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covetyou · 2 days

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tool time

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: cock worship, self imposed denial, blue balls for all, that tool belt, pet names (darlin', baby), mentions of oral sex and p in v, very brief mention of alcohol, no/pre-outbreak TLOU, no use of y/n. word count: 3k summary: He was always there to pull you both back from the brink, though you weren't sure there was any saving you this time. And it was all because of something as simple as a tool belt.

A/N: it has been one year to the day (and almost to the minute) since I published sleepless in 2023. happy anniversary to the fic that started it all. thanks to all of you for sticking with me, and thanks to Joel Miller for always being That Man.

thank you to @sp00kymulderr and a conversation months ago at this point that inspired this fic 💛

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"Y'Starin'?"

You were. From the moment he walked in, actually.

Then, from the moment he slung that thing low around his hips this morning, you knew you were done for. Four weeks of pain and struggle, all for nothing.

The best laid plans, you guess, as you grunt back at him with a shrug.

It was on you, really. You were probably setting yourself up for failure the moment you had your first grownup sleepover with one Joel Miller. Sensible people don't do that to themselves. Not when they have rules to keep to. They may have been your own rules, but that was besides the point. Rules were rules, and you never did like breaking them.

Watching Joel move and shift, his bulge in his denim framed neatly by the leather of his work belt, you had a feeling breaking this particular rule wouldn't upset you for long.

Six weeks. That was the rule. Just two painful weeks away. Six weeks, and then you'd be free from this forced celibacy you'd put yourself into. It was a test for yourself more than anything - always too eager to throw yourself into intimacy with people who didn't care and, if you were being honest, with people who you didn't care about either. You figured if you wanted different, you'd have to make it different.

You just didn't account for the first man in your life after a months long dry spell to be Joel Miller.

From the day you said those words into his mouth - six weeks, give me six weeks and I'm all yours - he'd been all in. He told you he could wait as long as you needed, and from the moment he said it you believed him. The problem was, from the moment he said it, you also wanted to fuck him about it.

But you couldn't, because that was exactly the rule you were trying to keep to. No sex for six fucking weeks.

You weren't even sure why you picked six weeks in the first place. The exact whys of it all went out of your head the moment Joel committed to your stupid, self-imposed rule without question. Those reasons why grew further from you each and every week he calmly stopped your dates from going too far with a gruff don't wanna break your rules, baby.

Even when you were forced to stay the night after one too many drinks, or when a make-out session got too heated, there he was to pull you both back from the brink.

Though, you weren't sure there was any saving you this time.

And it was all because of something as simple as a tool belt.

You'd seen him in it before. It wasn't new. It was quite old, and worn, actually. Usually you'd simply see him throw it into the back seat of his truck, or onto his counter, or over his shoulder. On one occasion you'd caught him on his knees, belt strapped around his hips as he fixed up a broken cabinet in his garage.

It did the same to you then as it did now, but this time it was staying on and not being hastily discarded with an oh shit, I'm runnin' late.

Now, he stands and shifts his hips, legs crossed at the ankle, the bulge in his denim so perfectly framed you're sure the sight will be burned into your vision for ever.

"You're doing that on purpose."

Your eyes are looking through him. Fuck knows you can't look at him. Not right now, not when two billion reasons not to break your one rule couldn't hold you back from just doing it.

"Doin' what?" he asks in a voice so innocent you almost believe him. Until he shifts once again, hips rocking in your direction, the denim bunching between his legs over his soft bulge.

"Stop it, Joel."

"Stop doin' what?"

Maybe he doesn't have a clue what he's doing to you - what he's been doing to you every day for weeks. Maybe he's oblivious, or too innocent and pure and good to know just how ravenous you're feeling for him right this moment, or maybe he's hoping he isn't seeing the way you're looking at him, ready to devour him in one, so he stands some chance of getting to work on time.

Yes, you could be strong and ignore the way his hand engulfs the coffee mug he's drinking from - strong but delicate in a way you know it to be by how he lets his fingertips dance up and down your side in the dead of the night. You could look past how his eyes flick down your body, stood stiff and still as far away from him as you can get in your tiny little kitchen. You could even ignore the way he licks the dregs of coffee from his lips, swiping his hand across his chin as his cup clinks down on the counter.

But then, those strong, delicate hands find purchase on his belt, hooking through a loop you saw him tuck a hammer into that day in his garage, and - as though you hadn't decided from the moment he put the belt on his hips - the last crumbling ruins of your resolve crash to the ground.

"Fuck it."

"Darlin', you -"

You cut him off with a kiss - striding across the kitchen to grab him by the shirt before he could even realize what was happening.

"Shut up," you breath into his mouth, silencing him more with the pressure of your lips on his than with the words on your tongue.

Joel, still trying to be a gentleman, keeps his one hand planted on the counter, the other on his belt, white knuckle gripping as he tries to keep up with your frantic kisses. You bite and nip at his lips, the fire in your belly not letting up even though you're well aware neither of you have time for this. And, though his hands are still, he kisses back with a fire to match, setting the ruins of your rules ablaze right there on the kitchen floor.

But then you're gone, and he's chasing a mouth that's no longer there.

His eyes snap open just as you slip down his body, your hands releasing from his shirt to slide down the length of his torso as you descend.

"Darlin', I -"

"Shut up, Joel," you growl again as your knees collide with the kitchen tile. It's not comfortable, and it's certainly not romantic, but it's what you need, so you'll take it.

"Your rule, baby, I don't wanna -"

"Fuck my rule, Joel."

Your eyes drop from his to the belt in front of you, then lower still to the soft lump in worn denim. You'd only been this close in your dreams - and there had been a lot of them lately. Waking up wet and sticky between your legs after a Joel sleepover was something you were now well accustomed to. While the you of your dreams could make the man come in two seconds flat some nights, the real you - the one on their knees in their kitchen - didn't have a clue what got his blood pumping and his heart racing.

You press a lingering kiss to the front of his jeans anyway. Just to see, really. Then, by the way his eyes widen, pupils blowing black in his warm eyes, and his breath hitches, you have a feeling you won't have much trouble at all finding out what makes Joel Miller tick.

You chain together another kiss, and then another, and then another, pressing your soft lips to the rough denim as you listen to his ragged breaths.

"I -"

"Shut up."

You don't want him to speak. You don't want him to be sensible, or to stop you, not when you've already waited so long. Not when his cock is right in front of you, separated by nothing but a zipper and some fabric.

You press a firmer kiss to him, breathing deeply and letting your eyes slip closed as you inhale. He always smells so clean in the mornings, but this time it's mixed with something else. The soft scent of his laundry detergent is still there, but there's the earthy smell of his leather belt, just a few inches away from your face. It smells of wood and dust and metal - the fixtures and undoubtedly a few errant screws and nails dumped into the pockets and pouches accounting for the latter. Then there's something else too, as you take another breath, groaning against the denim that you nuzzle your face into, feeling him twitch beneath your cheek.

He likes this. If the stiffening lump beneath your lips, pressed against your nose, rubbed against your cheek is anything to go by, he likes this a lot. Who could blame the man, really. He'd waited as long as you had. Four weeks for you had been four weeks for him. Four weeks of you trying to break through his resolve, to crack him so he was to blame for your broken rule and not you. Four weeks of you edging closer and closer to his waistband each time you kissed on the couch. Four weeks of your hips shifting back into his crotch every night you went to sleep.

"You smell so good, Joel," you groan into his crotch, letting your head rest against his thigh as you sink lower on your knees. Your head feels floaty on your shoulders, and you wonder if he can feel the hot warmth of your breath against his cock through his jeans.

His thighs tense beneath your palms as you steady yourself on him. You should probably slow down, you think, but no sooner is the thought in your head when your fingers are already creeping up and up to stroke across the soft leather of his belt.

You want to pull it off and pull his jeans down and finally taste him. You want to leave it on, slung around his hips as it is, holding onto it to anchor yourself to him as he slides into you. You want to feel it slapping against your ass as he fucks you, face down into the mattress screaming his name.

Instead you pull, tugging his hips closer to your face. He grunts above you, shifting his own hips again as his cock swells in his pants, undoubtedly uncomfortable in the confines of his jeans. You want to take it out - you could take it out. You could see it for the first time right now, right here. You could taste it if you wanted to. You'd imagined it enough.

But you don't.

Even through your desperation, there were things you still wanted for that first time with Joel Miller. Fantasies of the belt, and the need you had for him right now couldn't sway you from that, at least.

You'd have him stripped bare, and you would be too. Hands and mouths and tongues would explore first. And then, when the desperation got too much to bear, he'd slip into you like he'd always belonged there, sliding down to the root and burrowing himself in you.

"I don't want you to do anything you'll regret, baby," he whispers, holding your hand against his thigh, stilling you for just a second.

You could sob at how good he is, even now as you try to ruin him on your knees.

"How could I regret this," you murmur, white hot heat radiating off his cock as it throbs right beneath your chin. "Please, Joel. Fuck my rule. I don't care. I just want you."

You watch as his resolve begins to crack, shattering first in his eyes as he spares a heated glance down at you between his legs.

"Fuck."

You begin in earnest then. Your hands that were stilled go back to kneading, pawing at his thighs, reaching round to grab a handful of his ass as you press kiss after kiss to his cock, dampening the fabric of his jeans with your saliva.

"Wanted it for so long," you breath. "Need it. Fuck, Joel."

You're babbling into his crotch. You know you are. You don't care. All you care is about the wet heat between your legs and the cock in front of you, swollen and desperate as you are wet and dripping. In this moment you're made for each other, your pussy desperately clenching around nothing, as he throbs, pulsating with each kiss you press to him.

He gasps suddenly and you're pulled out of your trance, looking up at him as a wet patch blooms on the front of his jeans.

"Baby, you can't -"

"Don't you want to?" you ask breathlessly. "Don't you want to know what it's like?"

"I do - jesus fuck - I do, we just don't got the time."

