing his daughters head then kissing you. “this looks yummy, doesn’t it, stassie? you made this for me?” he says to the baby, who’s using him as a climbing frame, showing off her new motor skills. he shoves half a pancake in his mouth and lets out a ‘mm-mm’.

“do you like them? annie helped me by eating the first ones that weren’t perfect. i wouldn’t let her have them but she just kept-” he shuts you up with another sweet kiss to your lips. “stop rambling, hun. they’re perfect, she’s perfect, you’re perfect. i couldn’t ask for a better family.” those words melted your heart, making you feel like you were the luckiest girl alive.

“maybe we should have another one. i mean, look at her.” he tickles anastasia’s belly, making her squirm and laugh. “maybe when she’s down for her nap we can start the process.” he suggests with a wink.

you instantly feel your cheeks heat up and all the thoughts rush out of your head. “jason! she’s- she’s like.. ten months old! it’s a bit soon.” you splutter, but he just chuckles at your reaction.

“yeah, how about he just practice? you know, that’d be a great gift.”

tags: @madsluvsdilfs (lmk if you wanna be added 💞)

[bueckii]

͏✶ FIRE AND DESIRE. | PAIGE BUECKERS.

synopsis… you’re nervous after getting talked into a date with someone else. paige, who’s been in love with you for years, offers to show you how kissing should really feel.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader content warnings. # 6k words. slight angst. slightly suggestive. uconn!paige. best friend!paige. student!reader. college au. friends to lovers. mutual pining. jealousy. first kiss/makeout sesh. tw: a man makes an appearance for the plot. a/n: i love bun paige. anyways… first paige fanfic! i hope you all enjoy it :)

͏✶ i figure out you, you figure out me, we both a different breed, i’m followin' your lead, i ask you what you need …

finals were over. finally.

you walked out of that lecture hall feeling every heavy textbook, every sleepless night, every highlighter-stained page you’d read and reread since january falling off your shoulders all at once. the last exam was pretty fucking brutal, a three-hour stretch of silence and anxiety that clung to your skin like sweat, and when you scribbled the final answer in the last minute and handed that packet over, it felt like exhaling after months underwater.

it’s been a while since you’ve gotten relax fully, usually spending the night staring at the soft glow of your laptop at 2 a.m. when your eyes were too tired to focus but your brain refused to quit. you hadn’t gone out, hadn’t let yourself relax, hadn’t even realized how tightly wound you’d become until now as you stepping out into the afternoon sun.

the breeze hit your face, warm and a little humid, and you blinked against the light like you were seeing campus for the first time. everything around you buzzed as you glance over to a group of students laughing way too loud, to someone blasting music from a speaker, to a couple kissing under a tree like they hadn’t just suffered through biochem together, probably.

and then you saw her.

paige was leaning against the railing just outside the building, decked out in her uconn basketball gear like she always was—navy blue nike tech fleece, matching sweats, and her blonde hair pulled back into a loose bun.

she held up a coffee and a small paper bag (probably a sweet little pastry) with both hands, lifting them up as soon as she spotted you.

“yo, there she is,” she grinned, a silver chain glinting under her hoodie as she tilted her head.

you couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto your face, breath caught in your throat for a second, then laughed as you shook your head.

“how long have you been waiting?” you asked, walking towards her.

paige pushed off the railing, walking over like she had all the time in the world, one brow raised and mouth tugged into that goofy little smile she always seems to wear.

“just got here,” she teased, handing you the coffee. “how was it? you good?”

you took the cup from her, fingers brushing against hers for just a second too long you—warm skin, calloused in places from years of basketball.

“thanks… it was fine,” you muttered, already feeling the heat seep through your palms. “i’m just glad it’s over. finally.”

paige looked at you for a moment, then licked her bottom lip, eyes scanning your face the way she always did when she thought you weren’t paying attention.

you shook your head again, smiling into the cup as you took a sip, and tried not to notice how good she smelled—like cologne and clean laundry and something that always made your stomach twist just a little.

it was just paige. your best friend.

paige watched you while you weren’t looking.

you didn’t catch it—not fully—but if you had, you would’ve seen the way her smile slipped just a little as her eyes trailed over your face, lingering on the curve of your mouth, the way your lashes fluttered when you blinked down into your coffee, the soft breath of relief you let out like you were finally alive again.

and then, too fast for you to notice, she cleared her throat and looked away, pressing her lips together like they hadn’t just parted like she wanted to say something real.

“aight, come on,” she said, nudging your shoulder lightly with hers before stepping off the curb.

you walked in beside her automatically, like you always did.

“what’s in the bag?” you asked, glancing at it with a curious smile.

paige looked over at you, then back at the bag like she’d forgotten she was even holding it.

“mm,” she hummed, eyes squinting from the sun. “just a lil’ somethin’ sweet.”

you raised a brow, surprised. “is it for me?”

“obviously,” she said simply, flashing a grin. “’cause you don’t ever treat yourself. figured i’d help.”

you laughed under your breath, looking away before she could see the flush rising in your cheeks.

you assumed it was nothing. paige always did little things like this.

the two of you walked like that for a while, side by side, and all the while, the blonde was trying not to look at you the way she actually wanted to.

she’d been in love with you since the first time you met, and it was stupid, really—how fast it hit her. you were pretty. that was the first thing she noticed when she saw you in the gen ed class a couple years ago. gorgeous. soft-spoken. kind. and smart as hell. and you didn’t exactly know her yet. you didn’t really care for sports that much then until you became friends with her. you’d almost never missed a home game when she was playing.

and for paige, since then, she’d been completely, helplessly stuck on you.

but you were focused. you always had your head buried in a book or a study guide, always chasing the next goal. relationships and dates weren’t exactly a priority for you. and paige respected the hell out of that.

maybe that’s why she never said anything. never let it slip how much she thought about you, how your laugh always had the power to make her laugh, how your lip curled when you were deep in your thoughts, how you’d always manage fall asleep on her dorm bed when you guys were supposed to be studying and she’d sit there quietly to watch you with a smile before pulling her blanket over you. she’d make sure to set her alarm clock early enough so you don’t miss your classes.

she’d convinced herself being near you was enough.

and maybe it was.

until it started to feel like it wasn’t.

she was about to say something when you reached the steps outside the student center—nothing big, just ask what you were doing tonight, maybe see if you wanted to chill at her place, lowkey so she could selfishly keep you to herself a little longer—and she’d just opened her mouth when—

“oh my god, there you are!”

you barely had time to turn before riley, a friend of yours, appeared out of nowhere, practically bouncing with energy. her braid whipped behind her as she rushed up and wrapped an arm around your shoulder like she hadn’t just taken her last final an hour ago.

“finals are done!” she shouted like she was announcing it to the whole quad. “you’re coming to the party tonight, right? you’ve got to.”

you blinked, caught off guard.

your eyes flicked to paige instinctively, checking to see if she was gonna say something first. but she froze—her lips pressed tight into thin smile as she looked at riley.

riley grinned between the two of you and bumped your hip.

“c’mon, paige, tell her! she never even goes out. i swear this girl hasn’t left her room to go anywhere else except the library or a basketball game since freshman year.”

paige laughed a little—tight, forced.

“uh… yeah. nah, you guys should celebrate. y’all deserve it.”

she regretted it the second it left her mouth.

her stomach turned because you looked—just for a second—disappointed. like you’d been hoping she’d say something different. something just for you.

you nodded slowly, lips twitching as you were trying to figure out how to react.

“yeah, i’ll… i’ll think about it,” you said.

“yes! i’m texting you later, you better not bail!” riley clapped her hands, oblivious. then she turned to paige with a playful squint, “shouldn’t you be at practice, bueckers?”

“oh shit,” paige muttered, snapping her head down as she fumbled for her phone with one hand, nearly dropping the paper bag in the process. she thumbed the screen awake and squinted at the time. “damn… i was supposed to be there ten minutes ago.”

you looked at her, half-smiling. “go. geno won’t be happy.”

but paige didn’t move.

not right away.

she stayed turned toward you, jaw tight, her hand coming up to scratch the side of her head softly like she was trying to work something out in her head. her eyes found yours again.

she nods her head, finally deciding to follow your orders with a smile.

