#I want it to be the weekend so I have some free time to draw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joelscurls · 7 months

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feel it in your bones

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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone.

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull.

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling.

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone.

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school.

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house, re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck.

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont, with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it.

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are.

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor.

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school.

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it.

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.”

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front, scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation.

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project.

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time.

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall. Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear.

“Professor!”

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower.

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer, strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name.

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing.

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon.

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.”

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?”

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down.

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes.

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight.

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them.

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting.

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.”

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs.

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer.

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well.

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced.

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting.

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...”

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now.

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking.

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that.

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules.

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone.

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs.

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids.

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder.

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky.

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches.

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour.

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle.

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone.

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks.

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say:

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.”

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?”

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even.

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation.

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you.

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.”

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.”

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole.

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side.

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks.

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door.

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught.

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.”

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now.

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.”

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him.

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames.

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want.

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind.

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it.

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble.

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?”

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet.

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin.

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble.

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips.

After a beat, he looks up at you.

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat.

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave.

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are.

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.”

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough.

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.”

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders.

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles.

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask.

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze.

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his.

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too.

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly.

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it?

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair.

You tap on the screen, waking it up.

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.”

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you.

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips.

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same.

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out.

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away.

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again.

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you.

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible.

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter.

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him.

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late.

“You buyin’?,” he jokes.

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.”

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move?

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’.

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it.

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in.

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough.

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh.

Joel raises an eyebrow at her.

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored.

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot.

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers.

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.”

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator.

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive.

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind.

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet.

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time.

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.”

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island.

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes.

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.”

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours.

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you.

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer.

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous.

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer.

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second.

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant, “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently.

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel.

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island.

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now.

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling.

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing.

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead.

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice.

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it.

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans.

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat.

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus.

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much. “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm.

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop.

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue.

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch.

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body.

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied.

But Joel isn’t just any man.

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him.

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move.

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again.

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there.

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.”

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking.

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours.

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back. A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words.

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him.

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.”

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven.

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy, cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend.

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound.

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids.

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard.

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels.

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours.

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer.

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional.

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it.

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds.

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t.

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.”

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease.

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!”

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again.

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself.

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.”

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.”

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.”

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes.

You’ve never been so excited for the future.

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel x reader #pedro pascal as joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #fiiyb

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russellsppttemplates · 26 days

Text

Keep them away (Max Verstappen)

Even though it was part of his job, Max's rules were clear: no one could get close to you or the children

Note: english is not my first language. A couple of blurbs originated this one! I'm not sure how I feel about it, if I like it or not tbh...

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"I want to talk to you about something, liefje", Max said as you walked around the bedroom, laying out your clothes for the next day and taking off the jewellery you didn't like to sleep with.

"Is everything alright?", you asked pulling the covers and joining him in bed, holding his hand in yours and interlocking your fingers.

"It didn't occur to me until last week that now Finn can walk into the paddock without being on your arms or mine, and the stroller can only hide so much, and there will come a time when it will be the same for Julia, and I don't want the kids' faces on media in such a free and uncontrolled way", he admitted.

The last Grand Prix you attended made it real tp you. It seemed such a big step and something you thought people would respect intuitively, but the moment the photographers swarmed you and you had difficulty walking along the paddock to get to RedBull, you had enough.

"Me neither, but I get what you mean. Last week, I had to keep telling Finn to come close to me so I could sort of cover his face", you offered, "is there something we can make for that, though?", you wondered.

"Yes, I spoke to the team and they know about these forms where you can grant photographic allowances to certain photographers if they want to record or take pictures if we go down that route - it states who is allowed and what terms and conditions they can do it in inside the paddock. And there's also one for outside the paddock, if we sign it, it will mean no one can take pictures of you or the kids outside of the paddock and we'll be supported legally in case someone breaches it", Max assured.

"I like the sound of that, it does soothe my heart", you tapped your chest with your palm.

"I'll have them draw up the forms and then we can go over them together and sign then", he smiled, pulling you to his chest.

"I'm not saying we are keeping them away from the world - even though that would hardly be an issue - but having a restricted set of people in who we trust is doable", you mused, resting your head on his chest completely and kissing his skin, "I don't want them to do whatever they please with my little ones", you grumbled.

"Mama bear is out, hm?", Max chuckled, "but I agree, love, I wouldn't want it either".

"I can get the stroller, Sophie", you called for your mother in-law, letting her take Finn's hand instead as you walked out of the hotel, Max by your side as you strolled around the ses front, making some time before your lunch reservation.

Max wasn't racing until the next weekend, so you were making the most out of family time you could. To make things easier for you on the flight home, Sophie offered to come with you so you wouldn't have to fly back on your own with two kids since Max was flying straight to the city where the Grand Prix was being held.

"Is she going to fall asleep on the way there?", you peeped at the little girl, eyes droopy even though she tried her best to look at you and Max, "she didn't sleep all that well, so probably", your husband shrugged his shoulders, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you walked behind Sophie and Finn.

At first, Max thought it was his mind making things up and that people were taking pictures of the beach and the architecture details, so he set his guard down. When you sat down for lunch, though, it was obvious.

"They're taking pictures of us, aren't they?", Max asked as he pointed with his eyes to the group of three people holding cameras, suddenly pulling them from eyesight the moment they saw you both stare at them as one of the waiters came to the table.

"Mr. Verstappen, I'm sorry to bother you, but that group is asking if they can come closer for some pictures and it didn't seem like it was our place to decide that", he explained as Max sighed, "thank you for that - I'll go talk to them just now. We didn't want any of this to happen or for you, your colleagues or your clients to be bothered by this, it wasn't our intention", Max assured as the waiter nodded before excusing himself.

"I'm going to talk to them, I'll be right back", he told you, kissing the top of your head and stepping closer to them.

"Hello, it has come to my understanding - correct me if I'm wrong even though I'm probably right - that you're taking pictures of me and my family, and I won't allow it", he stated firmly but politely, not wanting to cause a scene despite his blood boiling.

"It was just of you, we'll edit everything else out, if we could jus-", one of them tried and Max drew the line there.

"We have made it clear! When my family is in the paddock, Finn, Julia and Y/N can be photographed by a closed group of photographers - and I know who they are because we allowed them and none of you are them! We are outside of the paddock so no one is allowed to take pictures of them to begin with, and then you're disrespecting the other people who work and who are eating here. We have given strict guidelines that are clear as we won't accept this!", Max spoke sternly.

Back at the table, Sophie took the pencil case out of the backpack so Finn could draw while you waited for the food,

"Why is papa talking to those people? Do we know them?", Finn asked, "they're taking pictures of us and papa and mama don't want that, so papa is telling them that", you explained, knowing your clever boy would catch up with it sooner than later and knowing honesty would be the way to go.

"You'd think they would get the boundaries you've set", Sophie told you, "especially with the kids around, it's a no brainer".

"They're always looking for anything to make a big great story of - if those pictures ever see daylight, they'll probably start calling me names and making assumptions they have no business or information to make", you groaned.

Max came back, sitting on the chair you saved for him, "they really didn't want to budge and they kept asking if they could "just take a few more" like I hadn't just told them that what they were doing was breaching agreements", he groaned lightly to make sure Finn didn't hear too much, looking at the stroller to see Julia was still taking a nap.

"Did you see the e-mail I sent you, liefje?", Max asked over FaceTime now that he had wished goodnight to both kids, meaning he had your attention all to himself now.

"I saw it was a statement, I didn't get to read anything else", you added, getting your iPad to read it properly.

"The team helped me make a statement about your privacy and the kids', so nothing else happens again", he stated.

Earlier this week, the social media department at RedBull noticed a photo of you circulating the press platforms, and judging by the location, you were indeed back home and not somewhere in the paddock to surprise Max, making the photo a breach of contract.

"Hopefully they take the hint", Max sighed, keeping his calm and collected attitude he wanted you to have too. For anyone else, Max always seemed rash to the point some considered rude. But when it involved his family, he knew how to go about it, wanting his children to learn and know he was protecting you and how he would never allow anyone to disrespect you like that.

"We'll be fine, and I genuinely hope that, from the way we mentioned legal consequences, people actually take it seriously", you shrugged your shoulders. It wasn't that you didn't care about it, but rather you realized there was only so much you could control, and you wouldn't let that control your life, "we'll see how it goes, okay?", you checked over, "anyway, how does the car look for qualifying?", you changed the subject as the cats sat on your lap.

"Mama, I'm scared", Finn muttered, clinging closer to you and hiding his face on your neck. That was all it took for you to let your mama bear instincts out, holding your son as you walked past them, looking for a security member that could escort you to the RedBull hospitality as it was harder to push the stroller when you had to carry Finn as well.

"Excuse me, Excuse me!", you yelled, "I'm sure you know you're not allowed to take pictures, so I would appreciate it if you didn't do it, much less when my children are here!", you spoked, catching a few photographers off guard and the attention of one of the security staff by the entrance.

"I'll help you with her if that's okay", he quesioned as his hand went straight to the stroller, "yes, please", you breathed out, holding Finn close to you and whispering soothing words on his ear, "it's okay, my love, we're okay".

Stepping inside the hospitality, you set your things down and sat Finn down on the sofa so you could get Julia in your arms, soothing her cries.

"Thank you so much, it was getting crazy out there", you said, holding your daughter's head to your chest and bouncing her.

"No problem, glad I could help", the security guard excused himself to go back to his spot as you looked at Finn.

"Are you okay, love?", you wondered as Julia's cries quieted down.

"I didn't like how they were yelling and running", he told you, "I thought papa said they only did it when we were there", he pointed to the people walking outside, "That's true, they shouldn't do it outside", you explained, "I'm sorry they scared you, but you're safe with me and with papa, okay?", you added, kissing his once again on his forehead as Max appeared.

"Hey", he kissed the top of your head, Julia's and then Finn's, "I heard what happened. Are you two okay?", he asked, looking at Finn who pulled him into a hug, "Finn was a bit shaken up by it, but we've taken some deep breaths and we are going to stay inside for today, isn't that right, love?", you saw him nod.

Finn fell asleep on top of him soon after, "I have spoken to the lawyers, they will be taking the legal actions necessary for this situation. Are you sure you're okay?", Max questioned again.

"We are, Max. It shook him up a little bit because they were so close to us - and the stroller could only keep them so far -, and I told them a few times that we were outside of the paddock, but they just wouldn't listen", you frowned, "it's not great, but if this means you guys are safe, I don't care about anything else. I want you safe, all of you", he smiled, kissing your cheek and pulling you so your side rested against his torso.

"I hate having to yell at people, poor Julia just looked at me like I was mad and Finn was a little shaken up", you mumbled, "but they wouldn't move away, no matter how many times I told them to, only when the security guard was near us was I able to free up space from them".

"Don't worry about that, they're the ones in the wrong, not us", Max comforted.

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

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hysteria-things · 3 months

Note

hi! i recently found your account, and i js wanna say omg ur so talented, like ur fr my new fav writer. could u maybe write something about a virgin reader, whos only ever fingered herself, and so when matt (or chris but im a matt girl and im being self indulgent about this), and she squirts, and is super embarrassed about it and he comforts her about it? u dont have to, but idk i js think u could do this idea rlly well:)

FIRST TIME

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: soft dom!matt x virgin!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and matt have been together for quite sometime, but never had sex. he knows you’re a virgin and he’s so patient with you, but now you think you’re ready

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT but fluff!, making out, mini panic attack, praising, p in v, squirting

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,066

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: for anon and @mattsleftnipple03

these were pretty much the same so i combined them! hope you like :)

thank you and love you guys🫶

the pen in your hand scribbles on the piece of paper in front of you as you ponder. you’re in art class and your best friend sits across from you at the big table.

art class is basically a free period because let’s face it, you guys don’t do anything except gossip and draw for fun.

you’ve been asking your friend a series of questions about what losing your virginity is like since she has experience. the only experience you’ve ever gotten was your fingers, and to be honest, it gets old after a while.

you’re not embarrassed about being a senior in high school and still a virgin, but your boyfriend who graduated last year lost his with his ex a while back. you guys have talked about having sex for the first time for quite some time, but you were never ready.

no words can describe how grateful you are for matt. he’s been super patient and understanding with you.

but now, you think you’re ready.

“is there a reason you are asking me these questions?” your best friend asks, raising a brow.

you shrug, your hand still having a mind of its own with the pen. “i’m thinking about going all the way with matt.”

she smiles, genuinely looking happy for you. “oh my god! when?”

“i told him i plan on this weekend.”

“that’s so exciting!”

“yeah, but,” you pause to take a deep breath. “i feel nervous.”

she reaches over to stop your drawing hand. “it’s totally normal to feel nervous. matt’s such a sweet guy. i’m sure if you feel the slightest bit of discomfort, he’ll stop immediately.”

you smile at the mention of your boyfriend. she’s not wrong. matt will do anything to make you feel comfortable. he’s not one to force anything on someone. “you’re right.”

she gives your hand a light squeeze. “let me know how it goes.” she winks just as the bell rings for dismissal.

the rain outside is pattering on the window, you and matt cuddling comfortably on his bed. you guys just woke up from the best nap of your life.

you nibble on the inside of your mouth. “matt?”

“hm?” he hums, picking up his head that was resting on your chest.

“i want to do it.”

he beams at you. “positive?”

you bite your lip in excitement and nod. matt lifts himself to get more serious. “don’t be afraid to tell me to stop, okay?”

“i know,” you reply. he leans in and kisses you passionately with a hint of hunger. he breaks the kiss to take off his and your shirt but goes back at it to unclip your bra.

the skin-to-skin contact felt warm and comforting, but your anxiety is starting to take over.

you try to brush it off until matt reaches for your pants. yanking his hands away, you cover your top half with the comforter as you feel tears start to form.

matt freezes, a hint of guilt on his face. you try your best to take as many deep breaths as possible. “i’m so sorry, y/n.”

he carefully places his hand on your arm and rubs soothingly to calm you down. “n-no it’s not you.” you take three deep breaths before continuing. “it’s silly. the thought of a penis about to be inside of me freaks me out.”

you chuckle along with him, the humor helping you relax. “we don’t have—”

“i want to.” you say truthfully. “i just need a second.”

he goes through different breathing techniques with you until you calm down from your mini panic attack. he asks if you're okay at least a hundred times before you shut him up by kissing him again.

he hesitates with your pants not wanting to trigger you again, but after a beat, he pulls them down with your underwear.

his pajama pants soon end up on the floor with the rest of your clothes. he comes under the blanket with you and pecks you on the temple, grabbing a condom from the nightstand. “so proud of you.” he starts, making you blush. “you ready?”

you give him the okay, and he slowly starts pushing into you. the stretch makes you cringe and hiss, causing him to halt. “hurts?”

you shake your head. “pressure… keep going.”

dampening your lips by licking them, he continues to move. his eyes are dead set on your face to sense any discomfort. you let out a ‘mmph’ when he’s all the way in.

when he doesn’t see any bad signs, he starts moving his hips. you moan softly, the pain turning into pleasure.

“you can go faster,” you whisper, and he does. your nails leave crescent marks on his shoulders as he peppers kisses on your chest, neck, and face.

you squeeze your eyes closed, the softest of sounds leaving your lips. then, your legs twitch, and a watery liquid squirts out of you. your eyes widen, and matt stops the second he notices. “what’s wrong? need me to stop?”

“no. i think i…” your cheeks burn, too embarrassed to admit what you’re thinking.

“that’s okay. it’s completely natural.” he reassures, grabbing one of your hands to interlock with his above your head. “you’re doing so well, y/n. so fucking proud of you.”

he continues to rock his hips, this time pulling out more and thrusting back in a smidge harder. “oh.” you moan, arching your back when he starts hitting a certain spot. “oh shit, matt. just like that.”

he tries his best not to pick up speed to scare you, so instead he keeps the rhythm you’re comfortable with. he grunts, taking the hand that’s not holding yours and placing it on your hip.

the grip you have on his hand tightens, indicating that you’re close when his tip keeps abusing your g-spot.

you whimper, your legs starting to quiver from pleasure. “i’m close.”

“cum, baby. you’re doing such a good job.”

you sigh of relief when your cum slowly starts to ooze around him. matt’s right there with you with just a few more thrusts before spilling into the condom.

the feeling of him pulling out of you makes you wince, but then you two giggle. “i did it!” you say proudly, holding up your hand to give him a high five.

he laughs. “damn right you did.” he takes your high five, followed by a handhold.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!

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sports-on-sundays · 5 months

Text

people change / CL16 / Part 1

Summary: dad!Charles x French!ex!reader - You wish you could just forget about the relationship. It's hard when you had a son together.

Warnings: 'Y/s/n' means 'your son's name', you are free to imagine the son as whatever age he acts because I leave that unspecified, mention of breaking up/divorce, broken family, censored cussing, getting drunk, toxic relationship, me sucking at writing kids (how do they even act???)

Requested?: No.

Author's Note: This was heavily inspired by the song People Change by for KING & COUNTRY at the end there especially. I listened to it while writing. So you're free to look that up and have a listen. Link to part 2 / Link to part 3

"Hey, sweetie," you say as you buckle your son into the car. "How was your day at school?"

"Fun... But Mama, I didn't know what to do."

"Hm? When didn't you know what to, love?" you ask, concerned.

"Well, we did papers and pictures about our mommies and daddies and our houses and stuff and I didn't know, Mama..."

You stop after he says this, pulling your hands away as they tremble. Your heart, at those words from your son, feels like it's being wrenched out of your chest, and you cough into your arm. "O- Oh, sweetheart..." you clear your throat. "Well, why don't you first draw pictures and write about me and my house, and then you write and draw about your daddy and his house..."

Your son does a pouting face at this. "Mama..." he complains. "Why can't you and Daddy be like other kids' mommies and daddies?"

"Love, I don't think this is the time to be talking about this. Let's just get driving home now." You hate to shut him down, but he's asking too many questions that you just can't answer.

He's asking too many questions that are making you feel too confused and guilty.

"Hey, buddy. What's up?" you smile as you get out of the car to help your son pack his bags into the trunk, and then get in the backseat. You're doing this right outside Charles' house. You're picking him up from his weekend with his dad.

The little boy shrugs as you buckle him in. "I want my grey bag, Mama! Daddy gave me some food for the ride."

"What do you say?"

"Please!" he pouts.

You nod, and give him his bag. Charles is always sure to equip Y/s/n with a bagful of healthy snacks for the hour and forty-five minute drive back home.

The whole ride, Y/s/n is unusually quiet. Even when you try talking to him, he gives short answers and makes no effort to continue the conversation. Which is very unusual from the usually frisky and excitable little boy.

When you get home and go inside, he immediately goes to his room, still not saying anything.

You sigh, feeling worried.

Did...

Did Charles do something?

Even though the two of you separated for big reasons, you've never felt too worried about Y/s/n going to see him every other weekend, except for maybe at the beginning. Over the years, you're pretty sure that Charles has gotten more responsible than how he once was.

"Dinnertime, love!"

Silence.

"Love?"

"I'm not hungry!"

You sigh, the worry sinking deeper. "You should have saved some of your dad's snack for later, then! I made dinner for you!"

Silence. Again.

You walk down the hall and knock on his bedroom door, before gently pushing it open. The little boy is sitting on his red bed. In his hand is his Ferrari hat. He's blankly staring at it.

Oh God no. What did Charles do? What did Charles say? Doesn't he understand the unspoken boundaries about this?

"Y/s/n?" you say gently, sitting down next to him. "What's wrong, sweetie? You know you can tell me. I'm listening."

The boy looks older than he is right now. You feel a sharp pang in your chest as he murmurs, "Why do you and daddy live in different countries? How come I have two houses, two bedrooms... two everything? How come, Mama?"

It takes all you have to not tear up. You wrap your arms tightly around him at this. He leans against you, hugging you back.

"Andre and Alex have a mommy and daddy who live in the same house. How come you and Daddy don't?"

"Y/s/n, it's really complicated, love. But, can I ask... What has got you thinking of all of this, love? What has got this on your mind?" You speak in a very gentle tone, rubbing his back. Obviously, this is upsetting him. Really, though, what kid wouldn't be upset?

Your son looks at you in hesitation. "I'm not allowed to say..."

You feel another pang of worry. "Love, it's okay. You can tell your mama anything."

"But Daddy told me not to."

You swallow nervously. "You're not doing anything wrong by telling me. I'm giving you permission. I can't have you feeling this upset, love. You can tell me anything that's bothering you, even if your father told you not to." Y/s/n is too much of a good kid. You don't know where he gets it from.

You wipe your son's watering eyes, trying to reassure him. He sniffs, before saying, "You won't tell Daddy?"

"Tell Daddy what?"

"What I'm gonna tell you."

You bite your lip. "Of course not, love. I won't tell your daddy."

He nods, before saying, as he starts to really cry, "Daddy cried, Mommy... I wasn't allowed to know but I couldn't sleep because Daddy forgot to read me my story. So I was going in to tell him to snuggle me... because I couldn't sleep. But Daddy was crying..." Y/s/n sniffs, and continues blubbering, "Daddy was talking to someone on the phone and he was really sad... I don't know why Daddy was crying, Mama. He said he was sad because he missed you and me to the person on the phone. Daddy was so sad so I don't know why we don't make Daddy happy and why can't my mommy and daddy be like my friends' mommies and daddies?" He lets out a sob, snuggling into you. You're speechless as your son continues, "I went and gave Daddy a hug because he was sad. He said he missed you. He asked me why I was up and said I was in trouble and said I wasn't allowed to tell you he was sad and crying. He said even daddies cry sometimes," he sniffs and lets out another sob. You hold him tight, eyes wide. "I asked him how come he was sad and he said he didn't know and he loved me and then we went to bed. I don't get it, Mama."