You groan into his crotch. He's right. Of course he is. Still, you don't stop. He can feel your breath hot on him through the denim, you're sure of it. You want - need - him to know how much you want him. You need him to carry it with him all damn day until he's aching and desperate and ready to fuck you the moment he sees you.

He's not looking down at you the next time you cast your eyes up. Instead his head is titled skyward and his jaw is open in a soft moan you can barely hear from the blood pumping in your ears. The hand that was on his belt has joined the other, gripping the counter, twitching as if itching to grab at you when you run your teeth over the now solid mass in his pants.

"I want you," you whisper. "Wanted you for weeks."

You let your hands take over, cascading up and down his strong thighs, scraping nails down and dragging delicate finger tips up. With one more kiss to the heavy weight at the front of his jeans, you bring your hand up to cup him, palming the heat between his legs and gasping at the feel of it.

He feels so heavy, and warm, and perfect in your hand.

"Fuck," you hiss, squeezing gently at his covered cock. "Joel."

"Unngh."

He's wrecked. If his breathing and the way he can't look down at you is anything to go by, he may be past the point of no return. It sends a thrill through you, ruining your clean panties even more as the realization strikes you.

You could make him come like this.

And you shouldn't. The sensible part of you knows that. You know he doesn't have anything else to change into, and you know that time is rapidly ticking away by the ache gradually throbbing in your knees.

But, you could - and that just makes to too hard to resist.

So, you continue on, pressing kisses to his cock, wishing desperately you could cradle the heft of his balls in your hand as you took his head into your mouth. Your teeth nip at his thighs, scrape gently across the sides of his bulge. And then, your tongue slips out from between your swollen lips, and you lick gently at the precum seeping through his jeans.

You moan. Whine, really. Whimper, if you were being really honest with yourself. The rough fabric on your tongue and the bitter salt of his precum on your tongue almost have you coming right there on the kitchen floor. You quiver instead, holding it back as you spread your legs, desperate for relief that you don't have time for.

"Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me -"

The vibration of his phone in his pocket, twinned with a harsh beep, startles both of you. You look around, confused for a moment, before Joel scrambles for his back pocket.

"Tommy, hey," he says, clearing his throat. Tommy's voice booms back down the receiver. He's outside. Sorry I'm late, he says, and you could laugh if you weren't so painfully turned on and wrecked from the few minutes you'd spent on your knees acquanting yourself with Joel's cock.

"Yep. Uh-huh. Be out in a sec. Sure."

There's nothing but silence and the sound of your breathing when he hangs up. You can't bring yourself to get up any more than he can bring himself to walk away.

"We gotta get goin'," Joel finally says, hearing an impatient beep of a car horn outside.

"Tonight," you say with certainty, still on your knees. "You're fucking me tonight, Joel."

He helps you up, fingers twitching as they hold your waist. You don't have time for what you both want. Even a kiss could turn into something neither of you could pull back from now. You move to the door, together and desperate and messy in ways neither of you can say out loud, because the clock is ticking.

"Joel," you say, holding back a smile as you walk to your car. "Might wanna check the front of your pants."

He looks down, his cock still hard and uncomfortable in the confines of his jeans. He'd hoped the short walk to the door would releave some of the pressure, but it doesn't. And then he sees it - the dark bloom of wet denim, evidence of the twin effort between you and his cock to ruin his day in the best possible way.

Joel shifts his tool belt, letting it sit lopsided on his hips. You can see by the look in his eye that he wants to push you up against your car and kiss you like he means it. You can see by the way his fingers grip that loop in his tool belt once more, holding onto it for dear life, biting at his inner cheek.

"Tonight," he growls, when he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, before stalking away to the waiting shadow of Tommy's truck.

You watch the leather of his belt slap against the full meat of his ass with every step, and you smile. Just one more day - ten more hours - and the denial would be over, the belt would be off and you'd finally, finally, get what you so desperately wanted.

Fuck your rule.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #coveted fics

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whimsiwitchy · 3 days

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we broke up (one shot)

hugh jackman x f!reader

summary: you get dragged to a work event by your boyfriend of three years when Hugh comes to flirt with you. after you reluctantly tell him you’re taken, he backs off for the most part. a few months later, Hugh tells the story during an interview but little does he know you’re single now.

warnings: implied age gap (not mentioned), flirting while in a relationship (kinda)

authors note: here's a little oneshot I wrote tonight. enjoy <33

You’d been with your boyfriend, Rowan, for a few years now. He earned a degree in marketing and immediately got a job for a studio. While he enjoys his job and it brings in good money, the events he dragged you to were unbelievably boring. The company he worked for always had big parties after a success on a project. At first they were interesting, often running into celebrities here and there given that it was the success of their movie, but lately you found yourself sitting at the bar more often than not. It was routine at this point. Rowan would show you off for the first hour, then he would toss you aside to fend for yourself. You weren’t the biggest social butterfly, hence why you liked to sit alone, drinking.

Tonight wasn’t any different. You were at another party for the successful marketing for Deadpool and Wolverine. You’d heard a few whispers that the stars of the movie themselves were somewhere wandering around but you hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing them. Rowan dumped you at the bar a little over thirty minutes ago and you’ve been sipping on some fruity little drink ever since, completely in your own world. You made small talk with the bartender every once and a while but you were mainly people watching.

“Mind if I join?” A deep Australian accent asks. You look up and see a gorgeous older man. He was wearing a dark blue suit with a pair of black expensive looking glasses. He was deliciously tall and had a thich salt and pepper beard. “Uh no, go ahead.” He sits in the bar stool next to you. He orders a drink from the bartender before returning his attention back to you. “Pardon me if this is too forward but you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” The comment takes you aback. “Oh um, thank you. That’s really sweet of you to say.” He looks down to your glass that’s nothing but melted ice at this point. “Can I buy you another drink?” He asks. “You probably shouldn’t. I’m taken…sadly.” You whisper the last part, unsure if he heard it or not. “Oh! I apologize for coming on to you. You’ve been sitting here by yourself for so long, I thought you might have come alone.” You huff out a laugh. “My boyfriend works for the company. He’s out there socializing or whatever.” You shrug and signal to the bartender, asking for another drink. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, you’d be on my arm all night.” He smirks. “Is that right?” You smile at him. Before he can answer, you feel your phone vibrate with a text from Rowan that reads ‘where are you babe? Time to leave.’

“Well, the boyfriends calling, I gotta go.” You carefully climb out of the chair and grab your jacket and purse off of the back. As you start to walk away, the man speaks again. “Wait! What’s your name?” You turn back to face him. “Y/n.” He smiles and repeats it. “I’m Hugh.” His answer surprises you. “Oh! Congrats on the movie. I didn’t even recognize you at first with the beard and all.” He laughs. “Bye Hugh.” You wave before walking off.

—

It’s been a few months since that night in July, it being September now. You and Rowan had broken up mid-August, both of you agreeing that the relationship wasn’t going anywhere. It hurt for a little bit but you knew it was for the best. Living with him had been awkward as you searched for a new place, deciding that he can keep the current apartment. You wanted a fresh start, which is where you are now. Tonight was your first night in your new apartment. You didn’t have any furniture yet but you were happy. You bought an air mattress to make do until you could afford an actual bed.

It was around midnight and you were doing your nightly youtube watch. You were scrolling through your recommended videos when you saw Hugh’s face pop up. It was an interview posted a few minutes ago from him on some late night show you’d never heard of. You clicked on it, wanting to hear what the man was up to these days. The interview was a standard one, mostly questions on his upcoming movie about some sheep. You weren’t really paying attention, close to dozing off when a question peaked your interest.

“So Hugh, it’s almost been a year since the announcement of your divorce and the fans wanna know…How’s your dating life doing? Are you seeing anyone?” The woman asks, wiggling her eyebrows. Hugh lets out a big laugh. “I’m actually not seeing anyone. It’s funny you ask because the last time I even attempted to flirt with a woman she turned me down.” The interviewer's eyebrows shoot up in shock. She gasps before asking, “How could anyone turn you down? We need to know the full story here.”

“Ryan and I were at this party for the marketing team that worked on Deadpool and Wolverine and I saw this absolutely gorgeous girl sitting at the bar all alone.” The interviewer is nodding her head, engaging with every word Hugh says. “I eyed her for a while to see if anyone was with her but she sat there alone for a good thirty minutes before Ryan hyped me up to go over there. When I finally did, I ordered a drink and tried to play it cool but I felt the urge to tell this girl how stunning she was, so I did.” You giggle to yourself and you hear him tell the story from his point of view. “She thanked me and I offered to buy her another drink. I kid you not, in the prettiest voice I’ve ever heard she says ‘you probably shouldn’t, i’m taken.’” His hands go up to his chest, gripping right above his heart. “My heart broke mate. I flirted a little more in true Hugh fashion but she had to go. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head since.”

“What a lucky woman, I’m sure she regrets it.”

“Hey, I tried my best.” He shrugs before looking at the camera. “Y/n, if you ever break up with him. I’m all yours baby.”

Your jaw drops, the sound of cheers blasting from your phone.

‘we broke up. I’m all yours. @/RealHughJackman’

You hit send on the tweet and hoped it would be enough to bring him back to you.

thank you for reading <3

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman fic #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman x female reader #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman x younger!reader #hugh jackman oneshot #hugh jackman x y/n #hugh jackman imagines

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gguk-n · 3 days

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Hello there! Love your work on the Max Verstappen x reader fiction. If it isn't too much, can I request an angst based on the song " All I wanted was a coffee" by Samantha Ebert? You can decide the ending but, a gut wrenching angst with kelly is appreciated. Thank you!

I hope you like this, I tried to use the song in the way that I saw fit. The reader has many insecurities and bit of mommy issues. Mention of cuts and bleeding.