“yeah,” she said, her voice low—just for you. “okay.”

something in her tone made your breath hitch—not quite flirty, not quite serious, but something in between.

then her phone buzzed in her hand—twice.

probably a teammate. maybe geno.

she cleared her throat, finally stepping back with a quiet groan, dragging her hand down her face.

“aight. i gotta dip,” she said, backing up toward the sidewalk. “but make sure to eat that thing i got you, okay? i’m not tryna hear you skipped lunch again.”

you lifted the paper bag slightly and gave her a soft nod.

“thanks, paige.”

her lips curved into a grin. “anytime, ma.”

then she turned and jogged off, hood slipping back over her curls, her long strides already pulling her into the distance.

͏✶

you ended up going to the party.

you hadn’t planned to.

the party wasn’t really your scene. it never was.

you’d shown up mostly because riley wouldn’t let up, blowing up your phone all evening. so you threw on a simple dress, a little bit of your usual makeup, and told yourself it was just for an hour. two tops.

the party was already packed by the time you showed up. the living room of whoever’s off-campus house this was had been turned into a humid jungle of music and bodies, red solo cups stacked like pyramids on every surface, and someone yelling every ten minutes for no reason.

you stuck close to riley at first, sipping something fruity drink she handed you without asking, trying to find your footing in the crowd.

you weren’t really built for this scene, not in the way riley was.

you ended up near the kitchen, tucked into a quieter corner where the music didn’t shake the floor. that’s when he found you.

matt.

you remembered him from your sociology class last semester—he sat two rows behind you, always had clean notes. nice guy. maybe a little shy, always had a pen tucked behind his ear, and he asked solid questions during lectures.

but riley, standing a couple feet away with her drink in hand, kept giving you that look saying… go on. flirt. say yes.

you roll your eyes playfully.

“hey,” he said, a little surprised but genuinely happy to see you. “i didn’t think you came to stuff like this.”

you shrugged, smiling politely. “i usually don’t.”

“well… glad you did,” he said, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside you. “finals were hell, huh?”

you nodded, both of you laughing a little at the shared trauma. it was nice, the way he talked—easy, casual, nothing pushy.

but of course, riley popped up next to you halfway through the conversation.

“nice to see you finally hitting it off with someone,” she said with this knowing smile, eyes bouncing between the two of you.

you shake your head, cheeks warming. “we’re just talking.”

“mmhm,” riley said, bumping her hip into yours. “no, this is good. don’t mind me—just pretend i’m not even here.”

matt chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “uh, yeah. i was just asking her about post finals plans…”

“great question,” riley cut in like she was your hype man. “she has no plans. she’s free. totally available.”

“riley…” you shot her a look, somewhere between please stop and i’m going to kill you, but she just grinned. she meant well—she always did. she just thought you needed a little push.

you turned back to matt, trying to steer the conversation somewhere safer. “uh, anyway… how’d you think you did on that sociology final?”

he answered, and you listened, but the whole time you felt like your thoughts were somewhere else.

somewhere… or with someone.

but when matt, looking a little nervous, said, “so hey, uh… i was thinking—if you’re not too busy now that exams are over… maybe we could go see a movie this friday?”

you froze. not out of fear. just confusion.

your eyes darted to riley. she gave you a thumbs-up like you were about to step onto a stage.

your heart beat once. then twice.

“uh… yeah,” you heard yourself say. “sure. that sounds nice.”

fuck.

his eyebrows raised and he smiled. riley grinned wider than you’d ever seen her grin. and you should’ve felt proud. excited, even.

so why did your chest feel tight?

why did it feel like you’d done something wrong?

͏✶

you didn’t text paige right away when got back to your dorm.

you laid in bed for a while, makeup barely rubbed off, the party still ringing in your ears. your dorm was quiet now—your roommate gone for the weekend, the halls dead silent except for the occasional door shutting or someone’s music humming through the walls.

after a minute, you grabbed your phone, thumb hovering for a second before you gave in and opened the chat.

you: what are you up to?

you stared at the screen, heart already fluttering like you were fourteen again, like you hadn’t just said yes to some guy two hours ago.

the three dots appeared almost instantly.

paige: just got back from getting crumbl with the team. coach ran us hard today not even gonna lie

you smiled to yourself.

you: you tired? i can let you sleep lol

paige: nah i’m good. i’m tired but i like talkin to you. what’s up

you: riley dragged me to the party

paige: wow that’s impressive tbh soooooo how was it??

you paused, biting your bottom lip.

should you say it? it wasn’t a big deal. right? best friends tell each other these things.

your fingers hovered. then you typed.

you: so matt from my sociology class asked me to go to the movies with him sometime i said yes idk i think i just panicked

you waited.

and waited.

you saw the three dots pop up. your heart skipped. then the dots vanished.

you frowned, shifting in your bed, phone warm in your hand. a few seconds passed. they popped up again.

then, gone.

your stomach twisted.

then finally, they came back again.

paige: oh that’s cool

you stared at the screen.

three little words. dry as hell. no playful joke. no “u better tell him i’ll beat his ass if he messes it up”—none of the usual teasing, none of the softness she always texted you with, even when she was dead tired.

that’s cool.

you blinked, rereading it like maybe it’d change if you looked hard enough. your chest felt weird. not heavy exactly—just… unsettled.

you typed something. deleted it. typed again. deleted again.

you: yeah he seems pretty nice i guess

no reply.

you watched the screen like it owed you something.

and then, after a long pause—

paige: that’s good

nothing else.

why wasn’t she saying anything else? you could tell she was holding back. you could practically feel it through the screen.

and for some reason, that made your throat tighten. because you didn’t want her to be distant. you didn’t want her to just be cool with it.

on the other side of the campus, she wasn’t cool with it at all. not even a little bit.

she was laid out in her bed, one arm slung over her eyes like it could block out the heat crawling down her neck. her phone rested on her chest, screen still lit up with your message.

matt from my sociology class asked me out… i said yes.

“man, what?” she muttered to no one, heart pounding.

she was jealous. of course, she was.

but she should’ve seen it coming. should’ve known somebody else would shoot their shot eventually. you were smart, funny, gorgeous. hell, paige could barely go five minutes around you without wanting to touch your hand or kiss the corner of your mouth just to see how you’d taste when you smiled. honestly, she’s pretty proud of her strength.

so yeah. of course some dude was gonna ask you out.

but fuck, it hurts more than she’d like to admit.

she couldn’t even be mad at the guy. not really. but the thought of him sitting next to you in a dark movie theater, brushing fingers over the popcorn bag, leaning over to whisper something… kissing you—fuck, that made her want to throw her phone across the damn room.

she didn’t know how to say it, though. didn’t know how to tell you it bothered her without sounding upset.

she sat up, rubbed her hand down her face, then grabbed her phone again and stared at the chat.

yeah, he seems nice i guess

her jaw clenched.

she typed a bunch of things before sending a message.

you really like him?

deleted it.

typed again.

he’s not even your type tho.

deleted that too.

she tossed her phone to the side the second she finally sent a message and laid back down, arms crossed over her chest. she’d wanted to ask you to hang out tonight. just the two of you.

jealous was an understatement.

she felt miserable. she wasn’t even mad at you. not even close.

she was mad at herself.

for waiting too long. for playing it cool too well. for pretending she was fine just being your friend when every second spent next to you made her want more.

the idea of anyone else getting to have the version of you paige had been in love with since the moment you said hi to her felt wrong.

you didn’t even know what you were doing to her.

and the worst part?

she couldn’t even say it.

because you were just friends. best friends.