You try not to tremble.

Fighting off tears, because the last thing Y/s/n needs is to see his mom cry on top of it all. Not sad tears, though. Angry tears.

Why can't Charles just let go? He's so possessive and obsessive. F*ck him and his Monaco flat and his boat and his Ferrari and everything f*cking else. Why would he let his son see him so vulnerable. Doesn't he care? F*ck him.

Why can't he just let go?

You walk down the hall of the mall, your son's little hand in yours, heading to the food court because eventually, Y/s/n's complaining about how 'I'm hungryyyyy!' got too annoying, and you gave in.

Suddenly, though, his little hand slips out of yours. You look down at him in confusion, starting to say his name. He starts running away. You're about to go after him, but suddenly freeze when the little boy shouts, "Look, Mama, look! It's Daddy! Daddy! Hi, Daddy! Hiiiii!"

And sure enough, Charles Leclerc stops as soon as he sees his son, a grin spreading across his face. He adjusted his cap to be lower on his forehead, clearly trying to go incognito here. But he bends down, and the moment little Y/s/n reaches Charles, his father scoops him up into his arms, standing up with an, "Auwgh," noise, as if it were really hard for the strong man to pick up his light son. Charles holds him tight, in an embrace, before saying, "What's up, buddy? Where's your mama?" Y/s/n points, and Charles looks up.

Your eyes meet. And everything stops. The voices, the music, the whir of the escalators, the lights, heating, and air conditioning all making their own sounds, the people walking past- everyone else living their own lives disappear.

And it's just you and Charles, eyes locked, staring at each other.

Heartbeats or seconds or minutes, you don't know. You feel a certain electricity that hurts. Shocks you. Maybe Charles likes how it feels though. Maybe he loves that, with his adrenaline seeking lifestyle. Because, after all, he doesn't look away.

But in the same way, you don't either.

Finally, it's your son that breaks the trance you seemed to go into with your ex-husband, by saying suddenly words that stress you out and tear you apart at the same time: "See, Daddy?" He pats his father's cheek, which has a little bit of facial hair. "You don't have to cry anymore... You don't..." Suddenly, he looks a little scared, realizing he wasn't supposed to say that, but finishes softly with, "You don't have to miss Mama anymore, Daddy, because she's right here..."

There's almost a pleading in your son's eyes. A longing. You feel yourself start to tear up, but you strive to hold them back. Y/s/n. He loves us. He loves his parents so much. He just wishes they would love each other.

Charles shakes his head in surprise, stroking Y/s/n's hair, "Buddy, it's okay. Don't worry. I'm okay. I don't-" he falters for just a moment before finishing quickly, glancing to you nervously, "I don't miss Mama anymore. Don't worry."

"But I miss Mama." At this, both of you look at your son in confusion.

"But Y/s/n, Mama is right here," Charles says carefully, taking more steps closer to you. "See? Do you want to go with M-"

"No!" your son suddenly snaps, and says as if it is the most obviously thing on earth, "When I'm with Daddy, I miss Mama. When I'm with Mama, I miss Daddy. I don't wanna miss you guys!"

All the sudden, it's too much for you. All of it. Before Charles can do anything else you say quickly, your voice obviously cracking and your breath shaky, "Charles, can you take him home today? I'm sorry-"

"Of course, Y/n. I-"

You turns, jogging away. You need to get out of there.

But as you run out, you hear Charles call after you, "Y/n! Y/n, wait! Y/n, we're going to talk on the phone tonight, okay? There's things we still need to go over!"

At around 3:00 A.M., Charles calls. While you're worried to answer, you're also relieved. The fact that you're still awake at 3:00 A.M. shows how much anxiety you've been feeling about getting this call from Charles.

When you pick up, you murmur softly, "Hey, Charles."

"Sorry I'm calling at this hour. God. I just had to make sure Y/s/n was sound asleep. I'm, uhm," he pauses to clear his throat awkwardly, and continues in a softer, more delicate voice, "I'm sure Y/s/n told you about the phone call the other weekend..."

"Y- Yeah, he did. What did you do? Did you scare him into not telling me? He was crying," you say, your voice becoming harder and harder as you speak.

"What?! No! I just asked him please not to tell you. That was it. Maybe he was crying because..." Charles trails off.

"Because why?" you snap, although the sinking feeling within tells you exactly why.

"Y/n..." he sighs loudly. "Because our son loves us and doesn't get why... w- we... don't- don't, uhm.... love each other." The facts that he falters so much on that last phrase, that it's so hard for him to get out, sends a pit in your stomach. Of dread, and anger.

And without another hesitation, you just say it. "Charles... you still love me, don't you?"

There's silence over the phone. Sickly, disgusting, terrible silence. The anger rises up in you higher and higher, like a pressure, trying to push you on your tipping point. So finally you snap, probably way too loud, "Charles, what the hell! F*ck you. I hate you, you f*cking asshole. You're too much of a f*cking coward to even say it! Just like you've always been!" Your voice gets louder and louder. "Just like you've always been! Too much of a f*cking coward to admit anything! You tricked me! You had me thinking everything was peaches and cream, but it wasn't! You were being a terrible person and played innocent, and whenever I asked you anything, you did the same exact thing you still do. You just keep silent. Charles, I know you'll never grow, I hate that my son has to see your sorry ass every other weekend, and if I knew it wouldn't break his sweet little heart, I would wish your pathetic silent self would just fall off the face of the earth so I didn't have to ever have to listen to your stupid, pathetic silence ever again."

"Y/n, I-" You hang up. Charles doesn't try to call back.

Years ago.

Charles came in and stumbled into your arms, as if you were the one that needed to take care of him. You were tired, having stayed up with your fussy baby boy nearly all night, with no help, and you wanted to cry. You didn't want Charles to stumble in, drunk, right into your arms, as if he was the one who needed help. No. He was the one causing the problem. He had reeked of alcohol. He didn't get drunk this often, and you knew exactly why he was doing it now, although he'd been too scared while sober to admit it to you. It was the argument you'd had, and his way of coping was going out, getting drunk, and coming home to his wife and baby at three in the morning, wasted. Now, while drunk out of his mind, he was able to murmur, his words slurred tremendously, "Y/n... I'm sorry, love... You should've come with me tonight. I had fun... We could... make up for that argument..." He had a sickly seductive tone in his voice.

You felt rage fill up in you. Did you forget about your son? The son that you and I created together? Did you forget about that? Instead of letting any of that rage escape you, you just brought him to the bedroom and helped him into bed. You left him, walked to the living room, sat down on the couch, and held your aching, tired head, pulling at your hair, as tears escaped your closed eyelids.

Your world was spinning. Everything was wrong.

The argument. You had started it. And yelled at him. About how he was a coward and never told the truth. Even though you loved him. You thought. You must've. You... You had a son together. You yelled at him for telling you he was working when he wasn't. You yelled at him that he wasn't helping you at all and that you were going out of your mind. You said you felt like a single mom because he was never around, never helped, and never tried to. He lied and told you that an event he had mentioned that you were excited for was cancelled because he had found out more things about the event that he didn't want to deal with himself. He was becoming more and more selfish, showing who he really was more and more every single day. It just made you think- what is he doing when he gets drunk? What else is he being dishonest about?

Eventually you stopped loving him. You loved your son much more, so you broke it off. The final tipping point was when you suspected he had cheated, although nothing had ever proved that. But that was when you finally broke it off.

He was heartbroken. He held onto you. No, Y/n, please don't do this. I'll try better. I'll try better. You had told him that he had been saying he'd try better for the past year.

He had cried. Maybe even sobbed. You only saw him sob twice. Once was one time when he was drunk out of his mind, and the other one was that night when you told him you were breaking it off. I guess Y/s/n has seen him sob a third time, though.

He had said to you that he still loved you. You had said if you loved me, you wouldn't have done this. And that was the end of it.

Or so you thought.

You can't believe you're here. You can't believe he convinced you. You set up for your mother to watch Y/s/n while you drive into Monaco and.

Well, yeah. Go to Charles' God-forsaken house. To meet with him. 'Have a talk' as he put it. 'In real life.' So he can 'see your face and expressions.' And 'understand better.'

Charles opens the door. He's wearing a black t-shirt, grey jeans, and has his usual assortment of different bracelets on his wrists. And a disgustingly expensive watch. As you walk into his (beautiful) flat, you see that it hasn't changed much since you left and moved a couple hours closer to home, back in France. Just a little cleaner. But just like how it was when you lived here, there's still a stray toy on the floor here and there. As if reading your mind, he bends down, picking up a few of them, before putting them in a basket in the corner of the room. He runs his hand through his messy, wavy brown hair, looking a little awkward. "Why don't you sit down?" he asks softly, gesturing to the couch by a nod of his head. "Make yourself... comfortable... Uh... I made some cookies. Consider it a peace offering. And I... I really tried to make them good, too. I'm just going to go grab them." And before you can think or react, he's walking out of the room to grab them.

When he returns with the cookies, he sits down next to you, holding the little plate out to you. You hesitantly take one, nibbling off a little bite, nervously glancing to Charles. "It's fine..." you say. In your taste, too sweet (and slightly gooey) but besides that, alright. "But I just want to get this over with, okay? Charles can we just... have this talk? So I can go?"

Your ex husband stared down, before nodding slowly. "Yeah... Of course." He falters, before murmuring, "I love our son just as much as you do. And it hurts me to see him-"

"My God, Charles, shut up. I know what this is about. It's about you being selfish," the bitterness in your voice surprised even yourself, "You're being selfish because for some twisted reason, you still want to be with me, and you're using my son's pain as an excuse. You're just as you've always been- selfish, lying, and making excuses."

"Y/n, no it's not!" he snaps, his eyes pleading. "I- I- I want the best for our son."

"Charles, do you still love me?"

He stares at you. Hesitates. Falters. He inhales a shaky breath, before looking down at his hands in his lap. "All these years I've never dated another woman. All these years the guilt has crushed me."

"Shut up!" you spit. "It's not guilt, Charles, of hurting me your or son. It's guilt because you wouldn't wanted to be with me longer. It's selfish. You're f*cking selfish!"

He practically begs, "Please, babe, just listen-"

"What did you just call me?"

He stares in surprise at what he just said. He swallows. "I'm sorry- It- It just came out..."

You glare, and shout, "You still love me, you dick! I hate you! You- You cheated on me!"

He cuts you off by grabbing your arm suddenly. There's a desperate look in his eyes. "Y/n... No, I didn't... I swear it on my life.. On my job, on everything I love... I would..." You're shocked to watch as a singular tear gently rolls down one of his cheeks. He's holding back more. The salty, warm tear drops right onto your palm. You wipe it off. Charles eyes plead with you as he murmurs, his voice cracking, "I would never cheat on you..."

You stare, trying to form more words, not knowing what to say.

But Charles continues, "I don't know where you got the idea I cheated on you... I know it was hard and I was being..." Suddenly there is guilt and grief openly painted all across his face. "I was being a terrible person... Giving up the most lovely, sweet wife and baby I could've ever asked for... I was young and stupid, Y/n...Y/n... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I swear I mean it...

"I would do anything for this to work."

Another tear falls.

"Y/n... just listen... I need you to hear me out..."

He sniffs. He seems so broken. Vulnerable. Honest.

"It's all my fault, Y/n. I know. I know. I'm sorry. And I get if you're afraid... I would be, too... but, Y/n... I wish you could just understand that... that...

"Y/n, people change."

Author's Note- Just wanted to say if you guys liked this and want a part two, I'm totally open to writing that! Let me know if you want a part two, and if you have any ideas, shoot! Like should I end this happy? Or not...? And in what way? If no one gives me ideas, I'll just come up with it, but you guys are extremely welcome to let me know!!! Thank you! <3

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roosterforme · 4 months

Text

Always Ever Only You Part 25 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: A long weekend with your parents is exactly what you needed. But when they keep asking what happened to your car and inadvertently force you to tone things down in the bedroom, you and Bradley realize you have more to discuss than just a replacement for your totaled pride and joy.

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, fluff, smut, loud sex in public, spanking

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

As soon as you and Bradley unloaded the Bronco and had your parents settled inside the Craftsman, you had the uncontrollable urge to fuck your husband. You were trying your best to listen to your mom as she opened up a bottle of wine from your refrigerator, but Bradley was standing on the other side of the island, nodding as he answered one of your dad's questions. Your husband looked hot, and it was then that you realized you hadn't had sex with him since Sunday night. Since before you found out your car was totaled. And something about the impromptu funeral he just threw for your car was making you needy.

Well. You fucked up.

"Bradley didn't have any more hotel points?" your mom asked, finally drawing your attention her way. It was almost laughable now. Bradley had made up the entire thing about the points that were about to expire last year. It was all a ploy to get them to stay at a hotel so you and he could do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted to do it, in your own home. You nearly moaned just thinking about it.

"Nope," you replied softly, reaching down some wine glasses. "No more hotel points, sorry."

"Nonsense," your mom said, waving you off. "Your house is beautiful, but you're still newlyweds. We get it."

You snorted as you sipped your wine. "Mom, it's July. We got married in November. I don't think we're considered newlyweds any longer."

"Hmm," she hummed as she drank from her glass. "Don't tell Bradley that."

When you glanced over at him, he was already looking at you, a soft blush rising in his cheeks. He looked so damn good, shaking his head slightly like he was annoyed you weren't alone, but still smiling like he couldn't believe you were his.

"That man adores you," your mom added, inspecting the label on the bottle of wine. "Make sure you let him know you adore him, too."

An hour later, after your parents had retired to the spare bedroom, you had Bradley's cock buried deep inside you with his hand covering your mouth and his voice in your ear. "Do you regret it yet?" came his harsh whisper.

Your legs were already shaking as he fucked you from behind, standing up just inside your bedroom with the door closed. You tried to nod as you grasped the dresser and the wall for support. Neither of you had even been able to take the time to get undressed; you just needed it that badly.

"Yeah, well you should, Baby Girl. Oughta be filled with nothing but regret and my cum."

You tried to moan his name against his hand, but it came out soft and muffled just like he intended as he slammed into you. He knew better than to trust you if he removed his hand, so he kept it right there, pressed tight to your mouth to the point it was almost painful.

"Next time they visit, they stay at a hotel unless we finish the attic," he grunted as his free hand found your clit. "You look fucking perfect in this little dress, and I'd have had you in the kitchen if they weren't here."

Then his lips found your neck, sucking hard as he fucked you until his thrusts became even more demanding. Your fingers quivered as you held onto the dresser for dear life as he managed to hit just the right spot inside at the same time his rough fingers pinched your clit.

Your orgasm left you shaking as you bit Bradley's palm so hard, he shoved two fingers in your mouth instead. "Fuck," he growled quietly. "Oh, fuck." Then his steady tempo gave way to short strokes and his lips came softly to your ear. "I love you."

He filled you up so well, your dress and thighs were a mess afterwards, and you had to waddle into the bathroom so you didn't drip onto the floor. "Oh my god, Roo," you gasped as you finally took the time to pull your dress off to get yourself cleaned up. He walked in to turn the shower on with his shirt balled up in one hand, and then he smirked as his cum dripped down your legs.

"Just to be clear, I love your parents. I love when we get to visit with them. I love having them here. But I also love fucking you, and you and I both know you can't keep quiet."

You slipped past him and into the shower. "I know what you want me to say."

"Then just say it, Sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes. "You were right about the hotel. But I was trying to save money for the car."

He wrenched his jeans and underwear off as he joined you in the shower immediately backing you up against the tile wall making you thrum with need all over again. With his left forearm leaning against the wall, he tipped your chin up with his right hand and pressed his body against yours. He could have been intimidating if you weren't so in love with him and also outrageously turned on.

"Money is not an issue, okay?" he asked, his voice nothing but a deep rumble. "It's never going to be an issue. Pick out the car of your dreams, and it's yours. We will figure out the rest as we go."

You whimpered, "Okay, Daddy." Then you were moaning into his mouth.

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

The next morning, Bradley felt a little bad about leaving you without a car, but Nat offered to stop by and pick you and your mom up for brunch. He also felt a little bad about how Bob got booted out of the golf foursome so your dad could join in.

Your dad was sipping a travel mug of coffee on the way to the golf course when he suddenly asked, "How did her car get totaled anyway?"

Bradley almost swerved off the road as he scrambled to point out the window at essentially nothing special as he said, "Did you see that?!"

"What?!" he asked in response, turning to look back.

Bradley swallowed hard and said, "Oh, nevermind. So, uh, how often have you been golfing this summer? Because I'm anticipating being pretty terrible myself. I haven't been out in months."

"Oh, well I told you about Jerry, right?" he asked in response, and Bradley knew he had your father safely distracted as he talked about his golf buddy that he'd known since college for the rest of the drive.

But the next issue arose when they actually made it to the golf cart and Jake started liberally handing out hard seltzers. "Oh, I've never had one of these," your dad told him.

"They're great," Javy promised, patting him on the back with a grin.

Bradley already had to share his clubs with your dad, but when he was tipsy by the ninth hole, Bradley had become his glorified caddy. When he looked at one of the cans, he realized why the three of them were laughing so much. These things had 12% alcohol by volume.

"Jesus Christ," Bradley muttered, considering texting you for help, but you were probably out with your mom and Nat right now. And he was supposed to have your dad home by four for a beach cookout and fourth of July fireworks.

"So why don't you tell us what you really think of your son-in-law, sir?" Jake drawled obnoxiously as he grinned back at Bradley. It was a shame Bob got the boot instead of Jake or Javy who currently couldn't find his golf ball even though it was on the green right in front of him.

"Bradley?" your dad asked as if Bradley wasn't standing ten feet behind him. "He's great! Love the guy! Although I have the sneaking suspicion that he was the one who totaled my little girl's car. She just loved that ugly thing, you know?"

"Oh yes, sir," Jake replied. "I've seen that car many times, and it truly was nothing to look at. But what would you say if I told you I know exactly what happened to it?"

"Hangman," Bradley barked. "Tee off. Let's get a move on."

You dad didn't even seem to notice anything was off as he cracked open another seltzer and said, "Oh, there you are, Bradley. Have you tried one of these drinks? They are absolutely delicious."

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

You and your mom stood side by side on the front porch after lunch when Bradley got back home with your dad. He'd texted you to give you a heads up about the hard seltzers, but you were still surprised when he had to help your father out of the Bronco. He was completely drunk and wearing Javy's New Orleans Saints hat while he laughed hysterically.

"Oh... shit," your mom said, and she started laughing, too. "Bradley must have had a fun time today."

You had to hold your own giggles at bay as you watched your husband try to wrangle your dad who was now walking to check if there was anything in your mailbox.

"Mom, he's a mess!"

"Just think, if we move to San Diego, your dad can ruin Bradley's golf outings all the time."

You snorted. There had been some discussion earlier about your parents potentially selling the house in Maryland and making the move to be closer to you. It was all still hypothetical, but you loved the idea of having them nearby. However now you weren't so sure Bradley would share your sentiment.

"No, no, this way, Dad," he was saying, trying to coax your father up to the porch.

"How many did he drink?" you asked as your dad awkwardly patted your mom on the head before walking inside and collapsing onto the couch with Tramp licking his face.

"Not that many?" Bradley replied, running his hands over his face. "I'm sorry, but Jake and Javy were a nightmare, too. I had to drop them both off, because there was no way they could drive. And now we'll be late for this neighborhood beach cookout."

"It's okay," you told him, wrapping your arms around his waist while your mom went to get your dad some water. "You got everyone home safely. It's so fucking hot when you're responsible." You kissed the scars on his neck and added, "We could always just make dinner here and watch the fireworks from the back patio?"

The way he sighed in relief let you know that he thought that sounded like a better idea. "Only if that's what you want to do."

"That's exactly what I want to do," you promised him.

When you turned to walk away, he caught your hand and asked, "Did you give any more thought to what kind of car you want? I didn't like leaving you without one today."

You just shrugged; it still made you completely and utterly sad inside to think about it. You couldn't even imagine anything else parked in the driveway next to the Bronco. "No," you whispered. "Let's talk about it more next week? After they go back to Maryland?"

He nodded. "Serious conversations will include your car and some home renovations."

You looked from him to the couch where your dad was currently snoring and then back to him again. There was no escaping your parents at the moment. "Add San Diego real estate to the list, Roo," you told him with a peck on his cheek as you went in search of what you could make for dinner.

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

Sunday afternoon was bright and gorgeously sunny. It was the perfect day for a baseball game. Bradley was nursing a beer at Petco Park while he held your hand, occasionally leaning closer to you so he could converse with your parents who were sitting on your other side. But every time he did so, it got a little harder for him to sit there and behave; you smelled so sweet, and you looked sinful in that shirt. Bradley could only think about the second date he took you on where you and he ended up on the Kiss Cam.

"I was wondering," your mom mused between innings, "how the car got totaled. Who was driving it?"

Bradley shook his mostly empty beer can and jumped to his feet, absolutely unwilling yet again to discuss the truth with your parents. "I am so thirsty," he announced, pretending he hadn't even heard her as you looked up at him with panic in your eyes. "Anyone else need a drink?"

"I'll take a beer," your dad said, eyes glued to the game as the bottom of the inning started.

"Absolutely," Bradley replied, silently shocked the man was still drinking today after his hard seltzer incident the day before. There was a beer vendor down at the bottom of the stairs, and Bradley hightailed it in his direction.

He bought two and turned to look back at you. Christ almighty, he was so fucking horny right now. He'd been in the mood for bed rattling sex, the kind where your voice was hoarse from screaming his name. Last night you fell asleep before he even finished cleaning the kitchen and joined you in bed, and he didn't want to wake you just to clamp his hand over your mouth again.

"Sir?" the beer vendor asked, trying to hand him the cans.