I wish you loved me

{Reader’s POV}

Max and I started dating soon after he got out of a really long relationship with his ex. With Max being a Formula One driver; the details of his past were general knowledge, did I wish I didn’t know? Yes. Because in the pictures of Max and Kelly, you could see his eyes sparkled and he would smile so bright sometimes and I felt like I never got to know that Max. But every relationship is different; I couldn’t compare it, could I?

Max was loving, I mean every boyfriend is. He would sometimes forget important stuff but he was a busy man with an even busier job.

But it hurt when I saw Max with P or Kelly for that matter. His eyes would light up; I just felt like crap every time he met them, but Max never noticed. At the end of the day, Max was always around P while she was growing up, it was a given she missed him, right?

It got worse when Kelly started coming to races and meeting Max. The worst was yet to come; the other girlfriends started to side eye me whenever me and Max would interacted as if Max was Kelly’s boyfriend.

I was in the bathroom when I heard them; they were talking about how Max and Kelly looked cute together, they were the model family, that Max deserved better. Kelly even talked about all the gifts he got her and P recently. I just sat there in the cubical for a very long time.

I waited, I was dumb I know but no one’s loved me before and the fact that Max was willing to love me even for a moment felt like relief. I didn't want to let him go, I could not when there was a chance he would come back.

I waited like always, Max was always away having dinner with P since she missed him. She missed him a lot ever since we started dating. I never said anything since Max was like her father figure but it hurt.

One of those nights, I was sat drinking whiskey, it was in Max’s alcohol cabinet. The bottle was almost over. The snacks dried up soon after the third glass. I was sat on the floor, glass in hand when Max walked in. “World’s best dad everyone” I sang. “How much did you drink?” He laughed. He laughed at me. “You know my mother was right” I said, trying to get up. “She wasn’t really the best mom, now was she” Max commented. “Yeah but she was right about a lot of things and she was right about how difficult to love I was” I laughed. Max looked at me with sadness in his eyes, “don’t pity me Max.... How could Kelly steal you from me?” I cried. Max said nothing. “No no sorry sorry, how can something be stolen from me when it was never mine to begin with.” I laughed bitterly taking the last swig from my glass. “The alcohol’s gone Max, just like your feelings for me or did you ever have them to begin with?” I slurred.

“Y/N I” Max began. “No Max, you’re not at fault. It’s my fault for coming between 2 lovers. You should’ve told me that you loved her, I would’ve never dated you” I cried for the first time tonight in front of Max. As I steadied myself, the whiskey bottle fell and broke, and I tried to pick up the pieces but ended up cutting myself. “Hehe look Max I’m bleeding” I giggled holding up my hand. “Y/N let’s clean that up” Max said trying to hold my hand. “NO, Kelly won’t like it. I’m not a home wrecker...or maybe I am” I laughed bitterly. “Let me help you” Max pleaded. “You look at me with so much concern for the first time since we started dating” I pointed out. Max’s eyes bore into mine. I tried to walk away but ended up stepping on the glass. “Look I’m bleeding from my foot now too. At least now people can see that I’m hurting since I’ll have bandages all over me. My heart ache gets missed every time, you know. Maybe now, they might see my hurt, for once” I said with fresh tears forming.

“Mothers are always right. I’m unlovable, always been. If only I was pretty, if only I was a model, if only I was thinner, if only I was….Kelly Piquet, then you would’ve loved me. But I’m me, I’m plain old difficult to love, Y/N that’s why I’m unlovable” I chuckled. “Let’s go to the hospital” he pleaded again. “No, I’ll take care of myself. Don’t worry about me anymore. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it. Then you can have your happy ever after with Kelly” I laughed bitterly. “Did you ever love me?” I asked. Max was quiet. “I was just a rebound wasn’t I. Tell me you really loved me even for a second” I begged. “I’m sorry.” He said.

I grabbed my phone with my other hand while bleeding on to the floor; “don’t worry. I’ll clean your place before I leave” I said looking at the trail of blood I was leaving and dialled my phone calling the only person I knew in Monaco, the only person who didn’t hate me or talk badly about me, Lewis. “Lewis, Hi....I need to go to the hospital. I’m bleeding” I giggled. “Are you drunk? How did you hurt your self? Where are you?” He asked concerned. “Yes, yes, home no wait, Max’s home” I answered. I heard him sigh. “Where Max?” He asked. “He’s here” I said looking up at Max. “Ask him to take you now?” Lewis suggested. “NO, we broke up, and ex-boyfriend’s don’t take their ex-girlfriend’s to the doctor” I explained. “What?” He asked shocked. “Please Lewis, it hurts. Can you come soon?” I asked. “I’ll be there soon” Lewis said and cut the call. I sat there and looked at Max, “The whiskey tasted sweet as always and you sobered me up so fast” I sighed looking at the mess I had made.

Lewis came to take me to the hospital; he did not speak to Max. I guess even he knew what was going on. I didn’t see Max again after that either.

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mochinomnoms · 2 days

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Imagine asking the jade and/or floyd to go swimming. Or while they are swimming you just join them. Now the eel twins keep imagining a future with you cause apparently moray eels do synchronized swimming with their mates. Just to add to the chaos you will probably be non the wiser to the deeper meaning of their careless actions.

I think it's especially funny if one twin is doing the "dance" with you while the other is on the other side of the water, watching with a knowing look.

The real question is how do they proceed to bully their brother over it?

Floyd

The obvious option for Floyd is to have him be very blunt and loud in his teasing, but I offer a different idea. You have no clue what the significance of the dance is, for all you know it's just Jade playing around! And Floyd just wants to play!

"You don't mind if I dance with them too, right Jaaaade?"

Floyd doesn't even wait for him to answer as he swipes your hand and spins you around him in the water. It's quite fun, but if you pay attention, Floyd is still keeping a rather wide berth of room between you two. Compared to Jade, who was twirling with you held close to him, it's practically conservative! Fortunately for him, he's good at hiding his frustration, so you can't really tell he's bothered until Floyd gets just a bit too close. This makes Jade quickly and smoothly snatches you back into his arms and far away from his annoying brother. >:(

Jade

Jade is just a bit meaner than his brother, as he's more than happy to make little comments about Floyd as he dances with you. He just lives to prod at Floyd just to see how long it takes for him to either throw hands or decide he's now bored because Jade wouldn't stop bothering him.

"Oya, getting rather touchy aren't we Floyd? Should I be informing mother about a new addition to the family?"

Floyd nonstop smacks with the tip of his tail do nothing to deter him as Jade follows you two, still making pointed remarks. First, he mentions if his brother would prefer privacy. Then he asks you if you ever had a chance to learn more about mer culture. You're confused as to why Jade is mentioning courting practices, but have no chance to ask him what he's talking about before Floyd is throwing himself at Jade and beating his ass.

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #floyd leech #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #they little shits and gain joy of bullying each other #an average sibling relationship really

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hgfictionwriter · 3 days

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Discovery - Part Three

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie spends the night for the first time and things come to a head. She's trying desperately to not hurt you, but instead, it's all she seems to be doing.

Warnings: G!P content. Masturbation (J). Body image issues or even dysphoria; mental and emotional anxiety; internal conflicts. Angst. Reluctant gaslighting??

A/N: Chapters one and two.

“Are you sure you have everything you need?”

Jessie smiled as she stood at the end of the couch, freshly changed into her pyjamas. You stood across from her, casually leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom. You wore your sleepwear as well, a baggy t-shirt and some shorts which she found incredibly cute. She tried to not let her eyes linger too long on your toned legs.

“I’m totally fine. You’ve set up quite the digs for me here,” she said as she gestured to the pillows and blankets.

“Okay,” you said with a small laugh. “And I set aside a couple of towels for you in the bathroom in case you want to shower when you wake up.”

“Awesome. Thank you. I tend to get up pretty early. I’ll try not to wake you up.” You waved her off.

“Don’t worry about it. I may not be up quite as early as you, but you know I’m a morning person myself.” You paused. “Okay, well, I hope you have a good sleep. I’ll see you in the morning. And if you need or want anything, just help yourself.”

“Will do. Thanks, babe,” Jessie said as she gave you a soft kiss. She sensed how you both wanted it to linger, but she forced herself to pull away. She smiled. “Good night.”

“Good night. And,” you shrugged trying to put on an air of nonchalance, “thanks for spending the night.”

Jessie chuckled and brought a hand to the back of her head. “Well, I know me biking home at ungodly hours of the night has been stressing you out the past few weeks, so, you know. Happy to finally put your mind at ease.”

She gave you another quick kiss and you retreated to your bedroom. She stared at the closed door for a few seconds before releasing a tight breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She settled into the couch, turning off the light and getting under the blankets.

She sighed contently and stared up at the ceiling. She could hear soft noises coming through the wall as you settled into bed as well.

The weeks had passed and Jessie was really happy with how your relationship had grown. Emotionally, things were even stronger - there was no question of that. Though she had to cast aside guilt every time you mentioned how close you felt to her.

That aside, simple acts of affection, like a kiss, were easier and more commonplace for you both now. And you even made out regularly, but they were always short and fleeting sessions. Jessie had been working very hard to desensitize herself and had even started wearing different clothes in hopes of better concealing a rogue erection. Still, it wasn’t a solution.

You were patient with her, but she could see your frustration building. And God, she understood, she was frustrated too.

It was inevitable that she’d need to spend the night at some point. You’d been dating for a few months and though her travel and schedule bought her time, she was running out of excuses as to why she couldn’t stay. Questions were starting to mount from your friends as well and though you laughed it off as you retold the stories to Jessie, she could see it weighed on you.

As for tonight, you told her she didn’t need to sleep on the couch, but didn’t push it at all.

Jessie was used to sleeping pretty much anywhere and everywhere, so she slept soundly through the night. When she woke, the first rays of light were just starting to break through. She blinked a few times, slowly coming to. She shifted slightly before freezing in place.

“Shit,” she mouthed as she lifted the covers and glanced down in a panic, only to confirm that her cock was jutting up and pulling her sweats tight.

She dropped the covers and looked up at the ceiling with an inaudible huff, her irritation with herself immediate.