͏✶

it’d been three days.

at first, you didn’t think much of it.

you figured maybe she was just tired. practice, finals, team meetings, whatever. she’d said she was swamped. you told yourself she’d come back.

but then she didn’t.

you didn’t see her the next morning, or the one after that. no lazy walk across campus together like usual before classes, before practice.

just a couple dry texts saying “slept thru my alarm lol” or “coach called an early practice. my bad.”

you wanted to believe it. but it didn’t feel right.

paige wasn’t the type to flake. she’d shown up for you more times than you could count—when you were sick, when you were stressed, even that one time you almost cried in the middle of midterms week and she literally skipped film review to sit with you in the library and make you laugh.

so this felt weird. is it because of matt?

you stared at her last message.

your thumb hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to say what you really wanted to say or just brush it off like she clearly wanted you to.

but the truth was, it was starting to piss you off a little.

because you didn’t do anything wrong.

because it felt like she didn’t care.

or like she did, but chose to hide it from you.

you wanted her to just say whatever was on her mind.

something you thought a best friend would want to know.

you had wanted her to care a little more.

but you weren’t gonna chase someone who didn’t want to talk to you.

you tossed your phone onto your bed and let out a frustrated breath, arms crossed tight over your chest as you sat back in your desk chair, the silence in your dorm suddenly louder than ever.

if she was mad, she should’ve just said it. if she didn’t want to hang out, she should’ve just said that.

because paige always seemed to speak her mind.

now, she wasn’t.

so you decided to go see her.

you didn’t really think it through.

you just stood up, grabbed your hoodie, slipped on your shoes, and walked out. you honestly had no idea what you were even gonna say when you got there.

the walk to the girls’ basketball dorms wasn’t long. you knew the route like the back of your hand by now. you’d been there more times than you could count—movie nights, study sessions, lazy nights where paige would half-doze off on your shoulder while some random netflix show played in the background.

but tonight was different. honestly, you just… missed her. you missed her more than you were upset. and you didn’t know how to say that.

you made it to her floor, knocked softly.

you heard movement inside. muffled voices. the creak of the door.

it opened slowly, and there she was—paige, standing barefoot in sweats and a loose uconn tee, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun on her head like she’d been napping.

she blinked at you, caught completely off guard.

“oh, hey…” she breathed, voice a little scratchy. “what are you doin’ here?”

her eyes scanned your face like she was trying to figure out if something was wrong, if you were upset, hurt, mad—anything.

but you didn’t say anything yet. you just looked at her. and she looked at you.

“oh, shit—” jana piped up from behind her, lounging on the bed with her phone still lit in her hand. she looked between the two of you with a raised brow, then smirked like she knew exactly what was going on. “i’ll head out.”

paige turned, “uh—”

“it’s okay, i’ll go annoy kk and aubrey,” jana said quickly, already grabbing her charger. “y’all… have fun. i will be bak to sleep, though.”

she squeezed past you with a grin and a knowing glance before disappearing down the hall.

paige rubbed the back of her neck, stepping aside so you could walk in. you did, slow and quiet.

the room was a little messy—hoodies tossed on her desk chair, a gatorade bottle half-drank on the nightstand, her slides kicked off at the foot of the bed. the tv was playing something muted, but paige picked up the remote and shut it off without a word.

she turned to you, hands on her hips now. her eyes were tired, but they softened the second she really looked at you. and that look alone made your chest pull.

“you okay?” she asked, quieter now.

you nodded slowly

“i just… haven’t seen you.”

paige pressed her lips together, jaw flexing for half a second. she looked down at the floor, then back up at you.

“yeah,” she said. “i know. my bad.”

she meant it. you could see it all over her face.

paige sat down slowly on the edge of her bed. she leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped together, eyes fixed on the floor, trying to avoid your eyes.

you stood there for a second, unsure if you should sit too.

but you did—right beside her, the mattress dipping as you sat.

you spoke first.

“you said you’ve been busy?”

paige didn’t answer right away. her eyes stayed on the floor. her foot tapped once. twice.

then, finally—

“uh, yeah,” she said. “i’m sorry.”

you glanced at her, taking in the slope of her shoulders, the small furrow between her brows.

“are you mad at me?”

paige let out a dry little laugh, not unkind, just tired.

“no. never that.”

you waited. gave her space to say more.

and after a moment, she did.

“i just been… trying to stay in my lane, i guess?” she said, afraid of saying too much. “you’ve got shit going on. i don’t wanna mess that up.”

you tilted your head. “mess what up?”

she shrugged. “i mean—someone asked you out. that’s… that’s good, right? you deserve that. somebody to treat you nice. do all that movie and dinner shit.”

your heart twinged a little.

“we’re not even—” you started, then sighed. “it’s just one movie, paige. it’s not serious. really.”

she nodded slowly, still not looking at you. but her jaw clenched again.

“yeah… still. i don’t wanna be all up in your space if you wanna, you know… see where that goes.”

you stared at her then, finally realizing—she wasn’t just being distant. she was pulling away to protect something. maybe you. maybe herself. maybe both.

you reached over, nudging your shoulder lightly against hers, “you’re never all up in my space. i… i actually didn’t like not seeing you.”

paige’s lips pressed together to form the tiniest smile. her voice was almost too soft to hear.

“yeah?”

you nodded.

“yeah.”

she swallowed hard, fingers playing with the drawstring of her sweats.

she was scared.

maybe that’s why she hadn’t said anything.

why she bit her tongue that night you texted her about it. why she ghosted you a little.

because the truth was—paige was scared as hell.

not scared of you. not even scared of rejection.

she was scared of losing you. she’d rather stay quiet than lose you completely.

this friendship meant too much. you meant too much.

and yeah, she’d wanted more for a long time. she’d dreamt about it almost everyday. stubborn little dreams she kept buried deep, like kissing you goodnight on the nights you stayed over, or holding your hand without needing a reason. she’d replayed the sound of your laughter, the way your smile looked, the way you looked at her and imagined what it would feel like to press her lips against yours. to feel you beneath her fingers, her palms, hands that were calloused and bigger than yours.

but she really didn’t wanna fuck it up.

because if you didn’t feel the same way… if you looked at her and only saw your best friend…

that would be it. no do-over.

so paige sat next to you, heart pounding in her chest, blue eyes locked on the floor, still pretending like everything was normal.

you sat quietly there for a moment, fiddling with the hem of your skirt, your knee brushing lightly against paige’s.

so you glanced at her, your voice barely above a whisper, “i’m nervous about it, actually.”

paige looked up, finally meeting your eyes.

the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease, but her eyebrows raised slightly like she wasn’t expecting you to say that. like she thought you’d be excited, glowing, already picking outfits and… all that.

“the movie?” she asked, trying to be casual.

you nodded slowly. “the whole thing. just… going out. with a guy. like that.”

she didn’t say anything right away. and if she was trying to keep her face neutral, she was failing just a little.

you kept going, letting the words fall out before you could overthink them.

“i’ve never really done any of it. dating. being out with someone. i think the last date i went to was in high school… and i can barely even remember any of it. i’ve had crushes, sure, but nothing ever really… happened.” you breathed in through your nose. “and now i said yes and i don’t even know what i’m doing.”

paige’s licked her lips, but she didn’t speak. her eyes scanned your face like she was memorizing it.

“i mean, what if it gets awkward?” you mumbled. “what if he tries to kiss me and i… i don’t even know how to—”

you stopped yourself, cheeks burning all of a sudden.

paige blinked. sat up straighter, her brows raised even higher now.

“you never kissed nobody before?”

“i have, stupid.” you blurted out fast, but glanced away soon after, embarrassed. “just… not like… that.”

she leaned back a little, nodding slowly. she didn’t tease you. didn’t laugh. but something in her chest cracked open, just a little.

now, all she could think about and look at were… your lips. how soft they looked. like they were calling her in.

all she wanted to do was be the person you felt safe with.

you were still staring down at your hands, thumbs twisting the fabric of your sleeve, when paige said it.

she didn’t know what made her say it.

“i… i could show you?”

and then it was like all the oxygen got sucked out the room.

you looked up, eyes wide, lips parting just slightly.

and paige—

fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.

she blinked, sat upright like she could somehow backpedal physically—

“i didn’t—i-i mean—” she let out a breath, raking a hand over her face. she laughed, but it was awkward and nervous and too high in her throat.

you didn’t say anything. you were just looking at her.

and that was somehow worse.

she sat forward, elbows back on her knees, face in her hands for a second like she could disappear there.

“yo, ignore me. it’s late… i-i just—i don’t know what i’m saying—“

she was talking fast now, trying to fill the space, trying to pretend like her heart wasn’t racing and her palms weren’t clammy and her lips didn’t suddenly ache.

god, she wanted to throw herself out the window.

i could show you. what the fuck was that?

she rubbed the back of her neck, still not looking at you, her voice dropping to a grumble.