"Thanks," Bradley grunted, taking two steps at a time to get back to his seat. He could wait for the loud stuff since your parents would only be here for a little while longer. As he settled in next to you, he passed one beer to your dad and pecked you on the cheek. "Dad, you're supposed to be on a diet," you reminded your father while he ordered two more hot dogs from a different vendor.

"Aww, let him have some fun," Bradley said. "He's on vacation."

You rolled your eyes at him, probably annoyed that he ditched you to answer your parents' never ending attempts at learning exactly what became of your little shit mobile. "You're not helping, Roo."

Your mom just shook her head. "Your father has no self discipline. I'm referring to the junk food as well as yesterday's seltzers."

Bradley leaned in close to your ear and kissed you before whispering. "Is that where you get it from, Baby Girl?"

You quickly turned toward his smirking face. "I have plenty of self discipline," you told him defiantly. "Except when it comes to one thing." You let your hand drift up his thigh slowly as you turned toward the baseball game, feigning interest in the player up to bat. And then you gently palmed Bradley's cock through his jeans and squeezed.

He grunted, but he didn't move your hand away. Rather, he said probably loud enough for your parents to hear, "Do I need to discipline you right now?" It was honestly a wonder they hadn't pieced together what really happened to your car.

Bradley bit back a moan as your lips connected with his earlobe, and you whispered, "I need it." That's exactly how the two of you ended up in the family bathroom, with your jeans and panties pushed down around your thighs and your hands planted on your knees.

"You can't keep your hands to yourself in public, can you?" Bradley asked, rubbing his large palm along your ass and down to tease your pussy with his fingers before spanking you hard.

"No, Daddy," you whined, wiggling your butt back toward him for some more.

He spanked you again. "What's your punishment for grabbing my cock in front of your parents?"

You moaned so loudly, the sound echoed off the tiled walls. "Spanking," you answered, but it really wasn't a punishment at all. He knew it. You knew it, too.

As his palm connected with your gorgeous ass over and over, you didn't even try to keep quiet. Bradley let you be as loud as you wanted here since you couldn't scream his name at the house with your parents there.

"You are doing so well, Baby Girl. You ready for me to fuck you now?"

"Pease, Daddy!" you nearly shouted, and then he was inside you.

He wasn't going slow or trying to make you feel good, he was just fucking you hard and fast. Which was definitely working for you, based on the sounds you were making.

"You're always so fucking wet for me," he growled, hands wrapped tight around your hips. The slapping sounds of skin on skin filled the small space, along with his panting and your whimpers.

"I need it, Daddy," you gasped, voice getting higher as he felt the first squeeze of your pussy around his cock.

He grabbed your waist tighter to keep you steady as he said, "I'm going to fill you up. Fuck you full of my cum. And you'll keep it inside you for the rest of the day." His palm landed on your ass one more time, and then you were spiraling into your own orgasm as he came in your pussy.

A moment later, he watched his semen soak through your lace panties and drip down to the inside of your jeans as you pulled them up. "Oh my god, I love you," Bradley groaned as you opened the door. The line of unamused people waiting for the restroom had you and Bradley laughing as he wrapped his arm around you.

"That was fun, Roo," you said with a grin, placing a kiss on his neck. "I really learned my lesson, too."

"No, you didn't," he whispered, squeezing your waist and making you giggle as he led you back to the seats. "You're a brat, Sweetheart."

But now he was thinking about how badly he wanted this to be the one that took. He'd spend the rest of his life talking about how he knocked up his wife at a Padres game, but he knew it probably wasn't possible. While he tried his best not to think about it too much, he knew vaguely when your cycle would be starting.

He pulled you a little closer to his side and kissed your forehead. It didn't matter though. He wouldn't trade this feeling or his smiling wife for anything else in the world.

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

You were always in tears when it was time to say goodbye to your parents. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted them to sell your childhood home and move to California, but you thought you'd better wait a few days before really discussing it more with Bradley.

Before you met him, he'd been on his own for so long, you were beginning to think he struggled a bit with sharing his space, which was kind of a revelation since he had never been that way with you. He had welcomed you to move into his home with him almost as soon as he purchased it, and you only saw a few glimpses of frustration from him in those early days. Bradley had an ease about him that made you feel comfortable, but you still knew he'd never truly opened himself up to a woman before you, and that included his living space. The fact that he loved and accomodated your parents as much as they did for him was important to you.

He unloaded the luggage from the back of the Bronco while you hugged your dad and then your mom on the sidewalk outside of the departures door for the airline. "I'll let you know if I'm coming to Annapolis for work in a few weeks," you whispered as your mom kissed your cheek.

"We can try to have dinner together one night," she replied. You watched your dad shaking hands with your husband before he pulled your dad in for a hug.

"That sounds nice," you told her as tears blurred your vision. You'd been crying so much recently, feeling overly emotional about your car and spending a ton of money on something that you didn't deem necessary. But these tears were the welcome kind. Your heart felt full of love instead of disappointment.

As your parents disappeared through the sliding doors, Bradley wrapped his arms around you from behind, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. "It's kind of late, but when we get back to our quiet house, we should talk about a new car, renovations to our house, and the San Diego real estate market. Me and you and a bottle of wine." Your eyes fluttered closed as one big hand slid down over your belly before settling on your jeans zipper while he kissed your neck. "Just as soon as I fuck you so hard in our bed that you're screaming my name with tears in your eyes."

You moaned as your parents waved through the window, and you and Bradley waved back before you spun in his arms and looked up at his warm eyes. "Take me home right now."

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

Bradley was a sweaty mess underneath you as your head came to rest on his shoulder. His heart was still pounding, and his cum was slick and sticky between your pussy and his abs. The sound of your voice, soft and hoarse in his ear, gave him goosebumps as your fingers ran up and down his bicep, slowly tracing his tattoo.

"I love you."

He turned his head to kiss your cheek and rub his mustache along your ear until you laughed.

"You were loud as hell, Baby Girl," he rasped, knowing full well that he'd been vocal, too.

"Yeah, well, it's nice to have the house to ourselves again," you responded as you yawned.

"I knew you'd see things my way." Very gently, Bradley asked, "Do you want to talk about new cars?"

Another drawn out yawn escaped you as you rolled off of him. "No, I'm too tired, and I don't really feel like it."

Bradley kissed your shoulder as you burrowed under the blankets. Getting you to focus on this task was clearly going to take as much stamina as he'd just given you in bed. "Fine. We'll do it later."

"Mmhmm," you hummed. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

But Bradley wasn't ready for bed yet, and he knew that the next time your mom and dad were here, he'd need the physical separation. After he got himself cleaned up in the bathroom, he pulled on his boxer briefs, and Tramp followed him upstairs to the huge open space that the two of you only used for storage. It would be a project, but it would be worth it.

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

If any of this sounded familiar, it's because we have reached this exciting point in the story of Roo and BG. Thank you for being here! Thanks for reading and reblogging and putting a smile on my face. Big thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 26

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onsomenewsht · 2 months

Text

now playing: What Can I Do

< track 4 || track 6 >

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader, Barcelona Femeni x Reader

》 words count: +2.8k

》 I don't know if you see us how I do in my head

Four years of studying all the finest details of the ways she acts and moves

“She does it on purpose”

Ingrid smiles at your whining, enjoying the easy banter growing day by day between you and her girlfriend.

But yes, she’s doing it on purpose. All the girls know, and the ones currently in the parking lot with the three of you aren’t even trying to hide their laughs. You recognise Alexia’s soft one without taking your eyes off the defender.

María is going on a rant about all the places you need to see in Madrid since the team is going to play Atlético on the weekend. As if you’re not gonna be free there for a couple of hours and you still understand close to nothing of what she’s saying in the first place.

You have no doubt she insists on speaking exclusively in Spanish just to annoy you, she’s perfectly aware you can’t even order a coffee without the barista trying to hide a giggle at your scrambled words.

“You have to practise, she’s helping”, it’s cute she’s trying to defend her girlfriend.

“She’s a broken record”

As a matter of fact, or just to prove her point, the Spaniard’s voice is a constant background noise - from the walk toward the training centre, all the way through the changing room, and till the first stretching exercises.

You will never accept a ride from the couple, ever again.

“Mapi, give the girl a break! I’m exhausted and I’m not even listening”

You like Keira, Keira is funny in a comfortable way. Ingrid and her are the only ones able to buffer María’s enthusiasm when they notice you get overwhelmed by the language or you’re just too tired to deal with her energy.

“¡Y ni te entiende!” (And she doesn’t even understand you)

“Necesita practicar su Español” (She needs to practise her Spanish)

“She’s still here”, you try to calm your teammates’ excitement as soon as you notice more girls are gathering around you.

They planned a movie night at your place anyway, they will have time and space to bother you all they want later.

You need to focus on your exercises right now, despite the elegant and defined movements that keep catching your attention on the small training area.

Alexia is stretching just a couple of metres away from you, talking with Marta and Irene while casually controlling a ball with her foot. Somehow, there’s always a football around her.

The punch Mapi directs at your ribcage - powerful, and quite frankly uncalled for - manages to knock the wind out of you, drawing attention and a laugh from your teammates, but a glare from Jonatan.

The red all over your face is surely due to the blonde’s hit, nothing else.

“Just hit her back”

“And add fuel to the fire?”

“¿Qué?”, Alexia’s eyebrow rises.

She’s closer to you now, you both like to be at your manager’s left side when he’s explaining the tactics he wants to review as his hands’ gestures are clearer.

You’re going to start the next game, he made an all scene the previous day to let you know that, so you should listen to what he’s saying.

“Nothing. I tried, she gets more annoying”

“María Leon masterclass”

She’s distracting, her smile is lighting up the whole training centre. You definitely have to listen to your manager.

You’re slowly but securely finding your place in this new club. The press is still talking about the fact you came out of nowhere, and the online comments are still questioning if you deserve to be here in the first place.

Your last season in Italy was fun to say the least, managing to stand up against the big ones and earning with your team a place for the Champions League group stage. You were a little disappointed when a loan was hanging over your head once again, but when Barcelona knocks at your door you open the windows too.

Games spent warming the bench, minutes after minutes, your confidence grows. Your positioning around some of the best players in the world is getting better and easier, the balls you play moving faster and flawlessly.

You’re finding your place, both on and off the field.

“¿Estás en la luna?”

“Eh?”

The Catalan has to fake a cough to hide her laugh at your confused face, immediately fixing her stoic one and nodding at what Jonatan is saying as if nothing happened.

No need to say you’re matching the red training top, her smile is contagious.

The rest of the session goes on without any more accidents, you need to avoid Mapi and pair with Ingrid or Irene to survive but you manage. Even if most of your passes somehow end up finding a certain blonde in the final scrimmage.

The field is now free of all equipment, your teammates heading toward the changing room.

All but one.

Alexia’s hanging back, not leaving the training ground with the excuse to collect some of the balls left behind. She doesn’t need to do that, obviously. But she does. She takes the time with each ball, feeling it around her feet and controlling them as second nature.

You know because you leave the balls around for her.

As the one and only newcomer, you take upon yourself the task of helping the trainers to put the equipment away after each session. You’re happy to do that, it’s a way to become familiar with the place and the people working here.

You noticed her habit of looking around for some balls before leaving the field so you started to hide a few for her to find.

If she knows, she doesn’t say anything or care.

Three years of falling asleep with your hand on her chest, her heartbeat as the only lullaby that can make you rest

Your house is filled with loud Spanish girls, gathered around the living room and screaming at the TV like the people inside the box can actually hear their strong opinions.

This particular dating show is getting largely famous among your teammates, some of them organising watching parties to live comment together.

It’s Alexia’s turn to host and, surprisingly to no one, she’s actually hosting at your house.

You’re not even into this show in the first place, they talk too fast for you to understand and you don’t really get who is actually flirting with who. But the relationship with the Catalan is growing so naturally and strongly, also around funny misinterpretation in Spanish and tender touches that linger a bit too long and a bit too frequently to be just friendly, so it feels meant to be.

“¡No me lo creo, cuando le dio un beso?!” (You’re kidding, when did they kiss?!)

You offered the place without really thinking about it, she’s supposed to spend the night here anyway. How bad could it be to have half a dozen of your friends around for a bit?

“¡Joder, qué cabrón!” (What a fucking asshole!)

“Tiene más cuernos que un rebaño”

“¡Llepaculs!”

Really bad, apparently.

Jana and Ona are literally jumping on your sofa over something a broad guy just said, definitely the wrong thing given their reaction. Claudia is muttering under her breath all night, you have no idea what she’s actually on about but Patri, sitting on the floor next to her, sometimes bursts out laughing so you let them be. Mapi is on the far side of the sofa, a frown between her eyebrows when she’s not making her opinion loud and clear - Ingrid is out with Frido tonight, that must be it. Even Marta is getting more and more involved in the shenanigans.

It must be a great episode.

Alexia, on the other hand, is paying no attention to the screen.

You try to let the girls be, entertaining yourself in the kitchen making snacks for them, but every time you excuse yourself the blonde is ready to drag you back, fitting your body between her legs.

All things considerate, you’re enjoying the show your friends are putting on in your living room. They’re loud and funny and passionate, but they’re also loyal and warm.

Your girlfriend’s hands are warm too, finding their place under the royal blue hoodie you are wearing. Her fingers are drawing patterns on your ribcage, sometimes letters and sometimes abstract figures. She’s not even watching the TV, she’s smiling at the way you’re taking the scenes around you in, and how your body reacts when she’s caressing a particular spot.

Hosting this watching party was such a bad idea.

When another yawn catches you unprepared, you hide your face in the hollow of her neck, a grin spreading on Alexia’s face. You can feel her lighting up.

“Cansada?” (Tired?)

“Too late for Spanish”

“Nunca es un buen momento para ti” (It’s never a good time for you)

“Watch your silly little soap opera and let me sleep, Putellas”

Alexia has to suppress her laugh, catching on to the stress in the room since the episode is coming to an end and no one is happy with the outcome.

She turns your body closer against hers, your friends too distracted to realise you now take most of the couch and you’re practically lying on top of her. The blonde doesn’t mind though, holding you firmly.

When she feels your hand grips her shirt’s front, she knows you’re gone for tonight.

You don’t hear your teammates leaving your house, their disappointment about the episode is easily replaced by teasing of the lovely scene. The Catalan doesn’t need words to scold them, not moving from her position but promising revenge in the next training session.

Mapi is the last one to leave, taking her time to tease her friend and silently admire how happy and comfortable the two of you look.

“¡Vete María!” (Leave!)

“Estás actuando como el dueño de la casa, ¿lo sabes?” (You’re acting a lot like the owner of the house, you know?)

The red on Alexia’s face is starting to spread and her friend needs to leave before she says something that’s gonna be stuck in the captain’s head.

“Un mal dueño también, no acompañar tu invitados a la puerta” (A bad host too, not even walking your guests out)

It’s a pillow that escorts the defender out, hitting the closing door all the way through your living room.

Two years of heading to a future that appallingly looks a lot like the same for the both of you

“¿Quieres un bebé?” (Do you want a kid?)

At Alexia’s question, you almost choke on the glass of wine you’re drinking.

It’s the off-season, it’s such a beautiful sunny day, it’s a dreamy vacation you gifted each other with. Why is she trying to kill you?

“Right now?”, you manage to find your words, red wine now spread all over your linen shirt.

She better buy you a new one.

“No, mi amor, not right now”, she hands you her jacket, failing to hide her amusement and her blush.

Her smile is soft and full of affection, and you never loved someone like you love her - even if she almost killed you.

“¿Sólo por curiosidad?” (Are you asking just out of curiosity?)

“You were cute with those girls at the beach”

“I’m always cute with kids”

“Sí, tienes razón” (Yeah, you’re right)

“But?”, you’re getting nervous about where this conversation’s heading.

You just wanted to enjoy a nice date out with your beautiful girlfriend in a fancy restaurant on the other side of the world.

You both deserve some time for each other, last season was exhausting and you both played more minutes than you were supposed to due to her bothering knee and your extra hours both for club and country.

You didn’t see such a conversation coming, you still feel sand on your skin and the sun sparkling in Alexia’s eyes.

“I’m not asking to make a kid tonight”

“We could definitely try though”

“I’m asking if you want kids in the future”, she smiles and she’s playing with her hands like she just confessed stealing candies from said kids.

“Quiero un bebé un día, ya lo sabes” (You know I want a kid one day)

“¿Conmigo?” (With me?)

You reach for her across the table, holding her hand between yours like your entire existence depends on it, on letting her understand how important she is in your life and how much your life together meant for you.

Alexia looks so insecure you’re almost scared of what’s happening in her mind, she knows you want kids once your career comes to an end and she knows you are in for the long run with her.

“Mírame, mi corazón” (Look at me)

“Mamá y Alba made jokes y noー”

“Quiero un bebé contigo, Alexia” (I want a kid with you)

“Sì?”

“To be honest, I dreamed about a little you running around and kicking a ball barefoot, but then the ball was your Ballon d’Or, and turned into a rocket destroying the entire house, so I didn’t feel like mentioning it”

The waitress interrupting you must sense there’s an important conversation happening, the blonde is giggling with tears in her eyes and you are barely sitting on your chair. He clears the table and nicely suggests the house’s dessert, you nod but ask for a couple of minutes.

“We can start trying tonight”

You love her open laugh.

One year of trying to tell yourself that nothing changed about the way you feel of your life here, of your life here with her

Every time you close your eyes you see the ring Alexia’s hiding in a fucking shoe box.

One time, when she’s away for a photoshoot with a magazine you don’t even remember the name of, you find yourself digging into the closet for the velvet box, unsure of everything.

It fits perfectly, it’s the perfect ring.

You take it off so fast you’re scared you ripped your own finger too.

It’s getting all too much.

You’re sleeping less and when you do, you’re restless and anxious. It doesn’t matter what you cook, it all tastes wrong in your mouth. You’re ignoring your friends and finding lame excuses to avoid nights out that don’t involve all the team.

The only thing you’re able to focus on is football.

You’re training harder, playing faster and decisively, spending more and more time on the pitch and in the gym, picking up extra training sessions.

You can ignore your mind if your body is louder.

But you love Alexia too much to ignore her.

When she speaks about a contract extension, about how happy she’s to captain the team for another three years and to be recognized for her pivotal role, you listen and match her enthusiasm. You’re so proud of her. You’re proud of what she achieved in Barcelona, what she means for the club and for the city and for the future of the game.

Even if you’re thinking your time wearing the Blaugrana colours is fading, seeking a new challenge elsewhere to prove you learned from the best ones and you can now play against them.

You’re extending your stay in Barcelona just to be close to Alexia.

When she points out you need to start practising your Catalan too, because she wants your kids to speak her first language and understand her culture, you think it is admirable how strong she feels about her home and her roots. You want that for your kids too.

Even if you miss your home country and sometimes you have to remember you have your own roots and culture and memories, ending up speaking to yourself in the bathroom mirror just to make sure you didn’t forget your own language.

You’re ignoring your homesickness just to be where Alexia’s heart is.

When she shows you how much she loves you and the life you’re living and the future you’re building together, you take all the affection and support and care because you’re so happy you’re still able to give her it all.

Even if you know you’re loving her more than you’re loving your life.

You’re hating yourself just to be in love with Alexia.

There’s not a single doubt about your love for Alexia. You love her the way writers seek the right words for their poems, and sailors fight the worst storms just to get back home, and kids pick the brightest colours for their drawings.

You love her so much that there’s no way you can leave her.

However, you can’t pretend anymore that Barcelona is your future, this city is not your home and this culture is not yours to feel.

That’s how you find yourself with a one-way flight ticket, running away from the only place you can leave without guilt.

You leave Barcelona because that’s how you’ll find yourself again - how you’ll love yourself again.

You don’t regret leaving Barcelona, you regret losing Alexia in the process.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #barcelona femeni #barcelona femini x reader #woso #ap11 #here we go again #this one was a journey #mistakes all mine #my wo(rd)so #now playing universe #Spotify

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Text

Steve was doing this for Robin.

He had to keep telling himself this. He could get through the day, the weekend, life, if he just kept repeating this to himself.

But an hour into their day, his pants ripped.

Not in a place it can be hidden, not a small one.

Right along his ass.

And because Robin insisted he’d be fine, he didn’t bring a bag with a change of clothes.

He could buy some, sure, if he wanted to spend $60 on special convention sweatpants that would be entirely too hot, unflattering, and ruin the costume Robin insisted he wear to match hers.

He was hiding in the bathroom currently, furiously texting Robin to let her know he was just going to stay there until it was time to leave.

She’d be mad at him, but she’d be more mad at herself for not letting him bring a change of clothes.

His pants weren’t even tight. Luke Skywalker doesn’t exactly wear tight clothes. He had no reason behind the rip other than the universe just hating him as much as possible.

Robin told him she would find someone to help, whatever that means, but he didn’t think that was possible without just buying new pants.

He stood in the corner of the continuously crowded bathroom, trying not to draw attention, but knowing it was incredibly odd to just stand in the corner of a public bathroom.

Ten minutes passed and a guy walked in with a backpack and a sign that says “Free Cosplay Repair” and Steve knew what Robin had done.

The man was pretty, and not dressed up, but seemed like he wished he was. Maybe it was difficult to repair if he was wearing some elaborate costume.

Steve didn’t know how this worked.

“Are you Steve?”

Steve nodded.

His voice was calming, and Steve instantly trusted him to fix the problem.

“Heard you’ve got a bit of a problem with the costume. Big or small?”

“Uh. Pretty big, man.”

“Ah. Tear along the ass, then. Happens all the time.”

He set his backpack down and started rummaging through the front pocket. When he pulled out a sewing kit, Steve realized he was going to have to get this fixed in a public bathroom with this very attractive man staring at and touching his ass for who knows how long.