It wasn’t entirely uncommon for her to wake up like this, and in recent years, it didn’t really matter. But laying here in your living room, sporting a raging hard on that would serve as a devastating discovery, it filled her mind with flashbacks to panicked mornings at sleepovers she tried desperately to avoid in high school.

She closed her eyes and worked to relax. There were two ways of resolving this and one was not an option right now.

She lay there for a few minutes and frowned in frustration. Normally, if she just relaxed or went about her morning routine it would just go away. She huffed under her breath and picked up her phone to start scrolling to try to distract herself.

Every time she thought of something else and was close to settling down, her mind insisted on shifting back to you and she'd remain at full attention. She rubbed her face in agitation.

"Come on," she coached herself.

The friction of the fabric being pulled taut against her as she fidgeted made matters worse. When her toes began to curl and her fists began to clench and unclench she shook out her head.

She stared at the bathroom door.

She shouldn't. She really, really shouldn't.

She checked the time. You normally woke up around this time. She couldn't just be laying out here, cock standing up defiantly, when you came out. Sure, the blanket might be able to conceal it to some degree, but...then what.

A heavy exhale escaped her lips. She couldn't believe she was doing this. She threw off the blanket and walked as swiftly and quietly to the bathroom as she could, closing the door gingerly behind her so as not to wake you. She checked the lock before turning on the shower and getting undressed.

It was a relief when she took off her boxer briefs and her cock sprang up. She stepped into the shower and wasted little time before dealing with her nuisance.

At home, it didn't take much for her to cum. She could drag it out if she wanted to, but if she was in a time crunch, that wasn't a problem. Right now? The minutes passed as she stood under the warm water and grit her teeth as she tried to find some release. She leaned a hand out against the shower wall and closed her eyes again as she pictured you - what your touch would feel like, how you'd feel gripping her, how you'd sound, how you'd look beneath her or riding her cock.

Fuck, she should be cumming, but she was too in her head.

"Jess - what do you-"

"What!" Jessie bellowed, her eyes flying open as she recoiled from the wall. Her chest heaved, breaths shallow and her heartbeat deafening in her ears as she stared in panic at the inside of the shower curtain before taking a tentative step and peering around it. The bathroom was empty.

Her lips were parted as she tried to catch her breath. She could've swore you were inside. She could see from here the door was still locked.

"Sorry," you said through the door, tone undecipherable. "I'll just talk to you after."

She cleared her throat, staring helplessly at the back of the door.

"Sorry! I-I was just surprised. What's going on?"

Silence.

Well. That was one way to deal with her arousal. There was nothing to worry about now.

Jessie dried herself off as quickly as possible and got changed. The pit in her stomach was heavier than ever as she recited different apologies or explanations in her head.

She yelled at you. She couldn't believe it. She didn't yell at people like that - especially not people she cared about. Loved. She grit her teeth together almost painfully.

This secret was twisting who she was and how she was showing up for you.

Her hand on the door knob, she took a deep, steadying breath before twisting it and stepping out. It only took a second to see you sitting quietly at the dining table with a book in hand. You didn't look at her right away and her stomach dropped.

"Hey," Jessie said gently as she approached. She tried to not be tentative, she didn't want to exacerbate what happened, but she couldn't help herself. "Good morning." She forced a smile onto her face.

"Hi," you said. Though a hint of a smile remained on your face, the open smile you started with dissipated as quickly as it formed. Your gaze fell briefly before you refocused on her. You smiled again, nervously this time as you gestured vaguely towards the bathroom. "Um, sorry about that. I didn't mean to-"

"Oh no," Jessie interjected, dismissing your apology with a wave of her hands. "I'm sorry. I-I was just surprised. It didn't mean anything though."

"Oh. It's okay," you shrugged, dropping eye contact. "I shouldn't have bothered you. I could've just waited."

"No," Jessie countered with a frown. "I shouldn't have reacted like that."

You chuckled lightly, a faint, perhaps rueful smirk forming at the edge of your mouth. "I mean, it caught me off guard - not gonna lie. But I caught you off guard too, so, we're even."

Jessie felt her face heating up and she scruffed up her hair.

"No, that's not fair. I'm sorry," Jessie persisted.

You shrugged, sitting back, eyes fixed on your now-closed book for a moment. "We're still new; learning each other's boundaries. You don't like to be interrupted when you're showering." You laughed as you looked up to her with a smirk. "That's completely fine. I just didn't know."

Jessie held back a heavy sigh. This was so stupid.

"It wasn't that. I think I just thought you'd come in and I freaked out. I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't do that," you frowned in disbelief. "I," you gave an exasperated sigh and dropped your hands to your lap, "was just trying to see what you wanted for breakfast." Jessie was about to speak went you frowned deeper and spoke in a somewhat hushed voice. "Why would I barge in on you? We haven't even- never mind." You shook your head.

Jessie's stomach tightened and she sighed in an effort to reset. "Look, I'm very, very sorry. And yeah, it was stupid of me to think you were just barging in. I-" she shook her head as she tried to conjure up the right words. She shrugged in defeat. "This is entirely on me. Not you."

You gave her a look. "Oh, I love that line."

"It's not a line," she refuted before hanging her head in her hands and groaning. She straightened back up and gave you a beseeching look. "Can I make you breakfast? Please?"

You half rolled your eyes. "I was going to make you breakfast."

"No, come on," Jessie said as she headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge. "I owe you."

You relented and soon enough Jessie was sitting down across from you, plates of eggs and toast in front of you both.

There was conversation during breakfast, but it was stilted. This was not at all what Jessie pictured for your first morning together and of course it was her fault. It took valiant effort on her part to not get down on herself in this moment. If she did, she'd clam up and it would only make things worse.

Jessie insisted on doing the dishes after breakfast, despite your protests. You didn't finish your food, instead claiming it tasted good, but you just weren't that hungry. She hadn't even had a chance to inquire as to your plans for the day before you excused yourself, telling her you had to run some errands and meet up with a friend after. She wanted to offer to join you for errands, but got the sense you didn't want that.

When you parted ways that morning, she well and truly felt like shit.

----------

Thankfully, the awkwardness of that morning was fleeting and soon you two were back to normal. She'd even stayed a few more times over the passing weeks without incident and for that she was grateful.

She begrudged your situation more and more because all she wanted was to be with you. She wanted to spend every night with you, she wanted to fall asleep with you in her arms and wake up just the same. But, that couldn't be. Yet anyway.

Janine had been on her case to tell you everything, and she knew Janine was right, but every time she went to broach the subject her mouth went dry and she just chickened out.

At the start, she tried to tell herself that if she gave your relationship more time, it would be more comfortable to bring up, you'd have a solid foundation to fall back on. Even then, she knew it was a lie to cover up her cowardice. But now, several months into your relationship and even longer into your friendship, it felt like an impossibility to address. It felt like a betrayal.

And stupid moments caused friction. You two had been laughing about something and Jessie sat down after and you sat in her lap. Though she let you sit there for a short while, the way you shifted against her was far too risky. She tried to subtly coax you off, but she caught the look of embarrassment on your face.

Tonight, you were cuddled up on the couch watching a movie together. Then, of course, a hot and heavy sex scene started playing.

You both remained perfectly still as you both watched. The tension and anxiety Jessie felt was palpable and she was sure you felt it too. It's not that you'd never come across explicit scenes before together, but it was more and more awkward over time.

"Wow. They're really going for it," you muttered at some point as the scene dragged on, breaking the silence. She looked at you out of the corner of her eye and saw you rub your temple with a near-grimace on your face.

Her heart raced. Maybe she could use this as an opportunity. She cleared her throat and resettled into her position on the couch. She scratched at the corner of her eye.

"Yeah, totally," she said distractedly in response to your comment. "Um," she could feel her face heating up already, "I know you're into girls - I mean, obviously." Jessie's head lolled to the side as she shrugged. "But um, does that mean, you know, you've never slept with a guy? Or you know, been interested? In you know, sleeping with a guy?"

When she turned to look at you, she was met with a very perplexed stare. You frowned.

"What do you mean?" You asked, a slight edge in your voice and Jessie felt her face burning hot. She pulled her hand out of yours as she held out her palms while she spoke.

"I was just curious," she said as she brought her shoulders high in a prolonged shrug.

"Have you?" You asked pointedly.

"Wha- Me? Slept with a guy? Well, no," Jessie stammered, feeling your eyes bore into the side of her face as she spoke towards the TV. She looked back at you as she finished and you looked away.

"Mm," you voiced and you settled into the cushion a bit further, still not looking at her as you folded your arms tight against yourself.

"Well, um," her gaze flit about as she tried to map out how to proceed, "is that bad?"

"That you haven't slept with a guy?" You asked, that edge still in your voice as you looked at her. "Guess that all depends if you think it's bad that I have."

"You have?" Jessie asked brightly and you gave her an even more confused look. "Did you like it?"

"What? I'm so confused right now." You pushed yourself back up and turned your body partially towards her. "I don't know where you're going with this. But me sleeping with a guy before doesn't mean anything." You frowned. "If you're asking if I liked fucking a cock," you gave a faint laugh with a pointed look, "clearly not enough." You sat back against the couch once more and shot her a smirk. "That curiosity was satisfied and I don't ever need to do it again. A strap is more than enough for me."

Jessie's body froze and she held her breath in her lungs unknowingly. She eventually swallowed and looked away, settling back into the couch as well, but unable to speak. She felt numb.

"Hey, did I say something wrong?" You asked. She could see you sitting forward to peer at her. She felt your hand rest on her thigh and she cleared her throat, pulling away slightly before fixing her gaze on the TV again.

"Wha-" You started, shoulders dropping as you stared at her in confusion. "Babe, I don't-" You trailed off again. A moment passed, but you didn't break your stare. "I'm sorry if I said something wrong."

"It's all good," Jessie said lightly, offering you a fleeting glance before nodding at the screen. "I was just curious. Can we watch the rest of the movie?"