“sorry… forget i said anything.”

and then—so quietly she almost missed it—paige heard you whisper:

“…okay.”

her head shot up like she wasn’t sure she actually heard you right. eyes wide, lips parted, breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat.

“what?”

you were already rambling, the same as she was, like the words were tumbling out before you could stop them.

“i mean—not like for real for real, just—just to, like, try. not a whole thing, i just—I don’t know—i mean, only if you want to. obviously. if that was a joke, then—then forget it—”

“no,” paige cut in quickly, almost too quickly. “no, i wasn’t playing.”

her voice cracked just slightly at the end, and she cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. her heart was pounding so hard she thought you might hear it.

“you sure?” she asked softly.

you nodded, just once. small. shy.

and her stomach flipped.

paige let out the tiniest breath as if she’d been holding it since you walked through the door. her shoulders dropped just a little, and the corner of her lips tugged up, that slow, crooked little smirk curling on paige’s lips as if she’d just remembered exactly who she was.

your face flushed instantly the moment you saw her smile, and paige bit back a grin, watching the way your lips parted.

the nerves from a moment ago vanished, replaced that same confidence she carried everywhere with her.

you squinted at her, giving her a look, “you’re being cocky.”

paige’s eyes flicked to yours, her grin widening before she shook her head quickly—lying straight through her teeth.

“i’m not,” she said.

she absolutely was. and she knew it.

you raised a brow, and she chuckled—deep and a little smug now, clearly loving the way you were already squirming.

then she scooted closer on the bed, so close now her thigh pressed against yours. her arm slid behind you slowly, palm resting flat against the mattress just barely behind your back. her fingers curled like they were thinking about reaching for your waist, but she didn’t rush it.

she was warm beside you—close enough for you to smell her perfume, feel her breath, see the way her lashes lowered when she looked at your lips again. her fingers tapped lightly against the bed behind you, brushing your lower back. her touch was barely there, but it was all you could think about.

paige leaned in just a little more, her breath brushing warm against your cheek, before murmuring softly.

“close your eyes,” she whispered.

you did. slowly.

and the second your eyes fluttered shut, paige froze. just for a moment.

her breath caught in her throat. her heart kicked hard against her ribs.

holy fuck.

her eyes roamed your face—so close, so trusting, your lips parted just slightly, your chest rising and falling like you were bracing for something you didn’t even understand yet. and somehow, somehow, you wanted her to be the one to teach you.

her fingers flexed against the mattress, resisting the urge to wrap around your waist like they wanted to. her throat was dry, her head spinning. she couldn’t believe this was happening.

she exhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing thoughts, but it was no use.

is this really happening?

she tilted her head, just a little, lips hovering.

paige was already going through it before you even closed your eyes. you, sitting on her bed, in that big oversized hoodie swallowing your frame but not enough to hide the fact that you were wearing a skirt underneath, knees brushing hers when you sat down next to her.

you looked so good it made her chest ache. but it wasn’t just how you looked—it was you.

and now, you were sitting in front of her, eyes closed, waiting.

you looked so pretty like this.

god.

it took everything in her to keep it together.

paige reached up with one hand and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

she smiled.

then, finally, you felt her lips brush yours.

paige kissed you slow. and sweet. her lips felt like the softest thing you’d ever touched. you could feel the warmth radiating from her mouth, and the slight tremble beneath her lips that told you this made her nervous just as it made you.

her other hand drifted down without her realizing it, settling gently on your thigh.

you responded without thinking, your hand creeping up to rest over the fabric of her shirt at her chest. your fingers hesitated for a second, then your fingers slid up, tracing the curve of her shoulder before reaching around her neck.

paige’s breath hitched slightly against your lips, and you felt the tiniest tremor in her body, surprised by how close you’d gotten.

she was nervous—damn near shaking—but also so fucking sure of every little thing happening.

you taste so good.

all those nights she’d imagined this moment played over and over in her head, every detail perfect, every touch just how she dreamed it would be. she’d wondered what it would feel like to kiss you—really kiss you—not just in her daydreams but for real.

and fuck, it’s even better than she imagined.

paige pressed her lips a little deeper, letting the kiss deepen slowly, humming against your lips. and, just as her mouth moved softly against yours, she felt it.

a tiny, breathy gasp escaping you, so soft it was almost swallowed by the silence. the faintest, tiniest moan, barely there, against her mouth.

it was so small, so delicate, paige almost thought she’d imagined it.

her breath hitched. her heart slammed against her ribs.

paige’s fingers dug just a little into your thigh, desperate for something to hold onto, inching slightly underneath the fabric of your skirt.

and paige knew, right then, she was completely, utterly, deliciously addicted to every part of you.

she wanted more. needed more.

fuck—

she pulled back just slightly, her breathing shallow and ragged.

she knew she was getting carried away. losing control faster than she wanted to admit.

so she paused, her forehead resting softly against yours, eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt.

“can i keep going?” she whispered against your lips.

you blinked slowly, your breath still fluttering from the kiss, heart pounding in your chest like a drum. the warmth of paige’s hand, rough and calloused from years of basketball, on your thigh sent a shiver up your spine.

you met her eyes and nodded almost softly.

“yeah,” you whispered back, barely more than a breath. “please.”

your fingers twitched, fingertips scratching the back of her neck.

paige’s smile deepened, her eyes sparkling with something fierce and tender all at once, and without another word, she leaned in again and—

“yo, can i come in now or what?”

jana’s voice called from the other side.

you and paige pulled away from each other instantly, breath catching in your throat, your hand falling from her neck as her palm slid quickly off your thigh.

paige blinked, dazed, like her mind hadn’t even caught up to her body yet. her lips were still parted, her eyes still locked on yours like she couldn’t quite believe what just happened.

then she turned toward the desk, slowly, glancing at the clock glowing on her nightstand.

1:27 a.m.

she shut her eyes tight and dropped her head forward, letting it hang for a second as she exhaled hard. not at jana. just at the timing. at the fact that her favorite kiss in the world had just been cut short.

damn it.

“i-i should…” you started, voice shaky, still catching your breath, “i should probably go.”

paige looked up at you, her heart twisting. she didn’t want you to. not yet. but she nodded anyway.

“yeah… yeah, okay,” she murmured, rubbing the back of her neck.

you stood up slowly, brushing your hands against your skirt, then looked back at her, lips parting, unsure of what to even say after all that. your cheeks were still warm and your heart was beating a mile a minute.

“t-thanks for um…” you paused, swallowing. “for showing me.”

paige looked at you then. she nodded once, lips tugging into a lopsided smile.

“anytime,” she said, a little hoarse.

she pushed herself up on her feet, her hand brushing against her sweats like she wasn’t sure what to do with it now—whether to reach for you again, or just let you go.

she shifted her weight awkwardly, glancing at the door, then back at you, a little hesitant to speak.

“do you want me to walk you back—”

but you were already shaking your head, offering her a small, flustered smile as you stepped toward the door.

“n-no, it’s okay,” you said quickly, eyes darting anywhere but her. “i… i can walk on my own.”

paige’s mouth opened slightly like she wanted to say something else, but she didn’t push. she just nodded, once.

“aight.”

and she watched you reach for the door, her chest still rising and falling. her fingers twitched at her side, wanting to hold you there.

but she stayed still.

and when you glanced back at her one last time, paige just looked at you—eyes soft, jaw tense, heart full of a million things she still couldn’t say.

“get home safe,” she said gently. “text me when you’re in.”

you nodded again, your hand tightening around the doorknob.

“i will.”

you opened the door just as paige stepped up behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her all over again.

and there stood jana, arms crossed, one brow lifted, clearly waiting.