“Um.”

“It’ll be better if you can take them off. I’ll be able to sew it much faster.”

Steve couldn’t just stand around in his boxers. That was not part of the plan or the agreement with Robin. People were coming and going from the bathroom at a rapid rate.

“Is there somewhere private we can go?”

“Awww, Stevie, feeling shy?”

Steve’s face was beet red. He was feeling a little shy, and being called out on it by a hot guy kind of made him think about being called out on other things in other ways and his brain was not doing well.

“My name’s Eddie. I come with my friend Chrissy to a bunch of these every year. We have a tent set up on the show floor for privacy, but you’d have to walk to it. I could walk behind you if you want?”

“Oh. Okay. Um. Sure.”

It was better than standing half naked in this bathroom.

So they left, and Eddie stayed right behind him, covering him from possible exposure to the growing crowd.

He would lean forward and direct him to the tent every few seconds, leaving goosebumps behind from how close he got to his ear to be heard.

When they arrived, Chrissy was finishing up with supergluing something to a mask. Eddie touched her shoulder and whispered something to her. She rolled her eyes and smiled at him before turning back to the person she was helping.

Eddie nudged Steve into their tent.

“Alright, shouldn’t take too long. Take them off, Luke.”

Steve rolled his eyes but followed directions. The faster this was done, the faster he could get back to Robin, who was probably so deep into the crowd by now that he’d never find her anyways.

Maybe he should just stay here. Learn to sew. Become a part of their traveling repair team.

They seemed nice enough.

Eddie got started immediately, and Steve was grateful for the privacy the tent provided. He sat down on a stool they had set up in the corner and put his hands in his lap, covering as much of himself as he could. He was definitely not confident in this place.

He’d embraced that he liked some nerdy things. He was fine with it.

But he was way out of his element here.

“You come to these a lot?”

“No. Just supporting my friend.”

“Explains not being as prepared as the pros.”

“I did try to be. My friend said I’d be fine. Don’t know why I listened to her.”

Eddie snorted. “She a friend or a…friend?”

Steve laughed so loudly, Eddie jumped. “Sorry. She’s very much not straight and I am very much not interested.”

“Is she Leia?”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone will assume you’re together, you know?”

“Yeah, well. She said I had to and I owed her.”

“Must’ve done you a big favor.”

“You could say that.”

Eddie’s hands were moving quickly, and Steve couldn’t help watching in amazement.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“What? Sewing? Or conventions?”

“Both.”

Eddie smiled while he worked.

“Sewing since I was 11. I was in charge of fixing my and my uncle’s clothes since we couldn’t really afford new ones unless I outgrew them. Then in high school I did costumes for drama and cheerleaders. That’s how I met Chrissy. She was a secret nerd so she took me to a convention and I saw too many people crying over broken and torn cosplays so I started doing this.”

“For free?”

“Yeah. I already had most of the supplies on hand and I’m not using them all so why not?”

“That’s really…kind.”

He saw Eddie’s cheeks blush, but he didn’t comment.

Maybe he’d gain some upper hand here despite being half naked in a tent with a stranger.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It kind of is, man. Just take the compliment. It’s really selfless.”

“Okay. Yeah. I guess. Thanks.”

They settled into a comfortable silence and Steve really took in the tent. There were things hanging up that he vaguely recognized as D&D monsters from Dustin’s room.

“Hey, the kid I babysit is into that.”

“What?”

“The dungeons game.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I think he even has that exact print in his room.”

“No shit? I made these. I have an Etsy shop.”

“You’re kidding. He’s gonna freak out that I met you.”

“Well, shit. Take one for him.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

“Yeah you could. I’m not letting you leave until you do.”

Steve felt his heart flutter.

Dustin was like his little brother and he loved him so much. Any time someone did something kind for him, it melted his heart.

He didn’t have time for feelings for a stranger.

Not at a convention where he was the outcast.

“I guess if you insist.”

“I do.”

Steve was a fucking mess. Emotionally, he was the type to get really attached really quickly. It’s why all of his relationships ended within weeks. He was ready to be completely committed and they never were. He fell hard and fast for anyone who showed him even a tiny bit of interest.

He had to get out of this tent.

“I’m not rushing you, but how much longer?”

“I’m almost done. Few more minutes. Doing okay?”

“Yeah. Just wanna find Robin.”

“Text her to meet you here. She knows where it is.”

“How would she know that?”

“I’ve met her a few times at other conventions and she always stops by to say hello.”

Robin knew this guy?

Suddenly, he realized what was going on.

She was setting him up.

“Take your time. She can wait.”

Eddie slowed his hands and looked up at Steve.

“Uh. Okay.”

“She’s a traitor who did this to me on purpose.”

“Ripped your pants?”

“Yes.”

Eddie stopped what he was doing completely.

“She ripped your pants on purpose? How would she have done that?”

“She pulled a seam out or something.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s trying to set us up.”

“Us?!”

“Yep. Sorry. I promise I don’t expect anything. She just does this sometimes. Thinks I’m lonely or whatever.”

Eddie searched his face for a minute, then looked back down at his work.

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Lonely.”

Well, yeah. Robin didn’t get the assumption from nowhere. But he didn’t really want to admit that to a stranger.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Apparently, he was going to anyways.

“Hm.”

“Hm?”

“Mhm.”

Steve huffed out a breath.

Eddie stood suddenly and came over to Steve, pushing his shoulder back and his legs apart so he could fit between them.

Eddie’s hand cupped his chin, pulling it up so he could look at him.

Steve gulped.

He was feeling more than vulnerable at this point and wasn’t sure what to do about it.

“Your friend must really love you to want to make sure you aren’t lonely.”

“Um. Yeah.”

“You know, I’m taking a lunch break in about an hour if you wanna hang around. I could use some company.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. One condition though.”

“What’s that?”

“You take the pants off again.”

Steve laughed and Eddie couldn’t help the smile he aimed down at him.

“You want me to eat in just my boxers?”

“Well, not just your boxers. That’ll be later at the hotel.”

God, this guy was good. Smoother than Steve’s ever been and he was known for his charming nature for years.

“You think I’ll come back to your hotel?”

“I know you will.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I only temporarily fixed these pants. The stuff you need is back at my room.”

“What if I don’t care about the pants?”

“All the more reason to leave them off when you come to my room.”

They smiled at each other.

Steve felt brave. He felt a little ridiculous. Most of all, he felt like he couldn’t pass up the opportunity literally staring him in the face.

He leaned up a bit more and waited for Eddie to lean down.

When their lips met, Steve knew he was completely fucked.

Robin had fucked him over and he’d never been so grateful.

#steddie #Steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #tumblr drabbles #inspired by the amazing people who walk around conventions fixing cosplay for free #and inspired by people like me who don’t have a clue what they’re doing but just there for the ride #I wrote this in my car in a parking garage in Orlando lmao #sorry for typos or if it feels ridiculous and rushed #it’s because it is

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alltheirdamn · 6 days

Text

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 5 Nevermore

Chp. 5 Summary: It's hard to understand why everything feels so right. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, language, heavy kissing, unprotected piv sex, semi-rough sex, creampie, praise kink, (kinda) size kink, aftercare, fluff and a LOT of angst, light banter, lots of emotions, mentions of past trauma, brief flashback of trauma, another cliffhanger (sorry) A/N: Well, if you're here, I hope you're prepared for what's coming. A HUGE shoutout to @loonmartell for helping co-conspire the trajectory of this story. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it as always <3

Masterlist | Ko-fi

I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in—

“Miss Smith?”

Your head jerked up at the sound, and the pencil you were drawing circles with fell against your desk. Bradley, one of your students, was standing at the edge of your desk with his test in hand.

“Sorry about that, sweetie,” you smiled, extending a hand. “Thank you.”

Bradley eyed you curiously before turning and skipping back to his desk. You dragged a hand over your face, wanting to crawl into the furthest corner of the world and never be seen again. Beth’s words had been plaguing you for days since you called her. Over and over again, they annihilated your thoughts, a constant broken record that you couldn’t shut off. You still had your nightly calls with Joel, talking past midnight and falling asleep together, but you kept making excuses not to see him.

“I’ve got lesson plans to make,” you lied.

“I’ll help,” Joel had offered.

“You’re a distraction.”

“I ain’t that bad,” he huffed.

The next night, you lied and said you were going out with Maria, which was an even worse lie since you were avoiding her at all costs. Telling Beth the news was one thing, but telling Maria was another matter. She was nosey and a bit too loud-mouthed to trust. The last thing you wanted was for the entire faculty to know your dirty secrets. Joel had to remain a secret—at least for now.

It’s not like you wanted to avoid Joel; you were just scared. You were not ready for this new territory, and if Beth was anywhere near correct in her assumptions, it only made you want to shy away more. The only problem was parent-teacher conferences this week, meaning you’d have to see Joel and Sarah…together.

The class bell rang, and your free period between classes began. You dropped your head on the desk and took a few deep breaths, trying to wrangle some semblance of calm back into your body. The final class of the day would be Sarah’s, and you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to see her. The blaring reminder that her dad had fucked you sore over the weekend still hung over your head, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for it. How was your fall break, Sarah? Oh yeah, mine was great. Your dad fucked me so hard I ended up having a complete breakdown.

Fuck.

You wanted the day to be over.

The free period went by much faster than you wanted, and as you watched the next slew of kids take their seats, you made a conscious effort not to stare at Sarah as she walked in. She wore her usual smile, the impression of her dimples digging into her cheeks. Some wild thought popped into your head that you had no time to recover from: if you and Joel went any further, God help you, you’d be Sarah’s step-mom one day. Your stomach rolled with nausea as you tried to will those thoughts away. Joel wouldn’t stick around that long; you were a lost cause. There was no chance that would happen. Right?

Clearing your throat, you rose from your desk and made your way over to the projector to set up the lesson for the day. Since the school year was nearing Halloween, you decided it would be fun to teach Edgar Allen Poe, completely forgetting you had chosen “The Raven”—which was about losing someone. This would have a bite to it that you weren’t ready for.

“Okay, everyone,” you announced. “Did we all finish the reading assignment this week?”

There were a few nods and murmurs of agreement, and you quickly shifted to the first few slides of your presentation.

“Alright, so who can tell me the overall theme for Poe’s ‘The Raven’?”

Georgia, one of your top students, shot her hand up without a beat.

“Yes, Georgia?”

“It’s about his grief for losing Lenore,” she answered.

“Good,” you smiled. “Can anyone tell me what other theme the poem contains?”

“Madness!” Another student chimed in, causing an uproar of laughter amongst the students.

“Okay, okay, settle down. Very good, you guys.”

You switched to the next slide, staring blankly at the words typed out. Lenore is gone forever. Something struck you as you silently read it, realizing you weren’t too far off from Poe in his grief. Although Bennett wasn’t dead, he wasn’t coming back. That fact hadn’t hurt as deeply throughout the last few weeks, especially with Joel around, but it still threw salt in the open wounds still scattered over your heart.

“In stanza two,” you cleared your throat. “In stanza two, Poe refers to Lenore as ‘nameless,’ which can imply that she has died, and he’s now consumed with grief. Where else did you guys find his grief prominent?”

Georgia quickly raised her hand again, and you motioned for her to speak.

“In stanza four, he talks about his dreams, which I think he means he’s dreaming of her to return to him. But if she’s dead, there’s no way she’s going to come back,” Georgia said.

Fuck. You felt the sting of tears rim your eyes and briefly paused to gather your bearings. Bennett left. He left, and you had spent years dreaming he would return.

“Good,” you choked out.

You glanced around the room, your eyes connecting with Sarah’s. It took all your strength not to break down and cry as she studied you with the same concerned furrow in her brows as her dad would do.

Clicking to the next slide, you exhaled, focusing on the following theme to discuss. Madness.

“Now, with the theme of madness, where do we see this begin? Obviously, the dreams can be interpreted as his descent into madness, but what else do we find?” You asked.

To your detriment, Sarah was the one to raise her hand.

“Sarah,” you sighed, nodding.

“It’s the raven,” she said plainly. “The raven is what drives him mad.”

“What does he do to drive Poe mad?” You questioned.

“The raven only says one word,” she explained. “And that word drives him mad until the end of the poem.

“And why does it drive him mad?”

Sarah shifted in her seat, looking around at her classmates before responding.

“Because it’s the answer Poe doesn’t want to hear. Poe doesn’t want to be reminded that Lenore is dead, but that’s the only response the raven will give.”

You were swaying in place, trying to hold yourself together as the memories started ricocheting back into your mind. Now wasn’t the time to collapse, not in front of twenty students staring at you, confused and concerned. You only responded with a nod and flipped the projector off.

“Good job, you guys. Now, does anyone have any questions on this unit? Any questions about the stanza format or the themes?”

Sarah raised her hand again.

“Did his madness kill him?” She asked.

“Who?”

“Poe.”

“Oh, um, no. Well, it’s a mystery, really. Some people say he died of delirium, so, I guess, madness. But other people speculate he drank himself to death.”

The class grew morbidly quiet, which made it harder for you to continue. No one else spoke up after Sarah, so you resorted to handing out the quiz and sinking back into your desk chair.

One by one, the students came up to turn in their quiz, and you averted your gaze each time with a nonchalant ‘thank you.’ When the final bell finally sounded through the room, you hardly had the energy to wave goodbye.

Sarah was the last to leave, and that same concerned look lingered on her face as she shuffled out.

That night, you didn’t pick up the phone when Joel called. You stared as it rang repeatedly, watching the light fade from the screen when the ringing stopped. You buried your head under the covers and tried to sleep, but then the nightmares started.

You woke up to your alarm, hyperventilating and drenched in sweat. Squinting at the morning sun streaming through the blinds, you grabbed your phone to check the time. Your fingers froze as you read the screen.

Seven missed calls from Joel

Two voicemails from Joel

With shaky fingers, you pressed play on the first voicemail.

“Hey baby, it’s me. I just wanna make sure you’re okay. I’m hopin’ you’re just asleep, but if you’re up, please call me.”

Then you played the next.

“Baby, it’s me again. I miss you, and I’m worried ‘bout you. Please don’t shut me out, okay? I just wanna hear your voice and hear ‘bout your day. If you don’t wanna talk, that's okay. I understand. Just please lemme know you’re alright. I’ll drive my ass out to you if I need to just to make sure you’re okay. Call me when you get this. G’night, baby.”

You dug your knuckles into your eyes to try and force the tears back. Last night, you had the worst of the nightmares: the memory of something you tried to forget. You hadn’t touched that memory in so long. It was just the brutal realization you were truly at fault for everything with Bennett. No matter how badly you wanted to blame him, it was always your fault.

Glancing back at your phone, you rechecked the time: 7:35. Fuck, you were running late, and you really didn’t want to call Joel back right now. At least not right now. You’d muster the energy and strength to do it later, but you needed to gather yourself and get ready for work right now. Tossing off the sweat-slick sheets, you rushed into the bathroom and quickly showered. You couldn’t bother to put makeup on, so you opted to go without it and found a simple dress to wear. It was still in the high eighties in Austin, and a dress was the easiest option for the day.

Scrambling for your purse and keys, you ran to the garage to start your car and head to the school.

It wasn’t until you pulled into your parking spot that you realized you left your phone on the nightstand.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Maria questioned, sipping her lukewarm coffee.

She had nagged you into spending your free period in her classroom, demanding that you tell her everything that you had been withholding. You sat on the edge of her desk, your dress flowing over your knees as you stared out her class windows.

“Nothing, Maria,” you lied.

She said your name sternly, forcing your eyes to snap to hers. Her usual chipper demeanor was replaced with that ‘mother’ look, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

“Something is going on,” she pressed. “Could have something to do with Mr. Miller?”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

“You did it, huh?” She raised a brow.

You exhaled heavily, nodding your head—no point in lying now.

“We talked on the phone the entire break, and when I got home, he insisted on taking me on a date. Then one thing led to another… and yeah, we had sex.”

Maria squealed, clapping her hands and grinning wide. You stared at her blankly, unamused by her reaction to your words.

“This isn’t a good thing, Maria,” you said pointedly.

“Why wouldn’t it be? You’re finally putting yourself out there! Oh my god, was it good?”

“It was,” you sighed. “It was good—really good. He’s so sweet and caring.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” she interjected.

“But I can’t let it go any further,” you finished.

Maria leaned forward and placed her hand on your knee.

“Does he make you happy?” She asked softly.

“So fucking happy, Maria. I hate it.”

“You deserve to be happy, sweetie. That’s all I’ve been saying for years, and now you have it! Don’t force it to fail before it even begins. I saw the way he looked at you at the father-daughter dance. You can’t fake that.”

“I know. I know. I just—ugh,” you slid off the desk with a groan. “He’s too good for me. I’m still trying to get over Bennett and everything that happened. He doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of all my misery. That’s not fair to him.”

You were pacing around the room, your eyes darting between the science posters hanging along the walls of Maria’s classroom. You heard her desk chair scrape against the floor as she approached you. She gripped you by the shoulders and leveled you with a heavy stare, but her eyes remained soft.

“He’s still around, right? I don’t think he’s going anywhere, sweetie. If anything, I think he’s in it for the long haul.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you leaned into her, letting her wrap you up in a motherly embrace. She rubbed circles against your back, hushing you as you wept quietly.

The rest of the day passed by in a numbing blur. You packed your things quietly and headed to your car, ready to drown yourself in a glass of wine.

Joel’s truck was parked in front of your house as you turned the corner onto your street. His tall figure was leaning against the driver’s door; his eyes focused on your car as you pulled into the driveway. You inhaled sharply before putting your car in park, mentally preparing yourself for whatever anger he might unleash.

You barely shut the car door before Joel had his arms around you, tugging you into a warm embrace. You couldn’t make sense of it; why wasn’t he mad? He should be angry at you.

“Joel?” you whispered, your fingers twisting into his shirt. He smelt of cedarwood and smoke, the lingering scent of the workday still on his clothes.

“I was so fuckin’ worried ‘bout you,” he muttered into your hair. “Been tryin’ to get ahold of you all day.”

“I left my phone at home this morning,” you explained. “I listened to your voicemails from last night. I’m sorry I didn’t call back. I was just running late this morning.”

“Why didn’t you pick up last night?’ He asked, pulling away.

“I needed some space. I’m just trying to figure this all out. I want you—I want this. I just don’t know how to be fully vulnerable. I know that’s silly to say since I’ve cried every time I’ve seen you.” You laughed at the thought of it.

“You coulda just told me that, baby. I would’ve understood,” Joel sighed.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course not,” he smiled softly. “Had me worryin’ like crazy, but I ain’t mad. I know this is all new, and you’re scared. Just don’t shut me out, ‘kay? I wanna talk to you and understand what’s goin’ on with you. I told you I wanna work on it with you.”

“I’m s—.”

Joel was pressing his lips against yours before you could say those two words. The kiss was all-consuming and tender, strong enough to erase every thought in your mind. Your mouths moved in unison, tongues intertwined and exploring. It was dizzying to be kissed this fervently; the first kiss couldn’t hold a torch to this moment. You tangled your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck, slanting your lips to open yourself even more to him. Joel’s hands twisted into the fabric of your dress that hugged your hips and pulled you tighter against his body. You whimpered at the feeling of his cock straining in his jeans, and he hauled you upwards until you were wrapping your legs around his waist.

Spinning you around, he pinned you to the metal of your car door, breaking away from your mouth to kiss down your neck. Was it possible to be branded by a dozen kisses? He left a trail of sweltering kisses over every exposed part of your upper body, and all you could do was pant and moan helplessly. To hell with the neighborhood and their lingering eyes; the world around you could collapse, and you’d still be clinging to his body.

“I told you I didn’t wanna hear those apologies,” Joel muttered against the hollow of your neck.

“What are you gonna do about it, Joel?” You moaned, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

“All I want right now is to hear you screamin’ my name, so you better invite me inside before I fuck you right here.”

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered.

“Wrong name, baby.”

With one strong arm braced around your back and a firm hand on your ass, Joel carried you out of the driveway and through the open garage. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the bare patches in his beard. Joel stumbled into the living room and sat you on the edge of the couch. You clung to him, refusing to lay back, too afraid to disconnect from his body. There was something so addicting, so right about being in his arms—almost familiar.

“Y’look so beautiful in this dress, baby,” Joel breathed. “Turn around.”

You unattached yourself from him, spinning until your thighs pushed against the leather of the couch. Joel’s hands roamed over your calves, dragging your dress up until it piled against your lower back. You gasped as his fingers tore apart your underwear, the scraps falling down your legs and piling at your feet. It was embarrassing how wet you were already, your slick coating your inner thighs.

“Joel,” you whined as he swiped a finger through your wet folds.

“Use your words,” he hummed, slowly pushing in two fingers.

“I need you, Joel.” He curled his fingers against the spot that left you breathless, coaxing you to speak more. “Need it rough—please.”

You needed to feel how bad he needed you; you needed to show him you wanted him, even if it meant doing it without saying it aloud.

“Y’want it rough, baby? I can do that. If it’s too much, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” you exhaled.

Joel pulled his fingers from you, bringing them to your mouth and smearing your arousal over your parted lips. You hummed as you tasted yourself, pushing your ass back into him. You heard the clang of his belt and the soft sound of his jeans hitting the floor before he swiped his cock across your slick entrance.

“Don’t be gentle,” you moaned.

“Anythin’ you want, baby.”

That was all he said before splitting you open, the fullness of his cock inside you robbing you of all the breath in your lungs. Joel kept his hips flush with yours, his fingertips drifting down the fabric of your dress covering your spine.

“Joel,” you whined.

You shifted yourself onto the tips of your toes, nudging yourself back until the tip of his cock rubbed against the right spot inside you. You mewled at the sensation, wiggling your hips to find some sort of relief from the pleasure churning inside your stomach.