She saw your body slump out of the corner of her eye and felt your eyes still on her. You seemed to contemplate what to do, but eventually sat back. You went to grasp her hand, and although she didn't pull away this time, she didn't reciprocate as her fingers rest loosely around your grip.

"Do you want to sleep with a guy?" You asked slowly, not letting up.

"No," Jessie responded firmly.

"Well, what is this about? I'm sorry," you repeated emphatically. "I know we never talk about sex. I'm sorry if I said too much. But you asked, so I answered...," you trailed off.

Your note about how you avoided the topic of sex like the plague made matters worse. She tried not to let out a sigh of exasperation, settling for a glance down at your hand and a feeble shrug. "It was nothing. Let's just watch the movie, okay?"

"I can tell it's not nothing," you went on and Jessie turned to you this time, giving you a steady stare. You looked so sorry, confused, helpless even. Part of her felt bad, but at this point she mostly felt bad for herself. Her emotions were churning and she wasn't sure how to feel or what to say. She wanted to leave.

She stood up and caught the look of concern on your face, but turned her back to you anyway.

"Where are you going?" You asked. She could hear you push yourself to the edge of your seat.

She scratched the back of her head. Her conviction to leave now wavering. She pushed her hair back.

"Just gonna grab some water," she settled on, her voice low and flat. She forced herself to turn and give you as much of a smile as she could muster. You looked unconvinced and were about to speak, when she cut you off. "Want anything?"

You paused, seeming to relent. You stared at her for a couple of seconds before dropping your gaze. "No," you said quietly as you sat back.

When Jessie returned to the couch, the tension was no better, but you'd seemed to be giving her space, which she was grateful for.

Her mind ran rampant throughout the rest of the movie. She caught herself fidgeting several times over; running her palms harshly against the top of her thighs, picking at her fingers, bouncing her knee. She wasn't being very subtle about her unrest, but you kept your distance.

The movie ended and the credits rolled and neither of you went to speak or make a move. Jessie fought the renewed urge to leave.

Eventually, you spoke.

"It's pretty late. Guess we should go to bed?" You asked in more of a statement than a question. Jessie didn't look at you and simply nodded. Another pause.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want," you offered, voice softer than before.

She shot you a look, holding eye contact. Even though she wanted to leave a moment ago, the fact that you offered it caused her temper to flare.

"Sure. If that's what you want," she said in a restrained manner as she stood.

"What? I-no. Jess," you implored. "That's not what I meant." She heard you stand, but she kept her back to you. "I-you just seem...restless. And not happy with me. So..., I was just saying you shouldn't feel obliged to stay the night. I want you to stay, but, only if you want it, too."

"Why would I be upset with you?" Jessie asked evenly as she turned to face you. She knew it was entirely unfair to ask, but she was so out of sorts and didn't know how to manage.

You gave almost a pained laugh. "I was hoping you could tell me. Because I don't know." You gave a quick shake of your head and held out your hands in defeat. "You asked me this question about sleeping with guys. I answered, and now you won't talk to me."

"And I told you it was nothing. I was just curious. I'm just tired. It's been a long week," she said. She knew she should offer you some kind of reassurance - the truth, for one - but even a smile or a kiss or something. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

You didn't believe her; that was clear. Still, you nodded.

"Okay. Well. If you want to talk at some point, I'm open. I'd like to," you offered before clasping your hands together and shrugging. "And, I do want you to spend the night still. If you like."

How? After how cold she'd been. Cagey. You still wanted her to stay. You were too good for her. The anger she'd been using to build a wall between you weakened.

"Okay," she said quietly, kicking idly at the hardwood floor, her eyes downcast before looking up at you. "If you're alright with me staying, I will."

You gave a discouraged shake of your head. "Yes, of course I want you to stay. Jess, you-" you stalled and just shook your head further. "Yes. Please stay."

She set up on the couch like usual. Tonight you didn't even attempt to offer sharing a bed together and you retreated to your room after a tentative and brief 'goodnight' kiss.

Jessie didn't know how long she laid there staring up at the darkened ceiling. Her mind wouldn't let up.

You had no interest in cock. So, you weren't interested in her. At least you wouldn't be once you knew.

Her eyes stung with unshed tears. She really wanted things to be different with you. She was so stupid. She'd let things go far too long. She'd been too scared to address things - to risk losing you. And now she was going to lose you anyway, but she'd let too much time pass, your connection grow too deep. Her chest ached already.

How could she protect herself so much, but still leave herself so vulnerable?

All of the 'should've' and 'could've' moments from your relationship were playing endlessly in her head. Her nails dug painfully into her skin as she tried to retain composure.

Alarm shot through her body as she heard your bedroom door open. She lay entirely still as the door softly opened. It was a couple of second before she saw your figure tentatively stepping out into the dark only to stop at the foot of the couch.

"Jess?" You whispered.

Another flare of panic went through her and her body stiffened further. She managed to respond though.

"Y-yeah?" She said, needing to clear her throat and hating how muffled her voice sounded with residual emotion.

You were quiet for a moment before speaking again.

"I can't sleep," you said, and Jessie's chest panged when she heard your voice waver.

She cleared her throat again. "Me neither."

You sniffled and took a seat on the arm of the couch. She could make out the shadow of you staring down at your hands as you fidgeted.

"I don't like how we left things tonight," you said quietly.

A renewed wave of anxiety went through Jessie, her hands clenching into fists.

"Yeah. Same," she said. It was true, even if you were upset for different reasons.

"Can we talk, then?" You asked. Jessie exhaled silently. She didn't want to talk. She just wanted things to be better. To be different. But she didn't want to have the hard conversations that would likely be the end of things.

"Sure," she agreed.

"Can you...," you trailed off momentarily, "tell me what upset you this evening? Because, if I said or did anything offensive or upsetting, I really want to know so I don't do it again."

"You didn't do anything," Jessie told you, already feeling herself start to withdraw despite everything.

"Jess," you implored, some impatience bleeding in. "Please. I know something's wrong. And I-" You paused, eventually exhaling. "Knowing that I've upset or hurt you in some way is driving me crazy. I-I care about you so much. You don't even know. I just want to fix things."

Jessie felt tears started to pool at the corner of her eyes again and she felt her defenses weaken.

"You didn't do anything wrong, baby," she said gently. "I'm just in my head."

You moved from the arm of the couch to the cushions. You leaned forward, resting your weight on your palms that you positioned outside of her legs, close enough to touch.

"You don't need to be," you said. "I want you to feel safe talking to me. Isn't that the point of how we're approaching our relationship? To build things emotionally?"

Jessie ground her teeth together as she fought off impending emotions. Even if she knew what she wanted to say, she wasn't sure she'd be able to speak without her voice trembling. She saw as you watched her quietly before looking away in defeat. Still, your thumb tenderly grazed the side of her leg.

"I don't know what to do," you said, gaze set on the floor. You eventually looked back to her, a pained smile on your face as you looked at her through the dark. "I really love you, Jess." Your voice broke as you said her name.

Jessie lifted her head to look further at you before pushing herself up so she was sitting. You loved her. Or at least you thought you did. Her chest tightened painfully as your words settled in.

"You don't have to say the same," you spoke quickly. "I just- I just want you to know."

She stared at you through the dark. She wanted to reciprocate. So badly. But how could she tell you she loved you when she couldn't find the courage to tell you anything else?

Her thoughts turned dark. Truth was, you didn't truly love her. You legitimately couldn't. You only loved what she presented and time was quickly running out.

The longer she waited the more hurt you looked. She felt so conflicted and eventually just reacted.

"Come here," she said softly as pulled you by the shirt towards her and kissed you deeply. She felt your body hitch with initial hesitation before melting into the kiss. You pulled back briefly, studying her for a second before kissing her again, deeper and more passionately than earlier.

Things escalated quickly. Your touches were hungry and urgent and this time Jessie did nothing to stop you. Soon, you were straddling her on the couch as you made out and your hands wandered along her body.

It wasn't long before a tightening sensation in her pants brought her back to her senses. Her grip on your waist tightened and you moaned into the kiss as you ground your hips into her.

Jessie's eyes flew open in a panic and she pushed you off of her. She tried to be gentle and gradual about it, but there was still an audible thud as you made contact with the arm of the couch.

Jessie watched you, wide-eyed and terrified as you looked back at her with shock that quickly dissolved into hurt. You cast your gaze to the wall, your body stiff, and Jessie could see emotion starting to bubble up.

"Y/N, I-" she started, but her words caught in her throat as you stood up and walked briskly into your bedroom. You threw the door closed behind you, and whether intentional or not, it didn't quite close and was left a few inches ajar.

A completely different kind of anxiety swept through Jessie's body as she rose off the couch and strode towards your door, pausing and staring at the gap between the frame and door. She wanted to push it open, but she remained rooted to the spot.

"Y/N," she called your name softly. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I-"

"Just go away, Jessie." Your voice was congested and strained and left her with little doubt that you were crying. Even then, you didn't sound angry, you sounded dejected and defeated and it hurt Jessie far more.

She let out an exasperated breath, bringing her hand to the door and opening it just a touch as she peered in. You were already under the covers at the far edge of the bed with your back to the door.

"Can we please talk?" Jessie asked, hoping desperately that you could feel how sorry she was.

You sniffled and she saw you curl into yourself under the covers. "No. I'd really rather not right now." Jessie's heart ached and continued racing.

"I-I can understand. But, please let me explain-"

"There's not much to explain," you interrupted. Jessie protested your claim and you cut her off again, trying valiantly to keep your voice steady though it still wavered. "I'm just going to go to sleep, okay?"

Jessie's stomach was in knots as she stared at your figure in the dark. There was so much she wanted to say.

"Please close the door," you pleaded softly.

She opened her mouth to speak, even lifting herself up onto balls of her feet before stopping herself. Defeat swept over her as she saw you wipe at your face. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed quietly. Her stare lingered a few moments longer before she reached up and closed the door.