“well damn,” jana said, smirking as her eyes darted between you and paige. “finally.”

you gave her a soft smile, feeling the heat spread across your cheeks, “hey, jana. sorry, i didn’t mean to take up your room this long.”

jana just waved a hand, stepping aside so you could pass, “don’t worry about it. i was just getting a little sleepy. i think p. boogers over here forgot we have practice early tomorrow morning.”

you gave a quiet laugh and tucked your hands into the sleeves of your hoodie, glancing back one last time. “goodnight, guys.”

paige held the door open, silent, her eyes glued to your back as you walked down the hall. she didn’t say anything. she just stared. and watched as you disappeared around the corner. only when she couldn’t see you anymore did she finally close the door.

then she dropped her forehead against the wood with a groan. long. loud. half frustration, half complete emotional combustion.

jana raised an eyebrow from across the room, already toeing off her shoes, “so y’all kissed or what?”

paige reached blindly for the nearest pillow and launched it at her.

“shut up.”

jana caught it, laughing as she plopped onto her bed.

“ooh, y’all kissed.”

“yo. shut. up.”

masterlist | © bueckii.

[fredsters-world]

My "All for you" Sonic AU but if Nine and Tails were twins! More of Nine if he were in my All for You au↓

- Nine has shorter fur than Tails so he wears more covering clothes

- Nine and Tails are both equally intelligent. Nine would go insane around your average 4 year old so he enjoys Tails's company alot

- Nine is overprotective of his family. Those park incidents had one thing in common: Bullies. He's a little independent so he did something about it before going to Sonic

- Nine's your average introvert!

- Both twins are equally clingy to Sonic, but you could say Nine is just a little more.

- Nine believes in Santa and the tooth fairy

- Nine wears a onesie to sleep while Tails wears a two piece

- They're not a fan of being compared, they are their own individual no matter their similarities!

- Sonic called Nine "Tails" by accident once and the next day Sonic woke up with Nine = a little doodle of himself written on his arm with permanent marker.

[chuhees]

─────DESPERATE, BABY

𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗜𝗦 💌 when your boyfriend is desperate for your touch

◜ᯅ◝ 【 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝓞 】 bf! lhs + smut 𝟐𝟐𝟐 && jerking off, oral! (m receiving)⟢ cl𝓲ck4𝗣𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗘

爱 : this was self indulgent ngl … also hi @sourkiki gulps

you felt your phone buzz in your car’s cupholder, the place you originally placed it in. the GPS said your drive home would be 30 minutes, but knowing the after work traffic, you’d be stuck there for at least an hour.

your hand rested on the steering wheel, you sigh as the cars ahead of you honked their horns. you pick your phone up, putting in your passcode and heading straight to your messages, where your boyfriend heeseung as texted you a few times.

hee💗: baby how much longer until you come home?

hee💗: need you so bad i’m spiraling [image]

hee💗: thinking of your tight pussy

you laugh a bit, typing your response. you know your boyfriend would be home before you, you just didn’t think he’d be so hard right after work. you put your phone down, back in its original spot, your hands back on the wheel, continuing to slowly drive through the highway traffic.

at home, heeseung rested in bed, his work attire still on. his tie loose around his neck, the buttons undone half way on his button down, pants open revealing his boxer waistline. heeseung couldn’t hold back, he pulls his pants down to his knees, alongside his boxers.

heeseung’s hand wraps around his hard length, gently stroking. his right hand, tending to his achy groin, while his left hand had his phone. on heeseung’s phone played a video of you two from last night. right after you showered, heeseung had pulled you on top. the way you rode him was hot, too hot. so hot, he had to pull his phone out to record your beauty.

now the video played on his phone, while he continued to get off. heeseung hands shake, whimpers and moans leaving his lips with every stroke.

“fuck.. fuck..” heeseung breaths, hands moving up and down his cock desperately. “so beautiful for me.” the way your body looked on top of him.. it was too much to take in. heeseung images your wet heat, taking him balls deep.

heeseung cums, all over. on his abdomen, his hand, the bedsheet. his sticky white fluid got everywhere, heeseung tries to catch his breath. a strangled moan leaves heeseung’s lips, your name falls from them—the word he knows best, especially in moments like these.

you open the door to the bedroom, finding him sweating through his work clothes. his hand remained wrapped around his cock, still finding his breath.

heeseung blinks up at you. “b-baby you’re finally home.”

you bite back a smirk. “couldn’t wait a couple minutes huh?”

you toss your purse to the side, crawling onto the bed slowly. “good thing i’m here now. still hard for me?”

heeseung nods his head, the video of you still playing in his hand. “you looked so good last night baby, so pretty bouncing on my cock.”

you look at the video, then at the ropes of cum on his abdomen, his hand, and the white duvet below him—which has dried up and stained the sheet. “you really made a mess hee.”

heeseung’s cheeks flush pink, the same pink as when he drinks past his limits. you crawl closer between his legs, hands running up his thigh. he flinches, his cock twitches whilst still in his grasp. he’s still hard—a second round of precum leaking from the tip.

“mm” you hum, letting your nails graze up his skin. “still hard baby.”

heeseung nods slowly, an embarrassed expression on his face. “hurts…”

you pout, fingers wrapped gently around his base. “poor baby..”

you flatten your tongue and slowly lick a strip on its underside. you watched heeseung fall apart, this thighs tremble—hands reaching for your hair. your tongue swirls around the head, causing heeseung’s eyes to roll back.

“does it feel good baby?” you murmur against his cock, with mocking sympathy.

heeseung nods furiously. “y-y-yes baby… so good.”

you continue to suck him, tiny moans and whines leaving heeseung’s lips. his head rests against the headboard, hand gripping your hair tightly as you bop your head slowly up and down his length—cheeks hallow.

“your mouth…” heeseung gasps suddenly. “so fucking wet baby.” his hand grips your ponytail tightly, eagered for more.

“w-wait..” he gasps again. “g-gonna cum princess.”

you don’t stop, in fact you only suck faster—your hands on this thighs for support. you watch as heeseung sobs out your name, begging you to let him cum.

you pull off his cock with a soft pop, cum leaking everywhere. you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, his cheeks hot—a panting mess, sweat down his forehead.

“princess…” heeseung breathes, absolutely dazed. “you broke me.”

you smirk, crawling up to kiss his jaw. “good.”

[strnilolover]

MATT 100% HAS A RAGING BREEDING KINK. like he was you pinned to his mattress; face scrunched, back arched, and you’re both on the verge of cumming and you just snap when he starts babbling and yapping about getting you pregnant. “fuuuck- gonna put a baby in you.” “god ma, can’t wait to see ya with swollen tits and a huge belly.” “taking my cum so well..” as he fingers it all back into you. LIKEEEE… (this is a silent plea for a fic about this.)

⌗ . . . BREEDING

WARNINGS : DOM!MATT. SUB!READER. BREEDING KINK. PREGNANCY KINK (?). DIRTY TALK. PRAISING. FINGERING.

matt loved stuffing you full every time he fucked you. letting his cum seep from your swollen cunt when he pulled out of you—god he loved it.

and right now was no different.

the mattress is damp beneath your body from sweat—the sheets twisted up in your fists to try and keep yourself grounded. your body is trembling, already a mess, but Matt isn’t slowing down. he’s deep—so deep—his hips snapping forward with harsh thrusts that have your eyes rolling back and your nails clawing helplessly at the sheets below you even more.

“look at you.” he cooed, his hands gripping the flesh of your ass as it bounced on his cock. “fuckin’ perfect like this, all dumb and open for me.” you whimper under him, face scrunched up, tears dotting your lashes and spilling into the fabric pressed against your face. it’s too much.

he’s been fucking you for so long, taking his time—then fucking you like no tomorrow before he slows back down again.

his chest presses to your back, mouth dropping to your ear. “y’gonna let me fill you up real good hm?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, trailing down your neck. it sent shivers down your spine, your walls pulsing around his cock. you nod frantically. “mhm!—please!” you cry out, trying to part your legs more to let him fuck you even deeper.

“Ohhh fuck.” he groans like he’s drunk off of you and how good your pussy feels wrapped around him. “gonna put a baby in you sweetheart, look so fuckin’ beautiful.” his hips snapping forward quicker, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. you gasp out matt’s name, face turning and pushing into the sheets, muffling your noises.

he keeps going, eyes glued to the way your body moved, like he’s watching his words split you open just as much as his cock is. “fuck, can’t wait to see you swollen—tits heavy, belly full’a me.” his hand slides around, splaying it over your lower stomach like he can feel it already.