“Impatient, baby?” Joel teased.

He moved against you slowly, letting you adjust to his size. You had been in such a haze last time you hadn’t realized how big he actually was, but now you felt every glorious inch of him inside you. You let out another frustrated whimper, and Joel responded with an onslaught of forceful thrusts. Your body shoved further into the couch, your midsection rubbing against the edge every time Joel snapped his hips against yours.

Joel’s hand snaked around your neck, drawing you back into his chest, the angle of his cock spearing deeper inside you. Your wails turned to sobs as you listened to Joel grunting harder behind you, his fingers squeezing rhythmically around your throat.

“That’s it, baby,” Joel crooned. “That’s it. Doin’ so well for me.”

You gasped for air as the desire coiling within your core became agonizing and all-consuming. Your fingers wrapped around his hand holding you up, clawing at his skin as his thrusts became erratic and determined. You were teetering on the edge of euphoria, your body buzzing with pleasure.

“Touch yourself, baby,” Joel whispered into your ear.

You fought against your dress to find your clit, the instant connection of your fingers causing you to cry out. Joel’s mouth ravaged your neck, sucking marks into the skin as you drew tantalizing circles over the sensitive bud. It was right there— that explosive pleasure bubbling under the surface.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice strained under his grip. “Don’t—right there. Right there, Joel!”

Joel quickened the pace, your eyes blurring as your orgasm raced through your veins and set your nerves ablaze. Your sex clenched around his cock, forcing him to slow his thrusts as he groaned into your ear.

“S’fuckin’ good, baby,” he punched out, releasing your neck.

“More,” you heaved.

“Think y’can take it?” He asked, pinning you down onto the couch cushions.

“Just want you, Joel,” you said. Your words were muffled into the couch as you exhaled, “Want everything with you.”

You didn’t know if Joel heard you, and you prayed he didn’t. Your brain was lost in some euphoric haze, dizzying you and your ability to control your emotions. Joel knew every part of your body, like the back of his hand. He knew exactly what you needed and what you wanted, and it was so confusing.

But all your thoughts grew quiet as the lewd sounds of your arousal and his ragged breathing echoed around the house. Joel’s hand pressed into your hair as he pushed you further into the couch. Bent over this way, you were entirely at his mercy, putty in his hands, and helpless.

“Swear y’were fuckin’ made for me, baby,” Joel grunted. “You’re mine, baby. Mine.”

“Yours,” you cried. “I’m—.”

You couldn’t finish your sentence as Joel seized up, choking out your name as he spilled into you. His body slumped over yours, the weight of his chest heavy against your back. The hammering of his heart matched yours as you both recovered in silence, the house growing quiet aside from your labored breathing.

“Too rough?” Joel muttered into your hair.

You shifted your face to the side, rewarded by his lips pressing into your cheek.

“Perfect,” you sighed. “It was perfect.”

“You weren’t lyin’ when you said you weren’t a fan of vanilla, huh?” Joel chuckled, pulling out of you.

You slumped further into the couch, laughing softly.

“I was talking about cake, Joel. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Sure you were, baby. Stay right there, okay?”

You heard his footsteps disappear toward your bedroom, the distant sound of water turning on and off floating down the hallway. A second later, Joel was behind you again, the cool touch of a towel making you jerk away in shock. He gently rubbed the cloth over your inner thighs, taking extra caution of your sore entrance. You’d feel him everywhere tomorrow, and you didn’t hate that for some reason—you wanted the reminder of him.

“C’mere,” Joel urged, helping you stand.

He pulled you over to the couch, curling you into his arms and bracing you against his chest. Joel intertwined his fingers with yours, his breathing evening out as you shimmed further into his embrace. Maybe it was the sex, maybe it was just being around him, but all your doubts and worries seemed to fade away. It was just this moment; you and him with limbs entangled together.

“Tell me somethin’ no one knows about you,” Joel whispered.

“Only if you tell me something in return.”

“Of course, baby.”

You paused, considering all the possibilities of what you could share. You had forgotten pieces of yourself over the years, the layers of heartbreak and trauma suffocating the person you once were. You still weren’t sure if that girl you had once been was still inside you.

“I hate pancakes,” you said.

Joel laughed, his body shaking behind you as you buried your head into the couch.

“Pancakes? Really?” He teased.

“I just don’t like them!” You defended.

“Y’gonna tell me why?”

“I don’t know,” you grumbled. “They’re just too sweet.”

“So y’don’t like sugar in your coffee, and y’think pancakes are too sweet,” Joel mused. “What do you like?”

“Don’t tease me, Joel.”

His fingers prodded your sides, forcing you to shriek at the contact. You hated to be tickled and hated it even more when he kept you pinned to your chest with nowhere to go. You rolled toward him, squirming against his touch. Joel leaned in to kiss you softly, muffling your protests as you settled into his arms.

“Your turn,” you sighed.

“Hmm, well, I like pancakes.”

“Be serious, Joel,” you frowned.

“Okay, okay. I love watchin’ cartoons.”

You giggled, watching that grin stretch across his face.

“Been watchin’ them with Sarah since she was a kid,” he chuckled. “I still do sometimes, even if she ain’t home.”

“That’s cute,” you smiled.

You brought your fingers to his face, scratching at the stubble covering his chin and jaw. Joel’s eyes shut as your touch drifted over the patchy spots, your fingertips drawing circles in the places his beard disconnected.

“Tell me somethin’ else,” he said.

“I think you’re really handsome.”

It was a quick response—almost too fast—but you couldn’t swallow back the words. You glanced up at him, peeking through your lashes to see his brown eyes soften.

“Handsome, huh?”

“Well, I can’t call you cute,” you scrunched your nose. “It doesn’t fit you. I like handsome more.”

“I like it,” he smiled. “Call me handsome all y’want.”

You dragged him to your mouth, saying everything you couldn’t form into words. Joel moved with you, his head tilting and mouth molding to yours. He made everything feel so simple; maybe that’s what scared you. It was too easy with him—falling into this idyllic routine. Joel mumbled your name, pulling himself reluctantly from your lips. You chased one more kiss and settled back into his chest.

“Did you know it’s good luck when it rains on your wedding day?” You thought out loud.

Joel tensed up, his arms flexing around you.

“Superstition says it means your marriage will last,” you continued. “I’ve always thought it was funny, you know? I used to believe in that before my wedding, but after that, I figured everyone had lied to me.”

“Baby,” Joel whispered.

“No, it’s okay. There’s a point to this, I promise.”

“Tell me,” he urged softly.

“I think the rain was good luck. Maybe not in the way people think, but I don’t think Bennett and I were meant to get married. My sister hated me for going through with it. We didn’t really talk once Bennett and I got engaged. Everyone warned me about him; they told me he wasn’t who I should be with. I was so stubborn to make things work. He—he was there for me during a really awful time in my life. I thought I owed it to him to stay.

“But then here you are, and it makes me re-think everything. The rain? It’s still good luck, just in a different way. I wasn’t meant to be with him because maybe… maybe I was meant to be with you.”

Joel was painfully quiet, his eyebrows furrowing together as he closed his eyes. Oh, fuck. You had rambled out everything you were scared to say, and now it was biting you in the ass. This was why you were too afraid to acknowledge your feelings: the rejection. Joel didn’t see it the same way; he didn’t think of you in the same way, and you just made a complete idiot of yourself.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you muttered, trying to pry yourself out of his grip. You kept the tears at bay, trying not to let yourself succumb to the heartbreak shattering inside you.

Joel’s hands wrangled you back to his chest, his eyes leveling with yours. You inhaled sharply as his fingers brushed away the rogue tears falling down your cheeks.

“There ain’t a doubt in my mind y’were meant for me, baby. I’m thankin’ God every day for bringin’ you into my life,” Joel confessed. “I know this is all new, but I promise to keep provin’ myself because whatever this is between us, it’s real.”

“It’s real,” you echoed.

“Don’t run away from me,” Joel pleaded. “Gimmie all the good and bad stuff. I swear I can handle it.”

“What if you get tired of me? What if I’m not enough?” You rambled.

“I could never get tired of you, baby. If anythin’, I keep wantin’ more.”

You snuggled further into his embrace, inhaling his scent as you pressed your nose into his chest. Joel ran a hand through your hair, his fingers catching on a few knots left from earlier.

“What’d you mean when you said he was there for you durin’ somethin’ awful?” Joel asked after a beat of silence.

Flashes of the crash came back into your mind, or at least the ones you could recall. You squeezed your eyes shut as your nightmares began to see the light of day. It was a memory you never liked to revisit.

“Easy,” your mom whispered. “Easy, honey. Don’t move too much, okay? Take it slow.”

Your eyes fluttered open, the harsh lights above you burning into your retinas as you tried to adjust to the room fading into the forefront. You were tucked into a hospital bed, IVs and tubes sticking out of both arms. Your head was pounding, and everything hurt. That’s all you could focus on. Everything hurt so fucking bad.

“Bennett?” You croaked, searching the room.

Your mom, dad, Beth, and Stella were all grouped around the foot of the bed, their eyes glassy with tears. Bennett was nowhere to be found. Beth’s fear-stricken eyes shifted from your mom to your dad before she bolted from the room.

“I’m going to go get the doctor,” your mom announced, turning and leaving the room.

Stella shifted uncomfortably and promptly followed, leaving your dad alone at the foot of your bed.

“How’re you feeling, peanut?” He asked, rounding to the side of your bed.

“Pain,” you cried softly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he assured. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“Baby?” Joel said cautiously.

“S–sorry,” you mumbled. “I don’t know if I really want to talk about it.”

Joel’s brows scrunched together, his eyes staring at you with concern. You turned away from him, lifting yourself from the couch. Pacing the living room, you stared blankly at your bookshelf beside your entertainment center, still collecting dust after two years. You heard Joel shift against the couch behind you and glanced back to see him staring at you intensely. Anxiety was thrumming in your chest the longer you stood in front of him, too many thoughts reeling inside your mind. You never talked about the accident; you didn’t want to be reminded of what had been the catalyst in your relationship's failure. Because that’s what it was. You owed everything to Bennett for sticking by your side through it all, and in the end, you weren’t enough. Nothing you did was enough to salvage what had been your life with him before it all.

“Hey,” Joel exhaled. “C’mere.”

“I—I need a minute,” you cried.

You bolted from the living room and went down the hall, gasping for air when you reached the edge of your bed. The room was spinning as you dropped your head in your hands, the nausea surging up inside you the longer you stayed stuck in the memory. You needed out of it; you needed out. You needed—.

Joel rushed into the room, falling to his knees in front of you as he said your name over and over to coax you out of the trance. Nothing was working. Your head was throbbing in pain, and you couldn’t work around it.

“Breathe with me, baby,” Joel whispered. “Breathe.”

You heaved in a lung full of air, only to choke on it and gag back the nausea crawling up your throat. Joel rubbed his hands over your thighs, the sensation of his touch jarring you enough to make you cringe.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he crooned, a distant echo of your dad's words. “It’s okay.”

The shrilling sound of your phone ringing pulled you both from the moment, and you crawled over the bed to grab it.

Beth

“Fuck,” you groaned. “I can’t—I can’t answer it.”

“Give it to me, I’ll do it,” Joel offered with an outstretched hand.

You practically tossed it at him while you crumpled into the sheets with your hands clutching your head.

“Hello?” He answered with a brief pause before he said, “This is Joel.”

Silence.

“Fuck, okay. Gimmie a second,” he replied.

“Baby, she needs to talk to you,” Joel said.

You stifled your cries before taking your phone from his hand, already hearing Beth’s frantic voice on the other end of the receiver.

“Beth, what is it?” You asked, your body shaking.

“It’s dad, sis. You’ve got to come home, okay?”

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x teacher #joel x f!reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miler tlou #tlou #pre outbreak!joel #the last of us fanfiction #fluff and angst #so much angst

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ladyrowrites · 2 months

Text

SPENDING VALENTINE’S DAY WITH JJK MEN ♡

A/N: I was supposed to post this on the weekend but I got sick. Anyway, all better now so enjoy reading :)

Warning: Implied smut, MDNI!!!!!

Contents: SO MUCH FLUFF! Valentine's day with Gojo, Geto, Nanami, and Toji

♡Gojo

This man will spoil you to death so of course he surprises you with SPA DAY! After brunch, he takes you to the luxurious Four Seasons hotel and you both go up to the 20th floor.

You look up at him, “Babe, where are you taking me? You already gave me flowers, chocolate and took me to brunch.”

He grins and winks at you, “Why are you still surprised babe? I am THE Gojo Satoru, ya know I’ll give you the world if you want to right?” While kissing your left hand.

You just rolled your eyes at him – arrogant as ever. He just weakly laughs, “Don’t worry about it, princess.”

The elevator opens and as you are stepping out, you can hear the serene music and see the waterfalls by the entrance. The spa receptionist bows and both greets you softly, “Good Afternoon, welcome to Four Seasons Spa.”

You squeeze his hands and he massages your back as a reply and says, “What? You need some pampering. You’ve been working too hard.”

The spa attendant leads you to change rooms and once you are in a comfortable robe, all your stress from work is instantly gone. You met him outside the change room and he was smiling so handsomely to you. You can hear all the spa attendants' squeal and side comments on how lucky you are.

Oh, he is loving this attention so you pinch him lightly on his left arm. He pretended to be hurt and laughed, “Let’s get this straight tho, Y/N, I am the lucky one.” Then he lifts up your chin and kisses you tenderly on your lips. You felt your heart exhilarate for a moment - Satoru really makes you feel emotions you haven’t experienced before.

“You ready?” While presenting you his manly hands for you to hold. You nodded and took his hands. You both did so much pampering with the couple's facial followed by the couple's massages and of course mani and pedi after.

After all the relaxation you did today, you feel like you’re ready to go home and sleep for atleast 12 hours, “Thank you Satoru for today. This was the best Valentine’s treat ever!” It was your turn to kiss him passionately. He sweetly smiles at you and tickles you on your sides then leaned in and whispers, “Anything for my princess… Now, it’s dessert time.”

“Dessert? I’m still so full from brunch!”

He has the biggest smirk plastered on his face, “Heh. You’re my dessert.” He seductively says to you.” While sliding his hands on your thighs.

♡ Geto

He took you to the restaurant you’ve been wanting to try. You can see the customers and waitresses looking at him with hearts in their eyes and for some reason you just want to grab and put your lips in his and proclaim to everyone that HE IS TAKEN! He read your mind though because he knows you too well.

He half stands up from his seat in front of you and pecks your lips. He sits down again and gently says, “Baby, you have nothing to worry about. I’m yours.” While stroking his thumb on your hands and staring at you like you’re the only person in the room. You love it when he reassures you like this.

Before leaving the restaurant, he says that he has a surprise for you. You are now walking towards his tattoo shop and so you looked at him suspiciously, “Hmm? Do you have a tattoo session today?” He said his day is free for you so it’s just odd that he’s taking you to his shop right now.

“Shhh, just follow me.” He opens the lock and leads you inside his studio. He then sits you on the black leather couch and gets his ipad to show you something, “Here, look at this stencil.” Then sits beside you.

You saw the drawing in his ipad and you were stunned, “Suguru? Wait, no… is this?” He nods at you, “Yes, that’s the tattoo you’ve been asking me to make and yes my surprise is to tattoo you today if you still want it.” You latch on his arms and excitedly respond yes!

He wraps his left arm in your waist, “Are you sure? Cause’ once I—”

“Yes, please! I’ve been wanting this piece! I’ve made up my mind and I promise, I won’t complain.” You give him the beautiful eyes, “Okay, but no whining, beautiful.” Then he stands up, puts his gloves on, and prints the stencil. The piece that you want is a polydamas swallowtail butterfly with a dagger in the center of it. The dagger was the same one from Mortal Kombat’s Skarlet because it’s both of your favourite video game to play even though he secretly always lets you win.

You want it in your sternum so you lifted your shirt halfway but he lifted it more and you caught his wrist, “Suguru!” He laughs, “Oh, but princess I have to put alcohol a little bit higher than that.” Higher means your boobs basically. You rolled your eyes and just said, “Ahuh.”

The tattoo lasted 3 excruciatingly painful hours. You wished that he actually told you that you were getting it today because you needed a numbing cream on your sternum. And even though Suguru was gentle, it still hurt, especially the shading portion but Suguru talked you through it and it was worth it in the end.

You thought that that’s it for the surprise but when you went home there’s petal red roses on the floor and a bouquet of peonies in your living room table with your favourite chocolates beside it. You hugged him and said thank you for being the sweetest man ever. You ate one of the chocolates right away because you can definitely have some sweets right now after all the pain you went through.

You offered him some and then he back hugs you while he speaks with a low guttural tone, “Hm, I’d rather have you tho.” And then softly places his lips on your neck.

♡ Nanami

You are of course a spoiled princess when it comes to Nanami. You are the love of his life and you are the one who taught him that there was more to life than just working away. You told him you don’t need any gifts for Valentines’ as he always treats you anyway. But he just nonchalantly says, “Love, don’t worry about it, it’s already handled.”

You wake up first to ensure you give him your gift first. You made sure he is still asleep so you tiptoed your way in the kitchen and grabbed the small box of cookies you made for him. You went to your bedroom again and you can’t help falling in love all over again - on how he was peacefully sleeping with his blonde hair touching his eyes and his chiseled face relaxed.

You sit by the floor next to his side of the bed and slowly comb his hair that was in his eyes. He steadily opens his eyes and smiles at you when he sees how close you are on his face, “Hi, gorgeous.” He says while pinching your nose playfully. “I have a small surprise for you my love.” Then you give him the neatly gift wrapped box.

He kisses you sweetly on your lips and sits upright by the headboard so you move to sit in the bed and wait patiently for him to open your gift. “You know my love, you didn’t have to, right?” He says while unwrapping it. Now, it was your turn to pinch his nose, “No! I have to. You’ve been really great to me, it’s only fair I give you one.”

He sees the cookies and he laughs, “Oh my, I didn’t know I looked this good.” The cookie you baked was his different expressions and that was not a lot but you tried your hardest imitating it in your cookies. “What? My favourite one is this one – the one where your eyebrows meet and I can already tell you’re about to lecture me face. Come on, eat one. Let me know how I did.”

“Hmmm, not bad at all. White chocolate, my favourite.” He says approvingly, “But you know what’s sweeter than this?” He puts your gift to the bedside table then grabs you by your waist and starts tickling you.

“Hey! Nanamin! Stop!” You said laughing. He then hugs you tightly and whispers in your ear, “Hmm, you know what the pottery class I booked isn’t until 3pm anyway… So we have lots of time.” He booked the pottery class because you love that pottery scene from Ghost and of course he wanted to be Patrick Swayze for you.

“Time to do what?” You innocently batted your eyelashes at him. He then goes on top of you and with his oh so low sexy voice says, “I think I’ll just show you gorgeous.” You giggled and slapped his biceps playfully, “NANAMIN!!!!”

♡ Toji

Toji isn’t really a romantic type so when you asked him what he wanted to do for Valentines, he just gave you a “What the fuck is that? Why is that a holiday? Look” You just rolled your eyes, not expecting anything anymore. You figure since you don’t think he’ll give you something, you decide maybe you'll just spend your time with your friends.

Valentines’ day comes and you are going out to lunch with your girlfriends Shoko and Utahime – they both called it “‘Galentine's” day since they don't have dates either. You do have a man tho, but he doesn’t celebrate it so it’s whatever. Just one day, you thought. You kiss Toji goodbye and you want to be irritated at him but he hugs and whispers to you, “I’ll be waiting for you to get home.” Then winks at you. He also tapped your ass while you walked away. You just rolled your eyes. He's such an ass man.

You were having lunch at the Italian place Utahime suggested and even though the cream gnocchi is really good, it’s been leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. “Girl, come on, don’t be so upset. You know Toji’s personality. He still loves you, he’s just not the celebrating type of guy.” Shoko comforts you.

“Yeah, you kinda signed up for this ‘ya know?” Utahime comments, “I knooooow. But still, even a box of chocolates or just a single stemmed flower, can he just do that?” You frustratingly reply.

“Tss. Valentines’ day is such a scam. You know that girlie!” Shoko says, “Yeah you’re right! Anyway, it’s Galentines’ day today so what’s next on our agenda ladies?” You tried to suppress all your irritation because whatever! Valentines’ is a scam for capitalism but it would not hurt him to just atleast give you something? Anything? Even a love letter. Again, whatever. You shake your thoughts.

“Oh yeah, how about bowling? Sounds good?” Utahime answers.

After losing to Shoko in bowling, they suggested another activity – archery.

“What? Can’t we just go to some bracelet making shit? I don’t know how to play that.” You whine. “Noooo, come on, this will make you forget your irritation at him. Just think of the target as Toji’s face.” Utahime drags you to the class which is conveniently near the bowling alley.

“Fine. I mean it’s too early to come home anyway.”

“Atta girl!” Shoko replies enthusiastically, “Don’t lose again to me, losers.” While making an L hand gesture.

Utahime and you both rolled your eyes at her, “Ugh, the attitude!” She jokingly replies.

When you cross over the street, you see a tall and buff man wearing black jeans and a tight black shirt. You know that built everywhere but you’re not sure at the same time because his face is covered with a bouquet of blue roses with tiny little teddy bears attached to it. Whoever is that girl, lucky, you thought.

You are distracted when Utahime leads you inside the Archery entrance, “Uhm so? Y/N, this is where Shoko and I leave you. We had a great Galentines’ day thanks to him.” You look so confused looking between Shoko and Utahime but they are giggling and pointing behind you. When you turned around you saw your tough looking boyfriend holding a bouquet of flowers. You are about to speak when they immediately say goodbye to you and wink, then mouthed, “Have fun.”