She walked in a daze back to the couch and sat down heavily and stared blankly forward. This morning, you two were close as ever. Now...

Her shoulders shook as she started to cry. The display of emotions caught her off guard and she sat up pin straight and grit her teeth together harshly. Her lip trembled and she held her breath firmly in her lungs as she tried to regain control.

She dug her fingers painfully into the tops of her thighs and a small whimper escaped her. She'd tried to be so careful about everything, but instead made a royal mess out of everything.

She sniffled as she pushed herself off of the couch. She found herself at the front door, putting on her shoes and jacket. She grasped the doorknob, stilling, hesitating for just a moment before swinging it open and stepping out.

Glancing back, she contemplated texting you or leaving you a note of some kind. Her throat grew tight once more with grief and she closed the door.

Let's be honest. The way she was hurting you, the way she was lying to you for so long, she clearly wasn't ready to be in a relationship. You deserved so much better.

A/N: Folks asked to be tagged @multifandomlesbianic @marvelwomen-simp

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #canwnt x reader #wlw angst

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arcadia-of-pluto · 23 hours

Text

Casually calling them "daddy" LADS

Word count; 1,913

Themes; slightly barely there suggestive content, fluff, established relationship

Warnings; mention of "daddy" ofc, fluff

Notes; So these turned out more fluffy than I originally intended...honestly, thought they'd be more smutty, but I've learnt that it's really difficult for me to write smut. Or at least, smut with little to no context before it all goes down. I might eventually write some smuttier drabbles, but regardless of smut, I hope you enjoy this little thing I wrote!

You saw that there was an old trend about calling your boyfriend “daddy” and videoing their reaction so, obviously, you wanted to give it a try…

Xavier

It's been almost a year since you and Xavier started dating– and it was a wonderful eleven months! He told you everything about himself. What his future with you was like, all of his feelings throughout the centuries, and you listened. You wholeheartedly believed him, because it would be one hell of a lie if it wasn't true…and you didn't think Xavier had the time or energy to come up with a complex lie like that.

But even if you now know, time moves on. There's not much you can do about your future self, so you can't really change the future in that way though…Xavier's here now, in the past, and that's all that matters to you.

Anyway, today was just a normal day as any.

You were sitting at the counter, keeping a close eye on Xavier– who was attempting to follow, yet another, cooking tutorial. The man was desperate to cook a decent meal for you. His heart dead set on making you something edible for your upcoming year anniversary…and while that was cute, you also wanted to mess with him.

You push your cup just out of your reach and make a big show of trying to reach for it, before sighing loudly.

“Daddy, can you pass me my drink please?”

You can hear the clang of a spatula hitting the floor and you watch Xavier’s body comically whip around to face you.

“What?” His head cocks to the side as his wide eyes were set on your face. “Say that again..”

“Hmm? I said ‘Xav, can you pass me my drink, please’.” You copy his head tilt and he quickly shakes his head.

“No, no you didn't.” He takes a few steps toward you before grabbing your hand in-between both of his. “Say it again.”

You couldn't resist his sweet puppy dog eyes, so you hold back a smile as you meet his eyes. “I...called you daddy.”

“Really?” He seems unusually excited. “So are we…?” His gaze lowers to your stomach and you can’t help the giggle that slips from your lips.

Gosh, he was so cute.

“Baby– no, no. We're not pregnant.” You run your fingers through his hair with a smile on your lips. “Are...you disappointed?”

“Mmh..” Xavier hums thoughtfully for a moment before he shakes his head. “No. We can just make it a reality later. No need to rush.”

Zayne

You and Zayne have only been dating for six months, but it felt like much longer. Having known each other since you were little, you both had always been close– well, your definition of close and his were probably different. You always thought of him as a friend while he tried to keep a distance and thought you hated him. But time brought you both back together with him as your primary care physician.

The two of you had been flirting up until his birthday and finally made it official once he blew his candles out on the cake you made for him. It was a sweet time, but that was six months ago.

Now, though, you really want to fluster the man.

He always embarrasses you and makes you feel nervous, but you never get to see him that way. Sure, his ears will turn red and sometimes he won't meet your eyes when you get too intense with him, but you've never seen him absolutely shocked. And you just wanted to see one look of surprise from him.

So, what did you decide to do?

You decided to casually call him "daddy” as a joke.

That should definitely go over well.

Zayne is seated behind his desk at the hospital, sorting through papers as you longue on his sofa. Your eyes continuously glancing toward the windows to make sure the door was shut and the blinds were closed.

“If you keep staring at the door, you just might burn a hole through it.” Zayne says, though he didn't even look up from his paperwork. He was attentive like that and probably already knew you wanted something or you were ready to go home. And he was right.

“When are we going home…daddy?” You ask as you kick your feet in the air behind you. You were on your stomach, resting your cheek against your arms as you watched his expression…which didn't change at all.

"Just give me a few more minutes, angel, and I'll be done.” Zayne pushes his glasses up with his index finger and clicks his pen, jotting down a few notes.

“I–” You puff your cheeks out with a small sigh and decide to keep going with it. “I want to go home now, daddy.”

“Didn't I just tell you to be patient?” Now Zayne finally looks up at you with one of his brows raised. “I'll deal with you when we get home.”

Rafayel

It's been four months since Rafayel asked you out. Four months since you tugged Rafayel down into the bath with you, which set off a chain reaction of a steamy night, followed by him asking you out the next morning; he also complained that you both went out of order, but he wasn’t too upset when you continued where you left off…

Now, though, you moved out of your apartment and to Rafayel's home, ‘Mo Art Studio’ at Whitesand Bay.

It was definitely odd at first, but it was a good change of pace. Always being by the ocean, able to take your morning walks together on the beach and collect seashells. You had a whole collection on your desk at work. He'd always give you the most unique and prettiest shells, saying “only the best for his cutie”.

He was also so easy to fluster.

You immediately knew you had him wrapped around your finger every time his ears would turn red. That same crimson slowly made its way from his ears to his cheeks, all the way to his whole face. So you assumed your little ‘prank’ would also have the same effect.

You were sitting on a beach towel in the sand with an umbrella blocking your eyes from the bright sun. In front of you was Rafayel, painting your visage, with an easel. His hand deftly moves across the canvas as he sketches the outline for his new painting.

Lately, you are the only thing he can paint. Always asking you to stop what you're doing so he can run and get his sketch pad. You could be doing something so normal and mundane, but he'd be struck with the inspiration to record your very image.

As much as you loved it and thought this was very sweet, after almost two weeks of this…You wanted some form of payback.

“Hey, daddy, can we take a break for a second? It’s really hot out here.” You squint your eyes to try and see Rafayel's face, your hand fanning at your body because you, seriously, are hot out here.

“Huh?”

It's like Rafayel is frozen in time, or buffering. He's just blankly staring at you with a confused expression on his face until his pencil drops into the sand. That's when he quickly stands up and makes his way toward you.

“Again.”

Now, it's your turn to be confused.

“Raf, what–”

“Not that, say the other word again.” His ears were red as he crouched down in front of you, a look of determination in his eyes.

“No– you're making it weird!” You put your hands on his shoulders, trying to put some distance between him as your face turns red.

“Please, I really need to hear you say it again! I'm seriously going to die if you don't.” There's your overdramatic fishy.

“Fine, but just this once.” You grumble, turning your head to look away from him. “Daddy…” Though you say it as low as you can and Rafayel groans, tilting his head back.

“Louder.” He rests his forehead against yours. “Come on, cutie. If you don't…I might want to change that to my new nickname.”

Sylus

It's been about…a year? Yes, definitely a year since you and Sylus started dating. Well, you both have differing opinions on when exactly you started dating. Sylus claims it was the moment he laid eyes on you in the N109 Zone, while you claim it was only about six months ago– which is when you and Sylus made a bet.

It was a bet where if he came back safely from his mission, he'd leave you alone. He wouldn't bother you anymore, wouldn't talk to you, contact you, anything of the sort…and you won, but you didn't realize he'd actually do it. So whenever you seeked him out to make sure he was safe, and he ignored you, you realized that maybe you did want him in your life.

This led to you running across the street to him and jumping into his arms like this was a hallmark movie, and you claim this was when you officially started dating Sylus.

But between us, you just agree with Sylus when he says a year, because if you don't, he'll pout for the whole day.

...And today was one of those ‘pouty Sylus’ days.

You went on a mission that was probably way too dangerous, even though you told Sylus you were going to slow down on your Hunter's work. But you couldn't just ignore endangered civilians. If any of them would have died, that would've been too much for your sympathetic heart to handle.

And even if Sylus understands your reasoning, he's still upset that you left without telling him– having woken up to a cold bed without you by his side sent him spiraling into a panic.

So, when you got home, you noticed he was sulking in the kitchen as he made dinner.

“Sy…” You take your shoes off by the door, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you tentatively walk into the kitchen. Standing behind the counter, you sigh, “I'm reeaally sorry...”

“If you're reeaaally sorry, then help me make our dinner.” He says, not looking up at you and that doesn't make you feel any better.

“Okay..” You finally step past the counter and you look around. “So…what do you need?” You were trying to figure out something– anything that could make Sylus feel better when a thought comes to your mind.

Most guys probably like it when their girlfriend calls them daddy…right?

“In the cabinet, top shelf. I need a bottle of garlic powder.”

Okay, you got this.

You take a deep breath and open the cabinet, straining your arm to try and reach the seasoning bottle, but your fingertips barely brush it and knock it over. “Shit…” You swallow back your nervousness before continuing, “Daddy, can you grab it for me?”

The room fills with silence for a moment, but then you hear Sylus chuckle.

“Sure, kitten.”

Your back suddenly feels warm as a firm chest presses against it and Sylus reaches up from behind you to grab the bottle.

“I ask you to do one simple thing and you can't even do that.” Sylus chides, clicking his tongue as he pops the bottle open to pour some into the pan on the stove.