“y’gonna be so full you won’t even be able to walk right.” he grits, his voice faltering slightly as your walls flutter around him. “so fuckin’ pretty… all mine.” and you sob, your thighs beginning to shake, making it harder to keep yourself up. “m—gonna cum, matt—fuck, I can’t—” you cried out—your walls fluttering around him repeatedly.

“yeah? come on then.” he pants, slamming his cock deep one last time, making your back arches more as you cry out—your body tensing up before the band snaps. you choke on a gasp, a moan following right after as your vision blurred.

matt groans, choking on it, gripping your hips tight as he quickly follows—spilling inside you with one last grind of his hips, staying deep as your cunt pulses around him.

“fuckin’ take it.” he grits out, pulling his hips back a little before slamming forward again. making sure to spill his cum deep inside you. “take all of it, baby.” you could feel the way he twitched inside you, the feeling making you moan, grinding your hips just barely to feel just how full you were.

you’re barely breathing when he finally pulls back—just enough to watch the way his cum spills out of your ruined cunt, thick and slow. he lets out a laugh, almost in awe. “so so messy.” he mutters. “we gotta fix that, yeah?”

you try to shake your head, but it’s useless. his fingers are already sliding down between your folds and your thighs—scooping up what trailed out and pushing it right back in to your sensitive pussy. you moan, the sound between a cry and gasp, your body twitching, hips jolting back helplessly into his hand.

“taking my cum so well, baby,” he coos. “gonna keep you full all night yeah? keep you plugged. maybe even sleep with me still inside you. that’s how bad I wanna see you knocked up.” and your head lolls to the side, body boneless. you whimper in response, and he smiles.

“were made for me, ma.”

a/n : guys i’m finally working on my requests…i’m sorry it’s taken me this long 😭 but i’m sitting at the laundromat right now…gonna try and write while i sit here for a few hours.

[cams-cult]

chris waking you up with kisses 💫

you were dead asleep. your chest rising and falling gently as you slept peacefully. chris on the other hand was awake and bored that you weren’t awake with him.

he stares at you wondering when exactly it would be when you would wake up, but also admiring your sleeping beauty like state.

he smiles down at you, slowly caressing his hand across your arm and over your tummy. his intrusive thoughts would soon take over as he leans down and presses one kiss to your forehead in hopes of you waking up.

he stays back and waits for about 10 seconds and nothing happens. he then places another kiss on your right cheek, adding a little ruffle to your hair almost certain that you would wake up this time….but still nothing.

he frowns, placing yet another kiss to your left cheek, slightly shaking you awake. you feel in your subconscious that something was touching you, so you turn over off of your back and to your side facing away from him.

he once again frowns and internally groans. he then thinks of an idea, one that would for sure wake you up. one tactic that you could never sleep for, your favorite tactic that is.

chris slowly wraps his arm around your waist spooning you, but still leaning up as he blows a cool breeze of air against your neck. he then leans down and begins softly kissing your neck, his hand moving up and down against your waist.

his idea turned out to be correct. you begin to stir awake, squirming slightly as you let out a soft whine. you flutter your eyes open, feeling his lips on your neck as you smile and turn to face him.

chris smiles as he stops kissing you, taking his hand off of your waist as he moves it up to your cheek to cup it soothingly. you flutter your eyes at his gesture as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“good morning, pretty..”

a/n: a little fluffy, but i just woke up and conjured this together.

taglist: @starrii-sturns @sturns-mermaid @emely9274 @hjvi @chrepsi @chrisstomach @izzylovesmatt @mattssslutbby @chrisslut04 @fratbrochrisgf @sturnsxbitvh @grace-sturnz @divinesturn @sturniolo-szn2 @riasturns @chrissweetheart @whore4chris @jensturnss @riggysworld @h3arts4nat @sophand4n4 @lvrsturniolo @trustinsturniolos @chrxsprettygirl @mialovesyouchris @fictionalboysstuff @iloveduckssm @eeyoresturnz @sturniolosymphony @whore4-chrissturniolo @sturnvdds @eviep4l

[gojosconsort]

Gojo just casually touching readers tits when he’s horny during a movie, like gently rubbing circles on it and playing with her nipples to let her know he wants her to fuck him. So she ends up pushing him down on the couch and rides him till he cums with her twice tits still in his mouth🥰

𓂃୨ৎ mdni. nipple play, riding, creampie

the movie’s some dumb action flick, explosions flickering on the screen, but satoru’s barely watching. you’re curled up on the couch next to him, your head on his shoulder, his arm slung around you.

it’s cozy, until you feel his fingers start to wander, sliding under your loose tank top. his touch is warm, lazy, but there’s a spark in it that makes your breath catch.

he’s horny—you know the signs by now.

satoru’s hand cups your tit, thumb brushing slow circles over your nipple through your bra, teasing it to a hard peak. “satoru,” you murmur, glancing at him, but he’s got that smug little grin, eyes half-lidded, pretending to focus on the movie. “what?” he says, all innocent, but his fingers pinch your nipple lightly, making you squirm.

“you’re distracting,” you huff, but heat’s already pooling between your thighs. he chuckles, leaning closer, lips grazing your ear. “can’t help it, babe. these are too fucking perfect.” his other hand joins, both now under your shirt, pushing your bra up to free your tits.

he’s gentle but also mean, rolling your nipples between his fingers, tugging just enough to make you gasp. “feel good?” he asks, and you nod, biting your lip.

he’s hard—you can feel his cock straining against his sweatpants, pressing into your hip. his touches get bolder, one hand kneading your breast while his mouth dips to kiss your neck, whispering, “want you so bad.” it’s his way of begging, that needy edge in his voice, and it’s got you soaked, thighs clenching.

and he’s in heaven, your soft, heavy breasts in his palms, so perfect he can’t stop groaning, his cock throbbing just from touching you. every squeeze, every tug, makes him hungrier, his mouth watering to taste you.

“satoru, the movie—” you start, but he groans, cutting you off, and you’ve had enough. you shove him back, his head hitting the couch cushions, his blue eyes wide with surprise, then darkening.

“fuck, yes,” he breathes as you straddle him, yanking his sweatpants down. his cock springs free, thick and leaking, tip flushed, and you’re already aching to take him. you tug your shorts and panties off and line him up, his cock nudging your slick entrance, and sink down slow, gasping as he stretches you, filling you deep.

satoru’s eyes roll back, a low moan escaping as your tight, wet pussy grips him, so warm and perfect he’s losing his mind. every inch feels like fucking bliss, your walls squeezing him just right, like you were made for his cock. you start to ride him, hips rocking, his cock dragging against your walls, hitting deep, making you moan.

“shit, you’re so tight,” he gasps, hands flying back to your tits, squeezing as you start moving. he’s obsessed, the way your breasts bounce under your top, so full and soft, makes him thrust up harder, wanting to stay buried in you forever.

he leans in, pushes your top up over your tits and then his mouth is on them, sucking one nipple, then the other. “fuck, you’re so hot,” he mutters. he sucks hard, tongue swirling, teeth grazing, and it’s too much—you’re clenching around him, riding faster.

“satoru,” you whimper, tugging his white hair, and he growls, sucking harder, his whole body trembling from how good your tits feel in his mouth, how your pussy milks his cock.

his hips buck, meeting your thrusts, the couch creaking, wet sounds filling the room. you’re close, your clit grinding against him, and he’s right there with you, hands gripping your tits like he’ll die if he lets go.

“cum for me,” he pants, biting your nipple lightly, and that’s it—you’re cumming, hard, walls squeezing his cock as you cry out, shaking in his lap. he’s still sucking your tit, hands gripping your hips, guiding you through it. “fuck, that’s my girl.”

you keep riding, oversensitive but needy, wanting him to cum too. his mouth switches to your other breast, latching on, sucking like he’s starving, and it’s pushing you toward another edge.