You now turn to your doting boyfriend - shocked. He playfully laughs and says, “You think I won’t do anything for my girl?” Then kisses you passionately and your heart begins to flutter and dance. He gives you the bouquet and you are just so stunned because you were not expecting anything from him, “You can close your mouth now babe. Haha, Come on, I’m not that heartless.” He then leads you to your archery lane.

He spends his time carefully teaching you how to angle the arrow right and where your shoulder should be. It was a bliss spending archery class with him even though he was praising himself more. Typical, Toji *eye roll*

Little did you know, there is more surprise because when you went home, there were white petal roses on the floor and a candlelit dinner ready, “You prepared all of this? And you cooked my favourite food too?” You shockingly asked him. He just smirks at you and says nonchalantly, “Well, I am the best boyfriend.”

He won’t admit it but Toji has some romantic traits under that tough exterior. Also, he asked your friends to take you out to distract you while he cleans the house, cook dinner and prepare all this – even giving Shoko the money to pay for lunch and a bowling outing for the three of you.

You move forward to Toji to hug him and he catches you by your waist so you wrap your legs around his torso and began kissing his whole face for being the most loving boyfriend and promised him that he’ll have the best dessert right after. *WINK WINK*

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gracieheartspedro · 10 months

Text

I Can See You

fem!reader x dbf!joel miller

Hi friends! It's been awhile (:

I am back to writing! This time, I'm planning on having many parts to this story. It's a DBF Joel Miller story, which I love to read, which means I had to write it, right?

I wrote this with no Y/N, instead each character gives her a nickname/pet name.

So here's Part 1, I really hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: DBF! Joel, age gap-ish (reader is 25, Joel is 39), eventual smut, joel being a little bit of a perv, reader not having a filter, alcohol consumption

“Mornin’,” His Southern accent was even deeper than usual. My head peaks up from behind my computer, noticing his very tired eyes. The bags under his eyes still somehow did him justice.

“Mornin’ Joel,” I mutter before taking a sip of my coffee. I watch as he finds his way towards my bosses office. He was only my boss at work, but at home he was just Dad.

I watch his ass move in his jeans, shamelessly.

Finding your coworker hot is one thing, it’s another when it’s also your dad’s friend and he was about 20 years older than you.

I’ve thought Joel Miller was quite the looker since I was about 18. I had just started working for my dad. I was mainly just scheduling and doing work orders. Joel took me out to a work site one day, on my father’s request. He wanted me to get know some of the people who would be scheduling work from us. I got to sit around with the property manager of an apartment complex in a tight black dress in the dead of summer, watching guys replace windows. While outside that day, Joel worked alongside some of the laborers, his tanned skin and shaggy dark hair glistening with sweat. Something about him doing manual labor turned me on. Something awoke in me that day, and ever since then, I thirst over him in silence.

I catch myself looking a bit too long, quickly averting my eyes to my computer screen. I act like I am typing something, glancing over to Joel and my dad walking out of his office together. They are discussing another project that Joel was overseeing that would keep him very busy in the upcoming months.

“My girl here will be starting back at college in the fall, so she will only be part time for awhile,” My dad says, drawing attention to me.

“Oh really, where ya going?”

I blank out completely for a moment.

“UT Austin,” I finally answer.

“Smart girl, you living on campus?”

“Nope, just getting my master’s in Engineering so living from home makes the most sense.”

Joel shakes his head, “Master’s. Didn’t you just graduate high school?”

“I’m 25, Joel.”

His eyes scan me for a moment, realizing I’m much older than he remembers.

“Ha,” He grumbles, “Time flies huh, Steve?”

“Sure does, you just wait for that Sarah of yours is off to college,” My dad laughs, slapping Joel’s shoulder. I wince, realizing again he has a young daughter. It wasn’t ideal, to say the least.

“We got about 5 years on that,” Joel says, his eyes returning to mine, “Well it’ll be nice havin’ you around during our busy season.”

“Happy to help,” I reply, not really meaning it.

“Hey, Joel, you and Sarah making an appearance at our BBQ this weekend? We invited the whole neighborhood and I can’t remember if you told me you’d be there.”

His eyes are still on me, “Yeah, I’ll be there,” his eyes return to my dad’s, “Just me and Tommy though, Sarah is goin’ over to a friend’s house.”

“Can’t wait!” My dad cheers, “Baby girl, can you make sure my schedule is cleared Friday evening so I don’t have to worry about when I can get the meat?”

“Of course, dad,” I grit my teeth, “I’m on it.”

“Hey baby girl, can you go grab me some extra plates?”

My dad was over the top with his BBQs to say the very least. The whole neighborhood was in on it. Steaks, burgers, hot dogs, chicken, the whole thing. I spent all morning getting the huge backyard and cabana ready for all our visitors. We usually had someone come over to do all the setting up, but Dad made sure to remind me that I was living rent free and being paid on his payroll, so setting up was the least I could do.

People littered the pool and backyard. I weave between people, giving smiles and welcomes where I could.

I walk in to the kitchen, the cold AC air hitting my bare arms. Luckily, I was wearing shorts over my bikini shorts, or else the goose bumps would be up and down my legs, too. I begin searching the cabinets for the large serving plates you always used for big gatherings. Leaning down, my triangle bikini top almost lets my boobs loose. I sit up straight, messing with the knots on my back. I knew tightening it could only help so much.

“Need help?” I almost jump out of my skin. I turn quickly, spotting Joel Miller standing in the kitchen with me.

“Shit, you fucking scared me,” I breathe loudly, patting my chest to make my heart stop racing, “I think I can get it.”

“Mhm,” He sticks a tooth pick between his teeth, “Lemme help, girl.”

God he was so fine. I hated myself for having a crush on him. But the domestic and simple gray t-shirt that hugged his arms so well and the blue jeans? I simply could not resist staring.

No chance in hell. But I got to look at him every day and imagine it.

I turn on my heels, holding the ties out to him so he could tie them.

“I need them tighter,” I mutter, “Don’t want these puppies falling out in front of the Adlers.”

“Don’t want to excite Mr. Adler too much, he may have himself a heart attack.”

I smile to myself, biting my lip. He ties it, his fingers grazing my bare back slightly.

“All good now, girl,” I turn to face him, looking up at him through my eyelashes, “Now what were you lookin’ for?”

“Serving plates,” I explain, “Dad is finishing up those steaks, needs more space.”

“Well let’s get ‘em and head out to all the fun,” He says, ducking down to the cabinet I was looking in originally. He finds them, handing them up to me. He looks so good looking up at me from this angle.

“You want to grab us some beers,” I suggest, “I’ll meet you out there?”

“Your dad runnin’ low?”

“Probably, so grab three.”

–

“So, you going to be here all summer?”

I had no interest in talking to Tommy, but he was keeping me from toeing the line with Joel in my drunken state, so here I am. I sit in my lounger chair, wanting so bad to take off my jean shorts. I knew if I did, Tommy would take it as I’m making a pass, so I sweat extra.

“I’m starting college in August, so yeah I’ll be around the office and staying home.”

He smiles, “Good to hear, love seeing you around.”

I smile back faking a cheery laugh, “Thanks, Tommy… care to grab me another beer?”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

I watch him walk away before searching the crowd for Joel. I spot him across the yard, talking to one of the newer neighbors. A single mom who moved in two months ago. My dad kept joking the other night that he’d be making her my stepmom, which only made me gag. She was beautiful, younger than my dad, but just about Joel’s age.

A pang of jealousy rises within me.

Joel finally catches my wandering eyes. He smiles gently, giving me a nod.

“Here, darling,” Tommy says sweetly, “Need anything else?”

“Yeah, actually,” Your brother, “Can you help me with something?”

“Sure, ‘s up?”

I sit up, leaning over making my boobs hang right in his eye line.

If I couldn’t keep one Miller’s attention, maybe I could snag second best. My beer filled brain thinks about how they are cut from the same cloth, so they both are probably good at this.

“Do you want to help me change a lightbulb?”

He raises his eyebrows, “I guess, where at?”

I smirk, “My bedroom.”

We sneak away, my eyes scanning the area. It didn’t appear as anyone was following us. My room was the last room on the left upstairs, so the anticipation as I guided him down the hallway was killing me.

Ever since Joel grazed my back earlier, I’ve been ready. So fucking ready.

“Are we actually changing a lightbulb?”

I open my door for him, gesturing to him to follow me in.

In the dim light, Tommy was very cute. He was a sweet guy and I knew he’d be the first to jump on my idea.

“You tell me,” I say, starting to untie the knot Joel tied. In my moment of trying to be sexy, I realize Joel tied the stupidest and hardest knot ever. Tommy notices my struggle, reaching around me, frantically trying to get the top off.

As it gets loose, I reach up to grab his neck.

“What the fuck is going on ‘ere?”

His voice freezes me. Tommy looks towards the door in horror.

“Joel-“

“Tommy, you fucking know better,” His voice is so intimidating and scary, I cant even muster the courage to turn around, “Git.”

Tommy gives me eyes saying I’m so sorry, and I just stare blankly at my wall. I hear Tommy’s foot steps run down the stairs. I realize how drunk I am because my wall paper begins to move on it’s own. It doesn’t usually do that.

“Now you,” His stride towards me is quick, “I’m not your Dad, but don’t think he’d like you fucking his employees.”

Maybe it was the liquid courage, “Who said I was trying to fuck him?”

I snap my head towards his stern and impossible to read face.

“Bullshit,” He spits, “He got through my knot, he assumed somethin’ was about to happen.”

“Well, even if that’s where it went, why are you putting your nose in our business?”

He chuckles darkly, “So now it’s ours, huh? I have you know, girl, Tommy’s business is my business. And you’re just makin’ my job hard.”

I tiptoe closer to him, “And what’s your job, again, Mr. Miller?”

“Make sure people are behavin’ themselves.”

I realize what he’s doing. My tipsy mind took a second to search his face for more, but I can't read him at all.

“I’m behaving, Mr. Miller. I promise,” I reach up, touching his jaw, “No more funny business.”

It was the closest I had ever got to him. I felt a rush just touching him.

“Good, get your top back on and come down to the party. Your dad is looking for you.”

I look down at myself as he leaves the room. My fucking tits are out, and he didn’t even look down.

The game he was playing was not the same one I was playing.

–

The next morning, I have a pounding headache and no drive to leave my room. I was embarrassed and horrified. I knew I would have to face Joel and Tommy on Monday morning, so I had to make amends beforehand. I really didn’t want them to tell my dad and I was pretty out of line for trying to fuck Tommy when Joel wasn't giving me the attention my drunk ass thought I deserved.

After spending hours in bed, rolling back and forth thinking of a script to say, I figured that honesty is the best policy.

Well, honesty with a little bend in the truth.

I get showered and dressed. My usual summer time outfit was a crop top and short shorts, but today I needed to be more… conservative.

I find a nice summery dress, that went to midthigh. It was yellow, not a lot cleavage, floral. Innocent.

When I get downstairs, my dad sits in the living room, his feet propped up watching the news.

“Where ya going, baby girl?”

“I’m going for a walk,” I lie.

“Wearing that?”

“Yes,” I nod quickly, “Do you need anything while I’m out?”

He shakes his head, “No, have fun, I guess.”

I could tell he was suspicious, but he wasn’t one to pester me too much. He had high expectations for me, but I always exceeded them. He never questioned me too much, unless it was about school. He didn’t even really care about my love life. He always got excited when I told him I was going on dates in college. I mean, I rather him be excited than bother me about the guys I was seeing.

I start my journey to Joel’s. I didn’t even know if he was home or not, I was going on blind faith.

It was hot as shit and I was not fully prepared to walk to his house in a dress and sandals.

I could’ve just driven there and back. But no, I decided to roast in the hot summer sun.

–

When I arrive to his house, I just kind of stand in his driveway, catching my breath. He was home, his truck was here.

I walk to the front door, knocking first then ringing the door bell.

It takes about minute, but he gets the door.

And he’s shirtless.

It was the worst and best moment of my entire life.

“What are you doing here?”

And it’s not quite the response I was anticipating when I arrived at his door.

“I uh-,” I hear some stirring inside the house, which causes me to peak my head past Joel’s shoulder.

I see movement, but my eyes find Joel’s again before I could focus in on it. He pushes me back a bit, coming outside and shutting the door behind him.

“I came to apologize, but you seem busy.”

He shakes his head, “Not busy, just woke up.”

“With someone?”

What the fuck? Why can’t I shut my mouth?

“Pardon me?”

“Well I walked this whole way to apologize about my inappropriate behavior yesterday,” I explain, “But yeah, that’s it.”

The door creaks open and I am wholeheartedly anticipating a hot MILF or something. But instead, it’s a little girl.

“Sarah, get inside!”

“Oh hi, I know you!”

I smile at the girl. She was cute, I had to admit. She looked a bit like Joel, mainly the smile. A smile I wasn’t too familiar with, because he wasn’t too keen on my jokes. Ever.

“Yeah, I work with your dad,” I explain, “Nice to see you, Sarah.”

“You too, do you want to have lunch with us?”

“Sarah she can’t st-”

“I’d love to, only if your dad says it’s okay.”

He got himself in a pickle, but I was aching to have a conversation that didn’t involve me putting my foot in my mouth like I almost did again. Plus, some food and water would help the heatstroke I felt coming on.

He stares at me, almost like he wished I’d disappear, “Of course, come in. Sarah is making sandwiches.”

“I hope you like turkey and cheese!”

—

“Thanks for the sandwich, Sarah,” I say, wiping my face making sure I didn’t have mustard left over.

She smiles with her mouth full, “You’re welcome!”

“Hey Sarah, why don’t you go get ready for swim practice,” He suggests, “Me and your new best friend need to have an adult conversation.”

She looks up at him annoyed, “I guess, but don’t scare her away. She has a cool pool I want to swim in.”

I laugh out loud, “Yeah, don’t scare me away, Joel.”

He doesn’t laugh, he just looks at me with his lazer eyes. I just wish Sarah a farewell and shut my mouth, waiting for the storm. He stirs, eating another bite of his sandwich.

“So you came to apologize, huh?”

I swallow, “Uh, yeah. I’m sorry for my inappropriate behavior. I had one too many yesterday.”

He nods, “Yeah you were practically falling out of that top of yours before you took Tommy upstairs. Surprised you didn’t have it off before then.”

My eyes widen, “Well that’s humiliating.”

“Don’t think anyone was particularly mad about it,” He says, “Maybe one of those neighborhood watch moms, but who cares about ‘em?”

I can’t help but smirk. Was he insinuating that he wasn’t mad about almost seeing my boobs?

“Yeah, they always give me the most disgusted looks when I’m out jogging.”

“Cause’ they miss bein’ young and beautiful,” He explains, “All their husbands stare, too.”

I can’t believe he’s talking to me like this, I find myself leaning in a bit to try to talk quieter. It seems like this is conversation we should be whispering to each other.

“Do you stare?”

Foot. In. Mouth.

He smirks, giggling a bit. I finally got to see him smile.

“Of course, I do.”

----

Hehehehe tell me what you think! I'll be back with part 2 soon!

#Joel Miller #Joel miller x reader #The last of us #Joel x reader #joel miller smut #dbf joel miller #age gap joel miller

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sunny-speaks · 10 months

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Hacker! Ren Headcanons

Basically just hc’s abt what ren does in his free time watching u, yk, normal stuff

Character(s): Ren/[REDACTED] from @14dayswithyou and mild mention of Harper from @/campwillowpeak

A/N: Definitely check out Camp Willowpeak if you have the time! Great VN in progress!

Trigger warnings: Minor panic attack after ‘And it is the worst feeling in all of Corland Bay.’

Um, mention of NSFW and kinks etc. Minors DNI !

Ren spends every waking hour of the day trying to be as close to you as he can possibly muster.

He just wants to be there with you in some shape or form!

The best days for him are the weekends, you don’t have to work and you can stay home all day if you choose to!

Some of his favorite things to watch you do is watch your anime, read fanfiction and a bunch of other things that help with his research.

When you indulge in your fixations, it helps Ren change himself accordingly to whatever you like at the moment!

You like science-y guys? Luckily for you, he took Biology and Chemistry in high school!

Totally not to figure out how to kill people effectively or clean up bloodstains, what???

You like artsy guys? He makes these amazing collages and collections of photography! Also took painting and art in high school!

Once again, totally not because he wanted the best drawings/paintings of you or the best high quality photos for his shrine, whaaat???

But having you read fanfiction is much more interesting to him.

He can see the types of characters you like to read about, your favorite genre, your favorite pairings, your favorite character dynamics…

Whether you prefer sunshine characters with a dark side, characters who look like they could kill you but are actually cinnamon rolls, two idiots + one brain cell, it’d all help him further his agenda of manipulating you to love him making him perfect for you!

And if you go into the NSFW section? He is frothing at the mouth.

This is his chance!! He can figure out what you prefer in the bedroom and win you over with his seduction skills! (not that he needs any ofc… have u seen him??? His dick is like 10 inches, that's a seduction skill on its own…)

(and maybe sometimes he takes advantage of the cameras around your place to listen in and watch you do some… intimate activities)

Whether you like submissive guys or dominant guys or service tops or brats, Ren is all for it! If you’re into some kinky shit, he might not be too into it, but he’ll give it a try for you!!

But if you share one of his massive kinks (ex. Breeding, marking) dude, you are so fucked.

Ren is straight up praying to his shrine that he can be the only one to fulfill your desires because, whoa, he would be soo good to you if you gave him a chance. He would literally cry if you wanted him to do whatever he liked to you.

Also you both like the same shit??? You were clearly meant to be!!

He sees you scrolling on social media and calling yourself delulu? (just like him ong) Don’t worry, he’ll be there so you can fufill your delusions!!

You’ll never have to be delusional again now that you have him!!

Ren saw you scroll through your Tumblr feed, seemingly spending hours lurking on this one account of… Camp Treepeak, or something. It irked him when he saw you focusing on this one character who had you swooning.

So what if that dumb brunette was 6’9’’??? So what if he was a pyromaniac??? He was just a dumb game character, Ren was real! Besides, Ren was more than sure that those missing 4 inches of height between and that fictional guy went somewhere… else.

You didn’t know what you were missing out on!! Ren was right there, always waiting for you to notice him! If you gave him even the smallest chance, he’d swoop in and make your life a living romance visual novel if you wanted!

He could be anyone you wanted him to be! At all! If that’s what it takes for him to be yours, he’d do it in a heartbeat!

(I have brought this up before lmao) Would absolutely be down to try and cosplay any character you aggressively rave about to Moth.

While he absolutely detests Moth for being the one that you go to with this stuff, he can’t deny that it's useful for him to tap into the call, mute Moth on his own end and listen to you go on and on about whatever you’re rambling about at the moment.

Your voice is so pretty, like a canary… Birds remind him of freedom in some way, some days Ren would like to keep you captive, hide you away from the world.

But then he looks at himself in the mirror and he sees his father stare back.

And it is the worst feeling in all of Corland Bay.

He hums to himself, listening to you talk on and on to Moth but can’t help and think, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if I was the only one they ever sang to?’ and it sends Ren into a spiral of dark thoughts he immediately dry heaves at.

He’s trying so hard to focus on your melodic tone before he pants over the sink, body shaking. No, no, no, no.

No. He is not psychopathic. You are not something he can own. You are not his. That is not his decision. You have your voice. You are your own person.

“Hey, you alright?” Your calming voice shakes him out of his stupor. Of course, it did. It helped him get through nightmares, through hungover evenings where he just wanted to be with you, past his job when he felt demotivated.

Subconsciously, he knew you were just talking to Moth, but he couldn’t help but respond. “Y-yeah. I think so.”

“Mm, I feel that.”

Wow, maybe if he squinted, the two of you could be having a conversation! If it wasn’t for that lingering thought of his bastard dad, he would’ve been giggling on the couch, kicking his feet and twirling his hair.

…He was really getting into his Ren persona, wasn’t he…?

“Look, cheer up, things get better. I mean, my job’s no walk in the park, but it’s about the small wins!” He could hear the grin in your voice, you always managed to bring your emotions through audio, “Like, like! The other day, some guy on the street saw my subtle Attack on Giants jacket and stopped to me and said―”

“ ‘Yoo, is that AOG?’ “ Ren repeated the same words with a small smile on his face. He remembered how you reined in your expression before your face lit up as soon as you were by yourself.

You sighed and chuckled at whatever Moth had replied. “No, I am not a huge nerd. I simply have good taste. Oh yeah, remember how I told you about that one skater boy–” and your voice faded to background noise again.

Ren took a couple deep breaths to calm himself. He wasn’t his sperm donor, he’d be better. For you.

And the rest of his nights would be spent, adoringly adding to your shrine and his collection of your items.

Then he would lay in bed, clutching a pillow, wishing it were you he had to cuddle with but could settle for the plush, soft object until he finally won you over.

(personal headcanon that ren has one of those like, duck filled pillows he hugs instead of his stuffed toys which he leaves on display. Sometimes all the body parts just get in the way and he just wants to hug something soft… :(( like you :(( )

Which he would… one day.

#14 days with you #ren 14dwy #ren x reader #yandere #visual novel #ren 14 days with you #14dwy #14dwy ren #🧨headcanons #🌟small fic

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sluttywoozi · 11 months

Text

Code Of (Mis)Conduct | kmg x f!reader feat. Choi San of Ateez

Playlist: Yes Man - P1Harmony | Addicted - Monsta X | Need to Know - ELHAE & IM | I Don't Understand But I Luv U - Seventeen PU | Leave The Door Open - Ateez Cover

Summary: You're just trying to keep your head down and your coworkers out of your business but that's not exactly easy when your cubicle sits between Choi San's and Kim Mingyu's.