“Da–”

“If you think a few empty words will make me feel better, kitten…you've got to try a lot harder than that.”

I'd like to say, this is definitely one of my better drabbles– one of my favorites, in fact!

I have like...six more ideas for drabbles and then I'll need to come up with some more. Like these new cards and Rafayel's student photoshoot event really had me thinking of how seriously the LADS men would take roleplaying– and that spawned a whole different drabble idea, so you can definitely look forward to that!

I'm trying to come up with new ways to do my drabbles, so that's why I did a little prelude before I started writing for the guys. Please let me know any feedback yall have for me! Especially with the coloured dialogue, I'm not too sure if I like it, but it seems really pretty and probably makes it easier to tell who is talking apart. (I won't use it for my fic though, only the drabbles!)

Anyway, I have a small personal project I'm working on this weekend so I probably won't be able to write any chapters for my 'Divisa' fic, but I'm still going to post chapter nineteen of 'Twist of Fate' and try to write at least two more chapters since I'm only on twenty-three or so.

I hope you all enjoyed these drabbles and I hope yall have a great night/day! 🩷

321 notes · View notes

cheolism · 2 days

Text

OH, AGONY

✰ — teaching assistant & boyfriend!lee jihoon x f!reader ✷ — summary: when you both find out that your boyfriend, lee jihoon, will be the ta for your classic literature class, it is agreed your relationship will take a temporary pause . no public dates, no pda; and, most tragically, no sex. nothing that can give away the truth to your relationship. only, it really is easier said than done. or: four times you and jihoon totally didn't have sex plus one time you did. ✰ — wc is approx. 14.5k ✷ — genre: TA au, secret relationship au, forbidden relationship au, smut ✰ — warnings: spanking, pussy spanking. derogatory language (f receiving), pet names (baby (f receiving), hoonie). rough sex, unprotected sex. masturbation (f&m) and sex toys. penetrative sex. extreme levels of delusion as to what "qualifies" as sex or not; jihoon and reader bully one another. talk pertaining to the greek tragedy oedipus rex (self-blinding is mentioned as it pertains to oedpius but not discussed in detail). ✷ — rating: 18+ ✰ — note: this fic represents two delusional adults. they are both consenting to what is going on. this fic is not an accurate representation of what is and not considered sex. also the word count may be scary, but i promise it is pretty much all smut. this fic is part of @camandemstudios first ever collab, back to school with seventeen. please make sure to give the other works lots of love!

“we have to set up rules,” jihoon announced a week before classes were to start. he closed the zoom tab, which he had preciously been using to talk to the classics professor he was ta-ing for this semester, kicking back from his desk.

“rules,” you said, peeking over the top of your book. it was hotter than hell outside, the sort of heat that suffocated and made you feel as if you were being wrung like a wet towel. inside, however, you had a blanket tucked around your body and socks pulled up to your calves.

jihoon wandered over to the thermostat. he frowned, reaching and dialing it down once again. if he was going to pay for air conditioning, he believed, he was going to be cold in the comfort of his own apartment.

“it’s not fair to other students that you’re dating your ta,” he said.

“if this is literally you breaking up with me –”

“don’t be dramatic,” jihoon chided, crossing the room to you. he picked up the edge of the blanket, slipping under and pressing his toes against your feet. “i didn’t say that. i just mean that we shouldn’t advertise our relationship to everyone.”

you closed your book, keeping your forefinger inside to mark your place. “just keep it a secret then. can’t be hard.”

“we can’t let anyone know,” he enunciated. “for real. the professor doesn’t even know. if he did, he’d reassign me.”

“then we just don’t say anything.”

“you shouldn’t stay the night.” jihoon laid his arm over the back of the couch, inviting you to cuddle into his side without him verbally giving invitation. you abided, shifting to rest your head on his thick bicep. “and no dates.”

you huffed. “jihoon, i don’t know if it’s really that serious.”

he scoffed back at you. black bangs hid his eyes. “they could accuse me of favoritism, accuse you of academic dishonesty. we need to treat this seriously.”

“maybe i should just request to change to a different section.”

“too much work.”

“oh,” you laughed, reaching over and pinching at his side. jihoon flinched, instinctively slapping at your hand. “and pretending we aren’t dating isn’t.”

“that’s why we need rules.” you kicked out the blanket, pulling it from jihoon; he grumbled, snatching it back. “don’t be a hog. anyways. we need rules so we can stick to a strict routine. that way we don’t lapse in judgment or anything.”

“so no sleepovers,” you recited, “no dates. what else? no walking to class? no kissing?”

jihoon leaned his head back against the couch, exposing the length of his pale neck. you let your eyes linger. “sleepovers, dates. no meeting in public unless in a group setting.”

you let out a great sigh, pushing the blanket from you. snatching your bookmark, you stuffed it into the novel you had been reading. “so we’re strangers.”

“yes,” jihoon confirmed. “easy enough.”

you gasped, mouth dropping open. “easy!”

jihoon bit at his lip, and you could tell that he was already regretting his choice of words. but he wouldn’t back down – that wasn’t in his nature. “easy,” he said.

“fine,” you hissed. you left the couch, retrieving your backpack. you brought out your notepad and pen pouch. “no sex, either.”

“what –”

“if it’s so easy,” you retorted sharply, walking back to the couch while ripping out an empty page of your notebook, “then no sex won’t be a problem for you, mr. lee. i mean – it needs to be believable, right? no getting caught.”

jihoon grimaced, moving to a sitting position on the couch. “yeah. believable.”

“we write it down,” you said, taking back your spot next to jihoon. you opened your pen pouch, letting the pens and markers spill out onto the coffee table. “we write it down and shake on it. it’s a contract.”

jihoon hesitated. “this is a little severe, don’t you think?”

you shook your head. “nope. can’t let anyone know, yeah? otherwise i’d be academically dishonest, wouldn’t i?”

jihoon grabbed your paper, creating a bullet point. “i really don’t think this is necessary.”

“but you do,” you shot back. “i mean. you were the one to bring it up all serious-like. no kissing, no sleepovers, no sex. the whole five yards, lee jihoon.”

“but a contract –”

“oh? so you’re wrong?”

jihoon huffed, pressing his lips into a firm line. “fine. no dates, no marks, no pda.”

“and no sex.”

W E E K O N E

your eyes immediately catch onto jihoon as soon as you walk into the classroom, and while you really should’ve guessed that he was going to play dirty – because as hard as he tries to maintain an indifferent air, jihoon is just as weak of a many as any – you didn’t realize he would be playing this dirty.

he’s wearing black trousers that fit to his thighs and ass, cinched tightly at his waist by a thin leather belt. his white dress shirt is loose around his neck, the first button undone. your eyes, unwillingly, smooth over the silver chain that winks out from underneath his shirt, alongside the harsh lines of the white tank-top he wears underneath the dress shirt and you feel, horribly, a strike of want hitting you.

jihoon turns to you. “hello,” he says, voice perfectly neutral. his eyes don’t stray from your face despite the fact you’ve worn his favorite jeans, the ones that cling at your own ass and show off flashes of skin underneath rips strategically placed; rips jihoon has made worse over the months of being together, slipping his fingers underneath the loose threads to touch your skin.

“go ahead and take a seat,” jihoon instructs, gesturing about the room. the desks are all modern despite the discussion taking place in the historic – well – history buildings. the desk shifts underneath you as you try to slide in, bottom of your water bottle clanging against the hard surface, and wheels carting across the marble floor.

you stretch out your legs, staring at jihoon unabashedly. it isn’t a sin for you, the student, to be attracted to the teaching assistant. and so you look him over, watching as he turns this way and that way, trousers showing off the plush of his ass and shirt showing the wide line of his shoulders.

you are jerked from your admiration of your boyfriend-turned-teaching assistant by a large man hurrying to the desk next to you. he’s jihoon’s opposite in almost every way: he’s easily a foot taller, and his skin is a gorgeous dark bronze that seems to draw emphasize to the bulge of his muscles.

the man slides into the desk. it’s comically small for him, his knees hitting the underside of the desk. the desk moves as he situates himself, prompting his backpack to fall over from where he had propped it.

“shit,” he mumbles, reaching down with one long arm, biceps bulging rather nicely, to righten the backpack. “stay up, please.”

rather endearingly, to top it all off, he has a lisp.

he glances at you, eyes apologetic beneath his curly bangs. “sorry. not my day today.”

you huff a laugh. “i don’t know if it’s anyone’s day, let alone week.”

“true,” the man says, grinning. his teeth are white, his canines more pronounced than most people’s. “hey. i’m mingyu.”

you introduce yourself. “are you a classics major, then?”

mingyu wrinkles his nose. “no offense to classics, but i’m doing something interesting.”

“yeah?”

“business.”

you let out a loud laugh, startling not only yourself but the people around you. mingyu grins triumphantly, tongue flicking out to run alongside his teeth. you hide your smile behind your hand, trying to quiet your laughter. jihoon, you notice, is frowning at the two of you.

“so interesting!” you say. “definitely a major filled with the best.”

“the very best,” mingyu agrees.

the two of you continue chatting, conversation flowing naturally. he’s charming, you think, charisma practically radiating off of him. you don’t miss how your boyfriend watches the two of you more often than not, not engaging in conversation with any of the entering students who greet him so he could keep an ear open on your conversation.

jihoon starts class as soon as the electronic clock on the classroom computer switches to three on the dot, the projection cast onto the board.

“first thing’s first,” he says. he leans a hand against the table set at the front of the room, though it, too, is on wheels and skirts a little as he puts weight against it. “my syllabus, you’ll find, is stricter than professor burns’s. if you come in after the clock hits three, you’re tardy; you’ll contribute to all discussions in this class, and if you don’t you’ll forgo any participation points; if you miss three classes in a row, which translates to nearly a month of absences, your grade will automatically fall to a fail and you will have to take not only this discussion over, but professor’s burns’s lecture as well.