“satoru, oh god,” you gasp, and he’s done—your pussy’s grip pulling him under, the way your tits fill his mouth making him cum, cock pulsing, spilling hot and thick inside you. he groans, loud, still sucking your nipple, thrusts slowing as he rides it out, every spurt feeling like he’s marking you, claiming you.

you’re not done, though—your hips keep moving, slower now, milking him, and he’s whimpering, oversensitive, but he doesn’t stop you. his mouth stays on your nipple, sucking softer, and the feeling’s got you cumming again, a smaller, shuddering wave, your pussy clenching tight around his softening cock.

you collapse against him, both of you panting, his arms wrapping around you. he pulls back, kissing your swollen nipples gently, then your lips, soft and sweet. “you’re so fucking hot,” he murmurs, grinning, still half-hard inside you. “movie’s shit anyway. round two in bed?”

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . KISS THE PAIN AWAY

WARNINGS : CRYING. KISSING. and chris being a gentle soul.

you weren’t even sure why you were crying. once moment your chest felt too tight, your throat closing on itself making it harder to breath. the burn of it all slowly fading as you let the first few tears slip down your face.

you couldn’t explain to yourself why you were in pain—or what you were sad about or why you were sitting here alone in bed, letting your sleeves wipe away the tears falling slowly. knowing that when you felt like this, chris was able to make it feel a little better.

he was able to take away the pain that was swirling around in your chest for just a little—it was like a temporary relief when his arms were wrapped tightly around you. and his lips were pressing light kisses to the top of your head.

you were so lost in thought that you didn’t even hear when chris had came in—didn’t realize his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his lap until you felt the way he was rubbing circles into your back.

all you could do was slouch against him, letting your face bury itself into his neck as you sniffled and just let yourself go—even if it was hard enough to do already.

he whispered reassuring things into your ear, talked to you so gently like if he said the wrong thing then maybe you might just shut him out instead of letting him in.

he pulled you back after a moment, letting his hands cup your face. his thumbs stroked your skin, his blue orbs staring at you, like maybe if he stared long enough he could soak up whatever you were feeling and take it away from you.

“you’re so beautiful baby.” he whispered suddenly after the silence that was hanging in the air. “i know it hurts right now, but you’re doing so so good. i’m proud of you for letting yourself cry. know how much you don’t like it.” he muttered, letting his hands hold you as he leaned in, pressing his lips to each fresh tear that rolled down your cheeks.

the action made you laugh softly, but his words made your chest tighten even more. not from sadness though, from love. it was a strange feeling—crying from how sad you felt but letting yourself laugh at how loved you felt.

chris loved when he was able to make you laugh or smile through your tears—it made him happy.

his lips continued to press light kisses to your face until the tears had stopped falling. when he pulled away, sure his face was wet now, but he didn’t care.

all that mattered was you were here in his arms, letting him love you at your lowest, even if it was hard for you to do.

a/n : something sweet cause honestly, i could use something like this rn. not gonna do a tag list rn cause it’s late and i need to sleep. love you guys <3

[gojosconsort]

Satoru with a moaning kink so he constantly fucks hard for a scream orrr vice versa and he’s getting head so hard for a whimper he taps out but we keep going anyways??

𓂃୨ৎ mdni. oral (m receiving), overstimulation, creampie, light domination

satoru’s got a thing for your moans—drives him fucking wild, to be precise. you’re sprawled on his bed, sheets already a mess, and he’s got you pinned, thighs spread, his cock slamming into you so hard the headboard’s rattling.

he’s relentless, hips snapping with a force that makes your whole body shake, chasing those screams he loves.

“c’mon, babe, let me hear you.” each thrust’s deeper, his cock stretching your pussy, hitting that spot that makes you scream his name.

“satoru!” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders, and he groans, loud, like your voice is fucking him up. “fuck, that’s it,” he pants, thrusting harder, the wet slap of skin filling the room. your moans are raw, desperate, spilling out as he fucks you senseless, your walls clenching tight around him.

he’s obsessed, every scream making his cock twitch, pushing him closer to the edge. “louder,” he demands, grabbing your hips, pulling you down to meet his thrusts, and you’re screaming now, head thrown back, pleasure tearing through you.

he’s not done, though—satoru’s too greedy for your sounds.

he flips you, ass up, face pressed into the pillows, and slams back in, his cock so deep it’s overwhelming. “scream for me, baby,” he moans, hand smacking your ass, and you do, voice breaking as he pounds you, your pussy dripping, soaking the sheets.

he cums hard, groaning your name, filling you with hot, thick spurts, but he keeps going, chasing more of your moans, even as you’re trembling and oversensitive.

“fuck, you sound so good,” he pants, pulling out, cum leaking down your thighs. he’s still hard, cock glistening, and you know what he wants. you push him onto his back, his eyes widening, that smug grin faltering as you straddle his thighs. “my turn,” you say, and he’s already moaning, just from the look in your eyes.

you take his cock in your mouth, slow at first, tongue swirling around the tip, tasting him. he’s sensitive, whimpering already, and it’s like music to you.

“shit, babe,” he whines, hands in your hair, hips twitching as you suck him deeper, lips tight around his shaft. you go hard, no mercy, hollowing your cheeks, taking him to the back of your throat, gagging softly. his whimpers turn to broken moans, high and needy, and it’s got you soaked, your pussy throbbing just from his sounds.

“fuck, fuck, you’re too good,” he gasps, head thrown back, abs flexing as he tries to hold it together.

you suck harder, tongue flicking his sensitive tip, and he’s a mess, moaning so loud it’s almost a scream. “babe, i can’t—” he chokes out, tapping your shoulder, his signal to stop, but you don’t. you push deeper, throat tightening around him, and he’s trembling, hips bucking, “please, fuck, i’m—”

his moans are fucking heavenly, high-pitched and desperate, and you keep going, lips sliding over his cock, hand pumping the base. he’s whimpering non-stop now, body shaking, and you feel his cock pulse, another orgasm hitting him.

he cums hard, hot and thick down your throat, and you swallow every drop, still sucking, making him writhe. “shit, babe, stop—” he gasps, but his voice cracks, another whimper slipping out, and you know he’s loving it, even if he’s tapped out.

you finally pull off, lips swollen, his cum still on your tongue. he’s panting, eyes dazed, hair a mess, looking at you like you’re a fucking goddess.

“you’re insane,” he breathes, pulling you up, kissing you deep, tasting himself on your lips. your moans are still ringing in his head, and he’s already half-hard again, hands sliding to your ass. “fuck, you’re too much,” he murmurs, but he’s pulling you closer, ready to hear you scream again.

you straddle him, his cock slipping back into your dripping pussy, and he groans, head falling back. “gonna make you scream for me now,” he says, voice rough, and you’re already moaning, knowing he’s about to ruin you all over again.

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to seeing their s/o in a fan call

Request: I don't know if you've done this or not, but if you haven't yet, then I'm requesting this, what would OT13’s reaction be of suddenly seeing their s/o in a fan call? I'm willing to wait, mi vida. Take your time

A/N: You said you’re willing to wait but I ran to my keyboard 😭 This is so specific and chaotic and sweet. The only waiting period is for my scheduled posts to run out lol.

Goes feral the moment he sees you — Hoshi, Seungkwan, Dokyeom, Mingyu

There is no chill. The second your face pops up on the screen: “WAIT... ?!?!” Leaning forward, eyes wide, like you just broke reality. “Y/N??? BABE??? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE???” His manager is off-screen making slicing motions like “stay professional”, and the staff is giggling in the background, but he’s already grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. “You bought a call slot??? I—BABY YOU’RE SO CUTE I’M GONNA CRY.” You were planning to flirt? Good luck with that because he’s too busy freaking out, taking screenshots, and showing the staff: “LOOK AT MY BABY. MY PARTNER. MINE.” You’ve just made his day!!

Tries to stay composed… fails halfway through — Joshua, Jeonghan, Dino, Jun

At first, he blinks. Processes it. “Wait… is that—no way. Wait.” Then the corners of his mouth lift like he’s trying not to smile too hard. “So you really bought a fan call slot, huh?” You tease, “Well, you never answer your texts during schedules…” And that’s it—he’s melting. One hand covering his face, the other reaching toward the screen like he could pull you through. “You’re so annoying. I love you so much.” By the end of the call he’s asking staff, “Can we get a recording of that? For personal reasons.”

Blushes instantly and cannot stop smiling — Wonwoo, Vernon

He was mid-sentence, talking to a fan, and suddenly—"Next Carat is... Y/N?" Looks up. Freezes. Face goes pink. “Oh.” Then he smiles, all teeth and the softness he only shows around you. “You didn’t tell me you were going to do this.”