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~10k

Warnings: not a threesome, food and alcohol, sorry i made san kind of a dick i know he's a kind sweet boy, grinding, size kink, spanking, oral m rec., spit kink, hair pulling, marking, fingering, unprotected sex

Reader Notes: written as a commission so some details are not as inclusive as i normally try to be, tsundere, use of girlfriend but no she/her, has vagina and breasts, physically smaller than gyu, marks show on skin

A head pops over your cuticle, floppy black hair appearing before sweet eyes and a nose with the cutest freckle. Mingyu has been in the square next to yours for the better part of the year, a transfer from the Camden branch and a cutie to boot, though he is endearingly clumsy. He’s fallen off his chair trying to grab a lost pen four times just this month, and anytime you hear a crash to the right of you, you know exactly who the culprit is. He also likes to ‘bother’ you occasionally, though occasionally is starting to become something like every single day.

He doesn’t actually bother you, but he does distract you. Case in point, the conversation he’s trying to draw you into, one you actually have the time to afford for once. He’s curious about what you do in your free time and you could just tell him, but you’ve made it thus far without anyone in this office knowing personal details about you besides the visible ones. You’re not sure you’re willing to give up that anonymity, especially because Mingyu so quickly became the golden boy of the bullpen. If you start giving in to him, other people in the office will think they can talk to you, and it’s already hard enough having Mingyu and the only other person you tolerate know things about you.

The other person you tolerate is Choi San, and tolerate is quite the generous word. Unlike Mingyu who thinks he’s bothering you but isn’t, San thinks he’s not annoying you at all but is actually unbearable. You deal with him because he always knows where to find the good creamer and because he’s ridiculously attractive and you could use some eye candy on your left side too.

Yes, San’s cubicle sits to the left of yours. You’re in a San-Mingyu sandwich, and not the kind you’d like. No, this kind includes conversations and teasing and insults that they both think are jokes, which would be fine, even pleasant, anywhere else. Unfortunately for all three of you, you’re at work, and work you has patience for exactly 1.5 people.

You give Mingyu the patience a whole person deserves because he’s cute and sweet and brings you home-baked goods. You give San the patience of half a person because he’s a menace who deserves nothing more and nothing less.

Maybe I’m being too hard on him…

You jump as San rises to rest his folded arms on your shared cubicle wall, his stupid hot face twisted in a smirk and his gaze half-lidded in what you can only assume are his bedroom eyes. You won’t lie, he definitely makes you… feel things, but you don’t have the emotional bandwidth or will to engage with him like he wants. You’re pretty sure that’s only making him try harder though, so you go for a change of pace and give in, turning to San with an expectant look and waiting for him to speak.

You catch Mingyu’s face falling in the corner of your eye and wince as he sinks back down to hide behind his wall. Fuck, you didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. You’ll have to ask him what he’s doing this weekend to make up for it, and if that’s not enough, you’ll tell him what your plans are too.

You watch San’s smirk widen when he sees Mingyu shrink, frowning and furrow your brows in distaste before swivelling back to face your computer screen. You mindlessly click and type away at your little excel spreadsheet, ignoring San’s attempts to get you to respond to him.

You’re officially out of patience for him for the day, and it’s only 11:37 AM.

You’re going to have to corner Mingyu at the water dispenser. He hasn’t poked his head over in hours and it’s nearly time to pack it in, making you fear you’ve actually pushed him away for good this time. It seems like something so small, ignoring him to answer San, but you suppose with how San is always goading him over their sales records, Mingyu is a little sensitive when it comes to him. You’re not the type of person to apologise and you’re absolutely not the type of person to embarrass yourself by peeking over his wall, but you will try to make it up to him.

He’s bent over comically far to fill his water cup, a beastly thing with times and encouragements printed on the side, and you know you shouldn’t spook him but you just can’t resist.

“Mingyu.”

He jumps, water shooting out over the mouth of his open jug as he turns with confusing speed to face you.

“Y/n! W-What’s up?” You can tell he’s trying to act cool, but his stutter and reddening cheeks give him away and you just know you’ve caught him off guard enough by approaching him that you might not even have to ask him about his weekend at all. You do anyway, for some reason.

“Oh! My weekend… Um, just working out and taking Millie to the big park across town. She likes that one a lot better and her girlfriend should be there, so,” He cuts himself off, biting his lips between his teeth and clenching his eyes shut as if he’s embarrassed.

“That sounds nice. I hope Millie’s girlfriend is there. And that they have a nice time. And you too, I guess,” you sound stilted as hell but you’re positive this is the longest combination of words you’ve ever said to him, so he should be happy with what he’s getting.

And of course, he is. Blisteringly happy, in fact, his beam taking up the whole of his face and his entire body curling closer to you. Wow. Mingyu is kind of like, obsessed with you. Shockingly enough, you don’t mind. It means you don’t have to look up as much to slightly avoid his eye contact, and there’s the baked goods too. He always claims he just needs a tester, but you know he has a truly wild amount of friends that could try his creations, so why is he giving them to you? In good tupperware? The glass kind.

You were in your own head while Mingyu was realising he hadn’t responded to you, and you both look to each other at the same time in alarm. You can’t slightly avoid his eye contact now, not when his face looks like it does and he’s ten centimetres shorter than normal. You’re reminded why you don’t gaze straight into his eyes, and it’s because this always happens. Your dumb, traitorous body reacts to having his full focus on you. It would be one thing if it was just sexual, but it’s your heart too. The mutinous muscle flutters, just like the mosquitos in your stomach do, and, like always, you refuse to think a single thought about what it all means.

“Well. Bye,” you turn on your heel and speed back to your cubicle, pointedly ignoring the doe eyes boring into your back and further ignoring San’s petulant stare. He undoubtedly watched the whole exchange, must have seen Mingyu melt into you and the way you didn’t flinch away, but you don’t care. He’s been ragging on Mingyu too much lately, and someone needs to put him in his place. If that person needs to be you, so be it. It might even mean you get to talk to him less.

Thank fucking God.

So far, it doesn’t look like you’ll be talking to San any less. Then again, neither will you be talking to Mingyu any less, considering that all three of you have just been put together for a group project. You thought you’d left those behind in uni but here you are, stuck in between two men who won’t stop glaring at each other long enough to actually listen to what the assignment is. You shake your head, knowing that this will likely go exactly like group projects of years passed and you’ll be carrying the team. However, that can only happen if you let it, and you’ve grown a backbone since then. It’s rather spiky too, you’ve found, so if either of them have a problem with putting aside their issues and working together, you’re confident in your ability to… persuade them.

For now, you’ll let them continue to completely ignore your boss. It makes you look better and you get to be the one in charge of allocating work because you’re the only one who understands what exactly the work is, so it’s a win-win. You stand, thanking your director with a handshake and a smile that turns smug as soon as she leaves before you round on the two men beside you.

“So. Would either of you like to tell me what this project is about?” You ask, watching as the competitiveness drains from their faces and dread replaces it. They shake their heads, nearly bowing them in shame while they wait for you to grant them the knowledge. You could make them suffer for it but you’ll ensure having you as their lead will be enough pain for a lifetime, if they don’t cooperate.

“We’re tracking how the beta for the new product is selling - there’s two versions with pretty significant differences. Mingyu, you’re selling one, San, you’re selling the other. I’m doing the analysis and we’re all working to put together a portfolio and presentation that the board won’t fire us over. Don’t forget about the ‘we’re all working together’ part.”

“You didn’t say, ‘we’re all working together,’ you said, ‘we’re all working to put together,” San provides rather unhelpfully, making you roll your eyes hard enough it almost hurts before you decide you’ve spent long enough away from your cubicle. You walk away from them both, Mingyu scampering after to tell you about Millie’s date with her girlfriend, Asher, and San watching with narrowed eyes as you tilt your head just enough to show you’re listening.

“Okay, Mingyu, how many models of Beta One have you sold?” You jot down the number as he calls it out from his cube.

“And San? Beta Two?” You ask absentmindedly, pen spinning in your hand.

“Why do you always ask him first?” San groans, his deep voice managing to still sound annoyingly manly even as he nearly whines.

“Because he’s ready first. Were you ready when I asked? And his name is first alphabetically, too.”

“I thought it was because you like me more,” Mingyu pouts from behind the wall (you can’t see it but you can hear it).

“I do like you more but that’s not why,” you answer, uncaring of San’s gasp and Mingyu’s shock of a giggle.

This project is going to be the death of you.

Mingyu is wearing glasses today. He’s wearing glasses, and his hair is all long and messy, and he has circles under his eyes so he must not have slept well, but his voice is gravelly and rough and you can’t feel bad for revelling in it. Fine, you feel a little bad, especially when you catch him dozing at his desk. So it makes sense for you to make an extra cup of coffee, you were already at the machine and it was just a minute longer. And you have this extra coffee, and you have a neighbour who likes black coffee and seems to be quite exhausted, so why wouldn’t you drop it off on his desk? And while you’re at it, why not gently shake him awake and also try not to let your fingernails dig into his massive deltoid? Why not?

He’s so very grateful, his large hands dwarfing the mug and his cute lips pursed around the edge as he takes a sip, and he explains softly that Millie ate one of his scrunchies and had to have emergency surgery. You’re not sure why he came in at all, but he answers that question before you voice it, saying he doesn’t have any vacation days left so he called his mom to come and take care of her. She won’t be able to make it until later in the afternoon, if at all, and you can tell he’s worried.

It feels beyond foreign to offer, almost wrong, but the words slip out before you can stop them.

“I have a few days saved up. If you want, I could take a half and go… hang out with her.”

Tears flood his eyes immediately and his head drops back to rest against his chair. He hiccups in a breath, his tits heaving with the motion as he does nothing to hide his crying. You see San breeze by in your peripherals, and, sensing he’s about to stop, give a sharp shake of your head and throw a quick glare in his direction. Seeming to understand the threat to his life and limb, he carries on to the lobby to flirt with the receptionist for his break. Your focus returns to Mingyu when he hiccups again, the waterworks slowly drying up.

“You’d do that for me?” He asks brokenly, like you’ve offered him your kidney instead of your afternoon, and you can only respond, “I’d do it for Millie,” before handing him some tissues and going to talk to your supervisor.

Thankfully, she’s an animal lover herself and felt terrible having to deny Mingyu, so it was easy to get the afternoon off. She also mentions her satisfaction with your project progress, though you decide not to tell San and Mingyu lest they get overly comfortable.

You return to your cubicle to find Mingyu on a sales call and the coffee half gone, and, smiling slightly to yourself, go back to translating their numbers into words.

Work flies by as you find yourself oddly excited to leave for the day. It’s not just because you get to skip out on the rest of your work (until tomorrow), you’re also looking forward to seeing Mingyu’s apartment and meeting Millie. You’ve stubbornly not let him show you any pictures of her, though you’ve seen the ones on his desk from afar, and you’re a little nervous she won’t like you. You don’t have a lot of experience with animals, which is why it was so ridiculous of you to offer this, but what’s done is done.

Mingyu looks like a different person when you tidy up your cubicle for the day and pop over to his. The glasses are gone (sadly), his hair isn’t as messy, and his eyes are clearer - all changes pointing to a decrease in stress. So why is his lip bitten so pink? And why is he rearranging his pens?

“My apartment is kind of messy,” he starts, explaining himself before you ask, nibbling at that bottom lip like you suspected he had been.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” you furrow your brows and shake your head, sure it can’t be bad enough for you to have anything to fear.

“I bet yours is clean,” Mingyu protests, though you’re not sure why.

“Yeah, it is clean. I like to keep it that way, it makes me feel less stressed,” you shrug, not realising you’ve given up another piece of information until you catch the grin spreading across his face. You hate that he notices when you share things about yourself. You almost wish you could fly a little further under his radar, but you know deep down that if you lost his attention, you’d feel it, like the loss of a friend. Is Mingyu your friend?

Yes, you suppose he is. You wouldn’t do this for someone who wasn’t your friend, you’re sure about that, at least. His smile just deepens, his fingers twitching by his sides like he wants to reach out for you. It’s then that you realise you need something from him.

“Your key, I need your key,” you say quietly, as if you don’t want to disturb the stillness surrounding this moment. You hadn’t realised it was a moment but it feels like one, even under these fluorescent lights with San just a cubicle away and likely trying to eavesdrop on your whole conversation. You don’t mind him knowing about this; it might make him chase you a little more, but you’ve gotten better at evading him and, if necessary, glaring him into submission. He still tries to flirt, and you still like it a little, but it’s not the same. Nothing has been the same since this project started two months ago and you had to confront the fact that you really do like Mingyu more than you like San. It’s harder to face both men, San because you honestly feel a little bad, Mingyu because you still don’t want to figure out these feelings and what exactly they mean.

Mingyu holds the key out but you’re too lost in thought to notice. You don’t notice anything until he takes your hand in his and gently folds it around the metal, the touch of his warm, thick fingers sending shockwaves through your system. He’s never really touched you before, just grazed you while handing off confections, and you’re stunned to learn what he does to you. Normally, you don’t like being touched but you dread him letting you go, your entire form tipping closer and closer to him until he slowly drops your hand back to your side and releases you. You stagger back, bumping into the edge of his desk before he grabs your elbow to pull you forward again. You can tell he’s biting back a smile at your unusual moment of clumsiness, and you’re grateful to him for deciding not to mention it. Maybe because you still have his key in your hand and it could act as a weapon. Probably because he knows you so frustratingly well that he’s aware saying anything will make you freeze back up.

You don’t linger in the office, swiftly making your way downstairs and to the Red line. You actually live pretty close to him, you discover, the commute being on half the same lines you usually take home. That’s convenient, a little voice whispers in your head, making you clutch the key tighter and resist the urge to put it on your key ring for safe keeping. You don’t need to think about things like that right now, you need to think about how to approach Millie. Should you let her come to you? Should you let her, like, sniff you first? Should you look away to show respect and submission? Fuck, you don’t have service on the subway and you’re not even sure what kind of dog Millie is anyway, so googling it couldn’t help you now. You suppose you’re fucked, and pray that Mingyu will keep liking you even if his dog doesn’t.

You expect to hear barking as you turn the key in the lock but all that greets you is a massive, golden furball with a cone on her head. She looks so sad and confused, and you’re not really sure how smart dogs are but she seems to know you’re not who she wants. However, she also seems to know you’re not a threat because she’s already licking your hand - gross - and wagging her tail.

“Hi Millie. It's nice to meet you,” You laugh awkwardly and pat her back with robotic movements, “I’m sure you’ve heard about me, your dad is kind of obsessed.”

You may be imagining it but it’s almost like she nods, and you decide to take it and run.

“He is, right? I’m not crazy?” She just stares at you now, and you start to think maybe you are crazy but then you remember you have no one else to talk to about this. You’ve hidden Mingyu from your friends for a multitude of reasons, the largest being that you know you’ll give yourself away as soon as you start talking about him and they see the annoying little steel hearts in your eyes. But Millie… Millie can’t talk. She can’t perceive your feelings about her dad either, and she definitely can’t show up at your workplace to see him for herself like your friends could.

“Millie, what do I do?” You collapse to the floor, uncaring of the golden fur that will inevitably get on your black work slacks, and wrap your arms around her neck. “I like him. I fucking like him. It’s terrible, and I don’t know how to deal with it, or how to talk to him, or if I even should talk to him anymore, but I have to! This stupid project has two more weeks, and even after that, I’ll still be stuck in between them!”

You’re not crying but you could. However, you vowed never to cry over men when you were thirteen and a half and it’s a promise you’ve kept ever since. You really want to though, and you wonder if maybe you could cry about your situation rather than the men (man) you’re actually upset over. That could be a cute little loophole, and just as you start to let the tears fill your eyes, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

It’s him, you already know somehow, and as you check to see a text asking if you’d gotten in okay, you hope you can manage to find peace in the fact that you’re totally into Kim Mingyu.

You’re in love with Millie. There’s no other explanation for how you find yourself on the floor, face to cone with her big ol’ head resting on your outstretched arm. She’s panting happily at you, tongue lolling out to the side and eyes nearly shut. They close a bit more with every pass your nails make over her stomach, and you know it sounds dramatic, but it would make your year if she fell asleep on you.

(You happen to fall asleep first, and that’s how Mingyu finds you. Knocked out on the floor in your work clothes, his precious baby’s head just inches from yours. She’s closer to you than he’s ever gotten and he rolls his eyes at the flash of jealousy that lights up his throat.)

You blink awake as the warm weight on your arm leaves, whimpers filling the room and making alarm bells go off in your head. You spring to attention, fists formed and nearly swinging as you turn to face whoever upset Millie.

Oh. Mingyu’s home. Fuck.

In all of your lamenting, you’d forgotten to consider what might happen when he returned home from work. Returned to his apartment, you mean. To his home, not yours.

He’s got the brightest grin on his face, his pretty mouth stretched apart and his annoyingly perfect white teeth shining at you. Millie is trying to jump on him, so he looks away just for a moment to kneel down and welcome her into his arms, trying to avoid the cone she keeps knocking him with as she does her absolute best to kiss him. He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the sides and his high-pitched giggles replacing the whimpering that had awoken you. Before you can stop yourself, you’re laughing too, wandering over when Millie swivels her head around to stare imploringly at you. Apparently, Mingyu’s attention isn’t enough and as he pouts, you bite down the smug smirk that wants to rise. Millie loves you back.

“Do you wanna stay for dinner? I had something nicer planned tonight and there’s enough for two. Well, three, I eat enough for two on my own,” he chuckles sheepishly, rising to his feet and towering over you.

You don’t have anything planned, and you don’t really have any chores you need to do at home so you suppose you could stay. For a little while.

A little while turns into most of the night.

Mingyu is an excellent cook, his meal for the evening far better than anything you could scrounge up yourself, and in just a couple hours you’re washing dishes elbow to elbow and laughing like old friends. You don’t know how he’s cracked you open like this, but cracked open you are. You’re laughing at his jokes, smiling back when he grins at you, even leaning into his flirting for once. You wonder if it’s alarming to him but assume that he’s not willing to question anything that’s happening, just in case it closes you back up again.

You would almost commend him for knowing you so well if it didn’t have you feeling so miffed, like all the work you’d done in trying to keep your walls up around him was for naught. You suppose you could throw some more up but what’s the point? Mingyu will just knock them down with his big warm hands and sweet smiles and dumb jokes, and then Millie will eat all the pieces, the little hoover she is.

So, you won’t build up more walls… but, you can’t get too comfortable, either. This needs to be a one time thing.

One turns into two, two turns into three, three turns into once a week.

The project has come and gone, as has any attempt to pretend you’re not just as obsessed with Kim Mingyu as he is with you. Even San seems to have noticed the change, returning to what you assume is harmless flirting and a touch of light bullying. Mingyu doesn’t even really pick up on that anymore either, the flirting or the teasing. He’s too busy peeking over the wall in between you to stare at you with hearts in his eyes or whisper, “For dinner, I was thinking…,” in a voice far smaller than you’d think could come from a 186 centimetre tall man (that’s the exact number, he’d corrected you quite petulantly when you approximated him to be 182 centimetres).

You don’t even get annoyed when he interrupts your work anymore, just giving a light roll of your eyes and then all of your attention to whatever he’s deemed important enough to tell you about. Most of the time, it is important. Like asking you to come to the vet with him to see if the neighbour dog had gotten Millie pregnant (her and Asher went through a bit of a rough patch). He didn’t, and Millie got a very stern talking to about safety and loyalty, and you got to see Mingyu in full dad mode which was very, very dangerous for your poor, susceptible ovaries. Some times are less important, like when he made you stop working on your spreadsheet to show you his new high Wordle score. He started playing when San said he needed to work on his vocabulary and while you think his repertoire is just fine, you are happy that he’s found a new game to spend time on rather than playing Cooking Mama in between work calls.

The environment at work has changed too. People passing by have always said hi to San and Mingyu, but now they mention you too, unfortunately. Mingyu always chuckles when they include you, knowing that you’re frowning into your computer screen even as you respond with a fake-bright, “Morning!” Your boss makes more small talk with you, as do others at the water dispenser, and it’s exactly as you’d feared.

You knew that letting Mingyu in would make everyone else think they had access to you too, and you were right. You’d expected it to feel like the end of the world, like you would need to pack up your things and terminate your employment immediately, find some remote job and move to Antarctica so your coworkers wouldn’t even have a chance of becoming interested in your life.

However, it’s not as bad as you thought.

Sure, you can’t go to the bathroom without Janet asking if you need her to go with you, but it’s nice to have a lil Ladies Room Chat from time to time. And maybe your daily fights with Anderson over the good parking spot are becoming more and more playful and less like you’d actually hit his car if it was legal. And perhaps you’ve noticed the way the receptionist looks at San and told Mingyu and now you’re hatching a scheme to get them together. And it’s possible, you begrudgingly admit, that you’re having a good time with it. With Mingyu, with your work… acquaintances, with everything.

You’re enjoying yourself and no matter how foreign it is, you think that it could be okay to just lean into it all. You also think that if Mingyu asked you out, you’d say yes.

You sit across from Mingyu at his dining table, a glass of red wine at your lips and a glare radiating at him over the rim. It’s been weeks of this, weeks of him making you dinner and you cleaning up together and then watching a movie on the couch. You’re not sure how much longer you can take the domesticity without the label, which is quite off-brand for you, needing a label at all, but you want Mingyu to be your boyfriend, damnit! You want to have to fill out one of those stupid forms, and actually stay over after dinner, and drive to work together and have him drop you off at your cubicle with a dramatic goodbye as if he won’t be just a metre away. You want to kiss him, and hug him, and feel up those massive biceps. You want to fall asleep next to him and wake up with him and let him teach you to cook and probably get distracted and oh no, he needs to bend you over the counter?