You: “Surprise 🫶”

Him: speechless but trying to play it cool while his ears are red

He tries to maintain idol professionalism, but the soft little laugh, the way he sits straighter and stares at you like you’re the only person in the room... Yeah, everyone watching the fancall clip is going to know: “Oh. He’s taken.” [if that clip is made public].

Instantly flustered and fake-mad [but adores it] — Seungcheol, Woozi, Minghao

Sees you on the screen. Blinks slowly. “...You serious right now?” Leans in, crosses his arms like a dad catching his kid sneak cookies before dinner. “You really went and bought a slot. You could’ve just called me.” You: “But this way you have to look at me for 2 minutes straight.” 😌 Cheol tries to hold back a grin. Minghao just shakes his head like you’re ridiculous, but the sparkle in his eyes says he loves every second of it. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise I’d hang up.” [He would never.]

Bonus: They tell everyone in the group chat later like they’re annoyed. They’re not.

[bywons]

DIE FOR YOU 𖥔 psh

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐕𝐈， 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇

❪ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄 ❫ ｡ 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽!𝗉𝗌𝗁 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 1340────── fluff 𝗋𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 ✿‎ kissing 贅沢 𖥔

RB & FDBKS ◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ FOR KISSES

“who is it?” sunghoon shouts again, only to be met with silence.

the bell rings for the fourth time this day, leaving sunghoon confused in his kitchen, with a cold black coffee in his hand.

sunghoon doesn’t have much visitors, not anymore when he decided to leave the job, wash his hands from this overlooked burden on his shoulders. and yet he would catch specks of blood on him, not completely gone, still howling at him to come back.

he places the chipped black mug down on the counter, its cold contents sloshing dully against porcelain. the caffeine never worked anymore—not since the last assignment. not since the last bullet, the last betrayal.

the bell rings again, pulling a curse out of sunghoon under his breath.

“seriously?” he sighs to himself, thinking that it’s probably those naughty kids around the block, ding dong ditching random people, and so he just returns to his worn down couch and plops down on it.

ring. a fifth time.

“oh my god,” sunghoon gets up from the couch with a irritated frown, rushing towards the door, although he is used to open it for ghosts.

sunghoon yanks the door open with the kind of irritated force that suggests he’s ready to yell at a neighborhood kid—

but the words die in his throat.

his breath catches mid-exhale.

time halts.

because there you are.

soaked from head to toe in a thin, once-luxurious silk gown now clinging to your trembling frame. mascara smudged like bruises under your eyes. your hair—a carefully constructed crown of wedding curls—ruined by the rain and wind, clinging to your cheeks, your temples. a cut on your heel where you must’ve ran barefoot.

you’re breathing like you just outran the devil.

and maybe you did.

his breath leaves him like a punch to the chest.

“…you,” he breathes, as if your name has been locked behind his teeth for too long.

you look up at him with red-rimmed eyes, chest rising and falling erratically. “i didn’t know where else to go,” you whisper. “i didn’t want to go anywhere else.”

sunghoon doesn’t move. his fingers tighten around the doorframe, knuckles white, disbelief flickering through his features. you watch his throat bob as he swallows, gaze dragging across your ruined wedding gown, the slight bruise on your ankle, the cut near your heel.

“you look…” he pauses, voice uneven. “you look like you ran through hell.”

“i did,” you rasp, stepping forward, voice trembling. “right after i said no.”

his breath stutters.

you shift. “i ran away, hoon. from him. from all of it.”

“i thought you chose him,” he says, and the words cut through the quiet like a blade. “i thought you wanted that life.”

you shake your head. “i thought i did too. until i found out what he really was. a trafficker. a liar. everything you tried to protect me from.” a beat. “you were right.”

sunghoon exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair as if to ground himself. “you came back.”

“i never stopped thinking about you,” you whisper. “you think i forgot? the nights we spent hiding in plain sight, you holding your breath so no one would see us touching fingers under the table? i loved you, sunghoon.”

his name from your lips again—it’s a wound reopening. and you see it in the way his lips part, eyes shining with disbelief.

and so he drowns in it as well, all these nights of silent prayers to anybody in this universe listening to him, to bring you back to him, so he could hold you and kiss you again— it’s a miracle he really manifested.

“i thought you didn’t want me anymore,” you add, your voice cracking. “i thought you left for good.”

“i left so you’d be safe,” he growls, stepping forward. “you were never supposed to come back to this world.”

“well, I did,” you reply, lip quivering, eyes locked onto his. “and i’m not safe. not without you.”

and in that moment, something shifts.

he doesn’t speak.

he doesn’t warn you.

he just closes the door behind you with a soft click, and then he’s in front of you—warm and solid, eyes burning like storm-lit skies.

his hand cups your jaw, thumb swiping at the wet streak down your cheek, and when you lean into it, something inside him snaps.

“i shouldn’t do this,” he whispers.

the kiss he gives you is nothing like the last one you remember.

this one is wild. possessive. grieving.

you gasp against his lips, arms winding around his neck instinctively. he groans low in his throat as your bodies collide, heat blooming where the rain had only moments ago touched your skin. his other hand slides down your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left—until every regret, every unspoken word, melts into this collision of lips, teeth, and breathless longing.

the kiss is everything left unsaid. a thousand what-ifs poured into one breathless exchange.

he tastes like coffee and anger and regret. you taste like rain and ruin and hope.

when he pulls away, barely, your foreheads press together, breaths mingling between you.

“tell me this is real,” he murmurs between kisses, foreheads pressed together. “tell me i’m not dreaming again.”

“you’re not,” you whisper, kissing him again, slower this time, savoring the moment. “but we don’t have time. he’ll come looking. i need you to run with me, sunghoon.”

he stares at you.

and for a second, you see the soldier again. the protector. the man who once vowed to guard your life with his own.

“alright,” he says finally, voice rough. “pack light. i still know a place they can’t find us.”

you nod, tears of relief springing to your lashes.

he looks at you then—so full of emotion, like he’s memorizing every inch of your face. And you swear you see it again:

that same look he gave you the night before he vanished from your life.

the look of someone who wanted to stay, but loved you too much to do so.

now he’s choosing you.

he presses one last kiss to your cheekbone, slower, softer—then disappears into the back room with quick, silent steps. you stand in the doorway, dress clinging to your damp skin, breath catching in your chest as you watch the man you once lost move like muscle memory, like instinct never truly left him.

you press a hand to your lips, swollen and tingling from his.

and then— a sound.

low. distant. tires on gravel.

your heart stutters.

you turn your head just as beams of light—white, clinical, searching—slice through the trees beyond the window.

your breath stops.

a car. maybe more.

the rain has softened now, just enough for the faint growl of an engine to bleed into the silence like a warning note dragged across a string.

you don’t need to see it fully to understand.

they found you.

sunghoon returns, almost on cue, a black duffel slung over one shoulder and a gun in his hand—sleek, matte, quiet.

you flinch at the sight of it. it’s the final line he’s now willing to cross. again.

his jaw is tight, his eyes sharper than you remember. focused. lethal.

he doesn’t speak as he peers through the edge of the curtain. doesn’t blink as he steps silently to check the back exit, his every movement fluid, trained, automatic.

your chest tightens with every beat.

the cabin is small. the kind that creaks in places, holds secrets in floorboards, memories in walls. but now, under the low hum of approaching danger—it feels like a glass box.

trapped. exposed.

“i should’ve never dragged you into this,” you whisper, barely audible. but he hears.

he stops, turns toward you.

and the look in his eyes—god, it’s not regret. it’s conviction.

like he’s never been more certain of anything.

he strides to you in three swift steps and presses the gun gently into your trembling hands.

“stay behind me,” he says, quiet but firm. “no matter what happens.”

스루 ܃ don’t ask, i had this bodyguard hoon idea for quite a while now. couldn’t sleep so well last night, so i thought of writing a short drabble out of the idea TT if it does well, maybe i will release a full oneshot or a series on this ! hope you enjoy this 💌

© bywons, 2025 div ctto —taglist open ! nets. @/k-labels @kflixnet @k-films