Your eyes flit to his island as if you can picture it, feel the cold marble under your stomach and the sharp edge digging into your hips and the smooth texture of it against your skin as he fucks in and out of you. His kitchen is custom made, the cabinets a bit taller than regular for his height, so your feet would probably hang once he got you folded in half, and the thought of being suspended as he fucks you how he wants has heat flooding your stomach.

“Y/n? You okay?” Mingyu asks, a bite held up to his mouth as if he’s just now noticed how far away you’ve gone in your mind. You nod, finally taking a sip and trying to let the deep flavour of the wine clear your mind. It doesn’t, of course, just makes you feel warmer and the images clearer. Imaginary Mingyu wraps your hair around a fist and bends over you, whispering filthy nothings into your ear and biting at your strained neck, and you can’t take it anymore.

“Mingyu, why haven’t you asked me to be your girlfriend?” You don’t mean to sound so upset, and you know it isn’t fair, but you think you are upset. How could he do this to you, make you see him this way and want all these things with him, and not take responsibility?

He chokes on the bite he was chewing, coughing uncontrollably and turning red as you sit there and stare at him. He’s not actually choking or you’d help, but for now you just watch as he takes gulp after gulp of water and fights to clear his throat. You see fear, confusion, and something like incredulity in his eyes once he finds his breath again.

“I kind of… thought you were?” Mingyu starts slowly, trepidatiously reaching across the table to cover your hand with his and subtly remove the knife from your grasp.

“What do you mean, you thought I was? Why haven’t you kissed me then? Or taken me out on a date? Or even told me how you feel about me?” Now you’re the confused one, because how could Mingyu think he was dating you without doing any of these things?

“Well, I didn’t want to scare you away! You wouldn’t even look at me when I used to say good morning and now I get to text you goodnight. And I would love to plan a date for us, you’re just a self-proclaimed homebody so I thought dates at home like this would be better.”

You suppose those are good explanations, and you can’t blame him for being scared, you can be kind of scary.

“What about the kissing?” You ask in a small voice, pursing your lips and avoiding his eyes as if you could hide the vulnerability currently swallowing you.

“Baby, trust me, I want to kiss you all the fucking time. I just couldn’t tell if you were a touchy person so I wanted to let you make the first move,” Mingyu promises, intertwining his fingers with yours and lifting your hand up to his mouth to place a gentle peck.

Your heart races, thumping like a rabbit on the run, as you take in his words. You feel supremely stupid for your part in the lack of communication and even more annoyed at how long you could’ve been on your back underneath Mingyu if either of you had just said something. But, you’re not one for apologies, so you stand and stride to Mingyu’s side of the table, pulling his chair out just enough for you to throw a leg over it and straddle his lap.

“Okay, so just to be clear, I’m not a touchy person but I want you to touch me. I’m not a romantic person but I want you to romance me. And I’m not really a relationship kind of person, but I want one with you. So, you’re my boyfriend and I’m your girlfriend, and that’s that. Good?”

His eyes shine up at you, his beam blinding, but you don’t need to see much as he nods and cradles your face, pulling you closer to press a searing kiss to your lips. You’d expected him to be gentle, tentative, but he’s been waiting even longer than you and you suppose he’s got some time to make up for. You don’t mind, preferring more of a fast pace yourself and opening up for him immediately when his tongue grazes your bottom lip. He tastes like wine and want, like pure desire, and already you never want to stop kissing him.

You sit there in his lap, making out as the food grows cold and the wine grows warm, kissing the night away until something starts to nudge at the place between your thighs. Something huge, you think, judging by the sheer length of it pressed against your leg. He moans when you grind down on it, making you grin into his lips and do it again, reveling in the way his hips jerk into you. One of his hands clamps around your hip and the other travels down to adjust himself before he slides lower in the dining chair so his dick presses right against you. He’s so warm you can feel him through the four layers separating you but it’s not enough, you need to feel his skin on yours, his body on yours.

“Mingyu, can we move this to the-,”

“Yep!,” he shoots to his feet, barely waiting for you to hug him with your legs before he speedwalks to his bedroom and sits heavily on the bed, the force of it bouncing you in his lap and making both of you let out a groan as his dick presses between your legs.

“Clothes off,” you insist, pulling at the buttons of his work shirt and pouting when you realize he’s got an undershirt on too. He chuckles at you, pushing your hands to your own shirt so he can finish undoing the buttons, working much faster than you were. He’s pulling off the white tee when you finally get your shirt open and off, and you both freeze when you catch sight of the other.

He’s so… perfect. His skin is so honeyed and smooth, his muscles the optimal level of defined, and his body… His body dwarfs yours, you could hide in the circle of his arms and be completely unseen, untouchable except by him, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the idea.

You know Mingyu’s staring because you’ve got your tits out, but you’d like to think they’re some of the best he’s ever seen and that’s why he’s hardly breathing. Or moving. And not speaking at all. You slowly shift to unclasp your bra, letting the garment fall and watching his eyes grow impossibly wider.

He just keeps staring, and though you’re not one to be self conscious, it’s slightly difficult when you’ve got a specimen of a man looking at you so intently. You squirm a bit in his lap, your lip bitten between your teeth and your arms coming up to cover your chest. He catches your wrists in his hands and draws them back down to your lap, whispering when you protest, “Shhh, baby. Just lemme look for a little bit.”

And look, he does. Soon enough, he touches too, his fingers grazing your nipples and his tongue reaching out to swipe at his lips as he watches them pebble under his touch. He experiments for a while, constantly looking up to your face as he tries different things, searching for what really makes you tick. A quick study, he finds it, and it’s like he’s lit you up. You gasp for breath and arch into his hands, your legs stretched open over his thick thighs and your nipples hardening between his fingertips.

You want his mouth on you, and either you say it out loud or he reads your mind because his tongue is lapping at your skin in the next second. His lips wrap around one side, his fingers tweaking the other, and fuck, you need these stupid fucking pants off. You’re getting so warm and they feel so restrictive, and you sink your fingers into his hair to physically pull him away when he doesn’t respond to calls of his name.

“What is it?” He pants, his lips shiny and his eyes hazy.

“I want all the clothes off, they’re getting in the way,” you complain, starting to shuffle off his lap before his hands take you by the waist and plop you down next to him on the bed. You’re not used to just being moved so you’re quick to bristle, but when you really think about it, you love that he can manhandle you like that. You love that he’s so much bigger and stronger than you, and, frankly, you wouldn’t mind if he became your own personal peoplemover.

He stands to undo and shuck his pants and your face is just about at dick height, so as soon as his boxers are revealed, you lean forward and trace your tongue over the length of his cock. He’s massive and so, so hard already, and you desperately want him in your mouth.

“Can I suck you off?” You ask, unable to hide your laugh at the way his knees buckle and he has to brace himself over you on the bed.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he groans, hiding his face in your neck and letting his hands travel up to your breasts to meanly tweak a nipple, “I’ve had a crush on you for months and you just asked to suck my dick, of course it’s gonna do something to me.”

“I’d like to do something to you,” escapes your mouth before you can stop it, making Mingyu snort into your throat and then bite it harshly to stop another from letting loose. You don’t usually make jokes like that, out loud at least, and though it feels very unfamiliar to you, you stand by the sentiment.

“For real though, can I suck your dick?”

“Yes, my God, let me get on the bed so I don’t actually collapse,” he laughs, withdrawing from his hiding place to belly flop onto the sheets next to you, making you bounce and land closer to him than you were before. He twists over and lifts his hips as you pull his boxers down, his cock springing up against his stomach and swaying heavily to the side. It’s gorgeous, just like the rest of him. Massive, slightly curved, and wrapped in thick veins, your eye finding one in particular that you can’t wait to feel inside of you. You want to feel all of him inside of you but you want him in your mouth first, need to feel that thick cock weighing down your tongue and pushing into your throat, need it like you need to breathe.

Mingyu needs it too, you think. He’s leaning on his elbows but he’s got his head thrown back like he can’t stand to watch, like he’ll cum the second he sees your lips wrapped around him. It’s cute, really, but you want him to see this.

“Gyu, watch,” you breathe onto his dick, waiting for his eyes to meet yours before taking it in both hands and licking at the tip. You’re gentle, to start, your tongue darting out to lap at his frenulum and glide over the head, your hands following the movements to drag your saliva down to the root of him. You’re not sure you’ll be able to fit the whole monstrous thing in your mouth but you’re going to try your damndest, and it’ll need to be slick if you want even a chance.

You gather up the spit in your mouth and catch Mingyu’s eye, letting it drop down onto his shaft and smoothing it with your hands as his face crumples on a groan.

“You’re too fucking good at this,” he whines, his fingers clenching in the sheets before you take them in your own and bring them up to your hair.

“I literally haven’t even started,” you remind him, “and you can pull.”

You bring the head back up to your mouth and press a soft kiss to the seam, taking in one final deep breath before tucking your lips over your teeth and swallowing as much of his cock as you can in one go. He shouts above you, his hips bucking up and shoving more into your mouth. You try to accept it but you gag and pull off of him, trying to catch your breath. Mingyu pets your hair, whispering a thousand apologies and doing some deep breathing of his own, until you go again and take more this time, making him hiss and grip your hair tighter.

He doesn’t buck into your mouth again but he does start running his.

“Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, honey.” “Wanted to see you like this since you picked up that pen in front of me, shit.” “Fuck, you’re the best, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”

His praise spurs you, keeps you going when the air gets too thin and your throat feels too raw, and you’re bobbing up and down on his cock, really starting to hit your stride when he pulls you off by the hair and up into a scorching kiss. You wonder if he can taste himself on your lips and grumble to yourself that if he’d let you keep going, you could have really tasted him, but you know that him stopping you now means you’ll get his dick that much sooner, so you can’t complain.

“Sorry, baby, got too close. That mouth is fucking insane, Jesus,” Mingyu moans, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to regulate his breathing. You smile and peck him again, sliding off the bed to strip off your slacks and underwear and missing the way his eyes heat up and his face smooths out.

“C’mere,” Mingyu sits up, holding his hands out to you and bringing you in close to stand between his knees. He pushes the hair away from your face, cradling your cheeks in his palms and laying the softest, most gentle kiss on your lips before running his hands down your body. They graze your breasts, smooth over your stomach, pause for a squeeze at your hips, carry on down your thighs, then glide back up to turn you around. You guess he’s only really seen the front and you’ve gleaned that he likes to look, so you let him take in his fill, feeling his eyes on you like a physical thing before his hands replace them.

He focuses on your ass immediately, pinching, kneading, rubbing, and you think you can just barely hear him whispering to himself when he asks, “Can I spank you?”

Your eyes fall shut in silent thanks, your heart thudding in your chest at the thought of his big, hot hands coming down on your skin.

“Fuck, yes,” you sigh, following dazedly when he tugs you to lay across his lap, shivering when he places his hand on one cheek as if to steady you before he starts.

“Just tell me when you want me to stop, this isn’t a punishment or anything,” Mingyu reassures you, squeezing your ass to acknowledge the little, “Okay,” you let out.

The air stills when his hand leaves you, tension winding tighter and tighter in your gut until a smack echoes throughout the room and a hot sting starts radiating through the flesh of your ass. You almost feel like you can’t breathe, it feels so good, and you just know you’re getting wetter, can only hope it doesn’t trail down between your thighs to land on his. You have a feeling he’d love that so you’re not too worried about it, but he doesn’t need to know yet, just how much power over you he holds.

“Was that alright?” he asks, his voice slightly worried and his palm soothing the throbbing skin.

“Perfect,” you force out, your toes wiggling in anticipation as you wait for the next, “Are you gonna do it again or not?”

“Impatient,” he laughs but obliges, bringing his hand down on you lightly before following up with a harder smack, his fingers digging into the flesh sharply afterward like he can’t stand to let go.

He carries on like that for however long. You can’t be fucked to tell time when you’ve become a sopping wet mess on his lap, when you’re nearly crying with pleasure, when your cunt is pulsing and leaking and empty and your ass is hot and swollen and covered in handprints. You don’t know anything anymore, just Mingyu, and when he carefully pulls you into his arms and cradles you to his chest, you think you might finally let yourself actually cry over a man.

“Fuck me?” You whine somewhat pitifully, clutching at his bicep and looking up at him imploringly.

“Baby, no, I gotta stretch you out first,” he insists, and you consider protesting, but then you remember what his dick felt like in your throat and know that he’s right, even if you hate to admit it.

“Fine, but be quick,” you reply, rearranging yourself so your back rests against his chest and you can spread your legs out over his. You gasp as the cold air hits you, your wetness glistening on your thighs and between your legs before one of Mingyu’s warm hands slides down to cover you, his teeth nibbling at your ear cartilage and his voice deep as he whispers, “So fucking wet.”

His fingers glide slowly through your folds, taking their time getting to know you, enough so that you buck up into his touch and moan his name impatiently. He teases you for a while longer, until you’re writhing in his arms and about ready to shove four of your own fingers inside, and that’s when he finally gives in.

He slips in one, first. It’s long, thick, bigger than yours and able to easily hit your g-spot, but still not enough. Two is better by half, but you still feel so empty, “Need you,” you whine, and he slides in a third, spreading and curling all three but just barely missing that rough patch inside. You know he did it on purpose, but you don’t complain, knowing that he’ll just tell you to wait and that you’ll do it, like the g-.

“Good girl,” Mingyu breathes into your ear, and the shudder is uncontrollable.

He must feel you clench, must feel you get wetter around his fingers, and you just know he’s got an evil smirk on as he chuckles, “You know, I thought you might like that, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Then why’d you say it?” You ask, frustrated at him cracking your code once again. And at how his fingers have stilled halfway inside of you.

“Because I wanted to. I would stop if you told me, but I want you to know how much of a good girl you're being for me. I think you deserve to hear it and I like saying it, and now I know you like it too, so…,” he drifts off, thrusting his fingers into you harshly and sucking in a breath when he feels you clamp down, “Are you gonna keep being my good girl?”

You can only nod weakly, whining as he starts to fuck you roughly with his fingers, the digits jackhammering in and out of you at a speed you almost can’t handle. You can feel your wetness splashing against your thighs, hear how it squelches out of you with every thrust, and you know Mingyu feels it, hears it too. You fucking love it, love how messy he’s gotten you and how you’re only going to get messier, and when he whispers lowly, “Wanna see you squirt,” you know he loves it messy, too.

Thank God for that, because he’s totally going to make you squirt. It doesn’t happen often, only once or twice with that one magic-handed ex, but you recognize the signs. You can feel it coiling up inside you, the pressure building and building deep in your pelvis, like a knot that just keeps getting pulled tighter and tighter. He changes the angle of his thrusts, aiming them a bit higher and slightly more shallow, and you know he’s got you.

He pounds into you, fingerfucking your g-spot with startling accuracy and force until the balloon pops and you scream, your knees fighting to close as liquid sprays out of you and down his arm. Your eyes clench shut and you lose your breath, your walls fluttering uncontrollably around his fingers as you cum hard enough you nearly black out.

“Good girl, there’s my good girl, there’s my baby,” Mingyu exhales, petting at your sweaty forehead and keeping his fingers curled inside of you. Your hips jerk with aftershocks, little bursts of slick seeping out around his fingers with every buck.

“Now will you fuck me?” you pant, sprawled on top of him and quite literally aching for his cock.

“Yeah, baby, I’ll fuck you now,” He nods and laughs at you again, as he seems liable to do, and nods, his chin brushing against your shoulder and his stubble grating on your skin.

He wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you, placing you on the bed next to him so he can hover on top of you on all fours.

“How do you want it?” He asks, looking, for all and intents and purposes, as if he’d do literally whatever you said. You like that, and absolutely plan to use it to your advantage later, but for now you’ll be kind and say, “Like this, Gyu, just like this.”

You suppose that’s the answer he wanted, because he grins and smacks a kiss to your lips, hauling your legs up around his waist and letting his cock glide through your folds to nestle against your clit. You jump, your pussy still sensitive from the orgasm he’d just drawn from you, but you love the pressure and heat of him there. You want him inside though, need him stretching you out, so you angle your hips and thrust down, sinking the head of his cock into your entrance.

He whines into your open mouth, a broken, stuttered thing, and pushes in a couple more inches. That’s all you can take, for now, his girth bigger than the three fingers he’d opened you up with and his length enough to reach the end of you. He fucks you open just a little bit more with every thrust until he’s halfway inside and it’s like something shifts in you to make room for him because from there, it’s easy. He pulls out, or tries to, your cunt sucking him back in so tight it’s hard for him to move.

Mingyu isn’t one for giving up though, so he pulls back with more force and plunges inside of you again, his one thrust sending you up the bed. Your head rests just inches from his headboard so he wraps his arms around you to hold you in place as he starts to really fuck you. He’s so big and warm around you and inside of you, and when he tilts his hips up and finds your g-spot with the head of his cock, you know you’re done for.

There’s little else you can do but lay there and take it as he pounds into you, one of his hands rising to clench in your hair and pull your head back so he can bite bruises into some very visible spots on your neck. You’ll be annoyed later at having to cover them up, but right now, you love that he wants to leave his mark on you. You want to leave your mark on him too, dragging your nails down his back as you moan his name and beg him to keep going.

“Won’t stop, baby, won’t stop until you tell me. Never been like this before, fuck,” he sounds wounded, dazed, like your cunt has cast a spell on him and he never wants to wake from it. You’re not sure you sound much more composed, your throat starting to ache from all of the sounds he’s pulled from you tonight and your stomach filling with heat as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. It won’t be long now, and though you don’t want this to end, you know that later, you can wake Mingyu up to fuck you again and he’ll be ecstatic about it.

“Are you close?” You ask urgently, your neck straining from his grip in your hair and your pussy now formed to the shape of him.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” he hisses, dropping a hand down to your clit to press rough circles into the raw bundle of nerves. He was closer than you anticipated but you have a feeling that soon enough, Mingyu will have you cumming on command, so you have no doubt you’ll get there with him. Especially not with the thrusts he’s got aimed right at your g-spot, and definitely not with the thick fingers he’s got rubbing your clit. Before you can even take in another breath, you’re tumbling off the edge with him, your pussy clenching around his cock as his hot cum floods into you in waves.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt, your brain dissolving into a delicious haze and your body melting between Mingyu and the bed. You let your eyes slip closed, thoughts ticking away one by one until you don’t have even a single string of words to connect. You have to wonder if every sexual experience with him will be transcendental like this.

Mingyu whimpers above you, probably sensitive as he starts to come down. Your cunt keeps squeezing him and though you don’t wish it would stop, you do feel a little bad that he seems to be struggling so much.

“You know you can pull out, right?” You offer, confused as to why he’s staying inside of you when it seems to be hurting him so.

“Don’t want to, I like it,” he forces out, digging his hips into yours just a little bit more before laying his head down on your chest and promptly falling asleep.

You don’t really know what to do, but you can hear Millie whining so you give him a few minutes to recover before fighting to shove his dead weight off your body and throwing on his shirt. His cum is trickling down your inner thighs so you make a pit stop at the ensuite for a quick shower before peeking your head out of the bedroom and looking for Millie. She’s on the couch, staring balefully at the door and wagging her tail just slightly, though she perks up when she sees you. She’s probably waiting for her bedtime walk and you don’t want to keep her waiting any longer, so you find a clean pair of Mingyu’s boxers to throw on and get her harnessed and ready to go.

You cup Millie’s face in your hands and kiss her on the forehead, whispering quietly about where you’ll go on your walk and standing to grab her leash before you finally notice Mingyu in the doorway. He’s got rumpled pajamas on and he’s trying to frown, likely about you leaving him to sleep alone, but his eyes are too full of love for you to believe him even the slightest bit.

“Can I join you two?” He asks softly, pushing off the doorframe to amble over and steal a kiss before pulling away to let you answer.

“I’d be annoyed if you didn’t,” you assure him, holding a hand out for him to take and following him to the front door of the flat. You slide into your loafers, nagging yourself to bring a pair of slides to keep at his place so you don't have to walk in your work shoes.

“You know… if you wanted, you could, um, maybe bring some stuff over to have here? Like, comfy clothes and maybe your nighttime things so you could… stay?”

He sounds nervous to offer, like he’s still anxious about frightening you away, so you answer quickly, “I want the third drawer of your dresser.”

He bites back the beam, staring down at you with his canines pressing against his bottom lip, and just as he leans down to kiss you, you can’t help but think, fuck, I’m fucking in love with this guy.

A head of floppy black hair rises above the wall separating your cubicles, followed by bright eyes and a cute, freckled nose. You spot the grin and know exactly what he’s decided to bother you about, preemptively declaring, “No, we cannot leave early to take Millie to the good park across town.”

Mingyu whines quietly, pouting and beseeching you with his eyes to change your mind. You’re resolute, well aware that your previously preciously stored vacation time is dwindling and you can’t afford to waste anymore if you want to take Mingyu on that hiking trip. You, personally, despise hiking for all that it is, but Mingyu is a fanatic for it and you know he’ll carry you whenever you get tired or bored, so this is one you can take for the team.

“But Asher-”

“Babe, Asher will be there on Saturday too. Millie doesn’t need to see her all the time, space is good for a couple.”

“Tell that to you guys! Oh my god, you’ve been unbearable since you got together,” San exclaims, popping up over his own wall to glare at you both.

“San, please, don’t think I haven’t heard you with the receptionist,” you retaliate, “you might as well just ask her to marry you with how obvious you’re being.”

Mingyu only smirks in response and you try to pretend it doesn’t make your heart and your pussy flutter.

You’re not successful.

AN: from the bottom of my heart, thank you to @bbychocolat for commissioning this work! I love the idea and it's the fastest ive ever written 10k words before, and it was more than wonderful to have both her cheering me on as i wrote. thank you to @petrichor-mingi for beta reading this for me, your notes are invaluable!

please reblog if you read and enjoyed this! reblogs and replies are what make this website work and i would love to know your thoughts and feelings 💖💖💖

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