“if,” jihoon continues to say, voice a rasp, “you find any of this in contradiction with professor burns’s syllabus, you are more than welcome to email the both of us and address it.”

the class is silent as jihoon grabs a piece of white chalk. naturally, despite the gleaming projectors and furniture on wheels in the building, nearly every classroom is a remnant of the late 19th century: chalkboards; coat hooks; door and window frames made of real wood.

“remember to use proper emailing etiquette when contacting anyone in the college,” jihoon announces. he begins to write on the board, chalk tapping against the black surface as he decorates it with his chicken scratch. “and to address me as mr. lee. there is a pdf uploaded to our discussion course detailing how to address certain faculty members within the college for you to browse and keep.”

jihoon steps back from the blackboard. there he’s written the title of the course, ancient grecian dramas.

he runs a hand through his black hair, pushing back strands. “we’ll begin properly next week, once professor burns assigns the first drama for reading. i recommend printing out the reading and annotating, practicing close reading. that way when you come to discussion we can go over your notes as a group and analyze the text further.

“now. we’ll begin today by doing a writing exercise. i want you to tell me what you think of when you think of ancient greek dramas. this will also be how i take attendance – so make sure to do it.”

you rifle through your bag, pulling out your notebook. next is your pen pouch, though the surface area of the desk is hardly large enough to fit your notebook. pouch, and water bottle.

“you can email it,” jihoon clarifies after a moment of silence. “make sure you label it accordingly.”

hurriedly you pull out your laptop, pushing your pen pouch aside and setting it on top of your notebook. you shift in your seat as your laptop boots back up, and you can’t help but glance up at your teacher’s assistant.

jihoon, being a classics major and your boyfriend, has introduced you to ancient greek plays before. it’s not like you’re completely foreign to the subject; he’s dragged you to more than one play in order to get some assignment credit, notebook on his thigh as he jotted down notes in the dark of the theater.

sometimes he takes to reading to you different passages – especially those that move him or he thinks are particularly ridiculous. he pours over the text religiously, like a priest would the gospel; analyzing every line, drawing meaning from the colors of robes to what isn’t being said at all. he looks at these little black words on white pages, words written thousands of years ago, and is simply transported into another lifetime.

it’s endearing; it’s special.

the first time you had noticed him, jihoon had been surrounded by pages of a poem. later you’d learn it was by some jeffrey guy from the medieval period and was about a group traveling for worship. whatever it was, didn’t matter.

what had mattered was him.

he was disheveled. the white printed-out pages of the poem were scattered along the table in the university library, the uniform black-and-white pages interrupted by annotations written in colors of the rainbow. the highlighters and pens were scattered themselves, abandoned by post-it notes stuck to every page.

he had three empty energy drinks in front of him. the hood of his hoodie was pulled up over his hair, the black fabric matching the dark circles under his eyes that told you he had been at this for far too long.

you had gone and got him a water; brought it back to him. listened to his theories about color, about how he thought it meant something; how this poet had chosen every word so carefully there’s no way that color didn’t mean something.

you, a distinctly not literary fanatic, had not understood; you still don’t.

but his eyes always light up and his voice begins to carry this urgency that betrays his adoration for the art, and you just can’t help but let yourself get caught in his orbit.

so you open up an email and begin to write.

Mr. Lee,

My boyfriend is a Classics Major, so when I think of Ancient Greek Dramas I think of him. He’s shown me quite a few, and we’ve attended more than a handful plays

you shift in your seat, thinking. as you move, however, your arm knocks against your pen pouch and sends it to the floor.

the noise as it hits the floor isn’t as thunderous as it would have been if your water bottle had struck it, but it’s still loud enough for you to wince. it breaks the still of the room, your classmates shifting in their seats and throwing glances at you.

before you could move from your seat, mingyu is. he’s quick to grab your pouch, smiling gently at you as he offers it. his hands are so big they span the length of the pouch, a beautiful golden tan that only seems to boost his natural beauty.

“think you dropped this,” he says in a harsh whisper.

you bite back a laugh, teeth digging into your lower lip as you smile. grabbing the pouch from mingyu, you whisper back a quick thanks.

you glance up towards the front of the room as you settle back into your seat. jihoon is looking right at you, frowning, arms crossed over his chest. his white shirt isn’t fitted, and it struggles against his bulging biceps as he crosses his arms.

for a moment you just look at him, taking in your boyfriend’s form; how the shirt clings to his arms, trousers to his thighs.

there’s a dinging noise of an email landing in an inbox, and then jihoon is moving from the front of the room and around the table to his laptop.

you return to your email.

Mr. Lee,

My boyfriend is a Classics Major, so when I think of Ancient Greek Dramas I think of him. He’s shown me quite a few, and we’ve attended more than a handful plays. A lot of them are different than what I’ve expected. Some of them seem like they came right from Ancient Greece; others are more modern. I have noticed Ancient Greek plays seem to be more twisted than what a modern author may come up with.

Sometimes I don’t understand really what a play is about. It gets all muddled, especially when they don’t change the words for a modern audience. Still, my boyfriend is super sweet and helps me along.

you hesitate for a moment, and then you sign your name. opening a new tab, you pull up a bookmark and add one last finishing touch beside your name.

– °˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖°

you are more exhausted than usual.

it’s as if all of the good vibes and rest you had managed to scrape together over the summer break were eradicated in one day. as soon as you managed to get to jihoon’s apartment you were discarding everything; shoes at the door; backpack next to the couch; bra onto the floor.

his bed was perhaps the most comforting place you knew besides his arms, and so you slunk towards it. you made quick work of your pants, one knee pressing against the mattress as you shook your other leg, jeans flopping to the floor dramatically.

you followed suit on jihoon’s bed.

burrowing into his sheets, you couldn’t help but breathe him in. he was a hot sleeper, and so more likely to sweat during the night. his sheets smell like his sweat, though not the stinky sort he gains from his daily workout. instead, it's the natural musk of him that permeates your nose, deep and distinctly lee jihoon.

you allow yourself to drift. nothing exists besides jihoon’s bed and you.

then the door to his apartment is opening and closing, a voice with a slight rasp calling out to you.

“here!” you call back, voice slightly muffled by the sheets. you press your face against them again, eyes fluttering shut.

jihoon slowly makes his way across the apartment. he mutters something about your discarded clothes and backpack, but you pay it no mind. jihoon pauses when he enters his room, and you can practically feel his eyes on you; roaming the bare expanse of your back, the supple flesh of your thighs.

“good day?” you kick out a leg, wiggling your toes.

he makes a humming noise, and then he’s stepping further into the room.

“long one,” he says. “forgot how fucking awkward everyone is on the first day.”

you shift, moving your face so you could watch him. jihoon crosses to his dresser, fingers messing with the cuffs of his white dress shirt. you can see the moment he gets the button, the fabric sagging around his wrists.

oh.

sitting up on the bed, you watch as he begins to work on his other cuff. he peers out the window, chatting as he does.

“professor burns is the usual,” jihoon announces. “hasn’t changed in the – what? five years i’ve been here? i swear she rambles like no one’s business. if it wasn’t my job to babysit the students and not her, i’d say something – but fuck, you know?”

once he’s undone the buttons on the cuffs of both of his sleeves, jihoon begins to work on the buttons falling down the middle of the shirt. his fingers are deft and quick as he presses them through their holes.

you can’t help but think of his fingers on you. how nimble and skillful they are against your skin; how he dances them up and down your flesh as he presses kisses against your skin; how they seem to know just where to go and just what to do against your body, rubbing at your nipples and pinching at the undersides of your tits to get reactions from you.

because fuck, jihoon’s fingers –

sometimes even watching him write you can’t help but get horny. how his fingers grip his pen, how he spins it around his fingers absentmindedly. how they alleviate pressure on the pen as he writes and stops. watching him write, sometimes you can’t help but think about his fingers at your clip, a harsh presence as they rub down on you once moment and gentle the next, fingers skimming your clit as they massage the gummy area around it.

watching his clever fingers as they make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, you can’t help but yearn. your eyes see nothing but his fingers; ears hear nothing of his conversation. it’s just you and jihoon’s hands and the way your cunt clenches, pussy leaking into your panties.

then jihoon’s pulling off his dress shirt, and he’s wearing a tank top underneath.

you want to scream.

not to say jihoon doesn’t look good in a tank top. because he does. fuck, he does. you always find yourself admiring jihoon’s shoulders and arms when he’s in a tank top no matter what sort of mood you’re in.

(one instance in particular you had been full of energy, ranting about a coworker who didn’t know what she was doing and had been kept around for far too long. and then you had looked up at jihoon and let your eyes selfishly roam over the broadness of his back, the curves of his bulging arms as he cut up meat. all sense had abandoned you in that moment, and before you knew it you were grabbing at his shirt and pulling him to you, tongue running along his skin.

not exactly your proudest moment, but.)

maybe the combination of his trousers and tank top shouldn’t be as sexy as they are, you think hysterically. his tank top his tucked into his pants, and, torturously, his fingers reach down to pull the hem free. the hem of his tank top settles around his hips, showing off just a sliver of skin.

jihoon raises a hand, running his fingers through his black hair as he continues to talk about something-or-other.

and his white tank top rises up his stomach.

you can see the hairs that lead from his belly button down, down, down. you can see the pale expanse of skin that you know is soft and smooth to the touch. you can imagine your hands pressing against his skin and sliding underneath his trousers; can imagine the restrictiveness of his trousers as you tuck your hands into his underwear, fingertips skimming alongside the base of his cock.

you’ve never pretended to innocent when it came to lee jihoon; never pretended your mind didn’t run wild with salacious thoughts.

and you weren’t going to pretend now, because –

because in your mind your hands were rubbing at the base of his cock, mouth at his collar and licking along his collarbones. he was moaning in you ear, soft and breathy, and you were moving down onto your knees, your own fingers unbuttoning his trousers.

jihoon reaches down, fingers swiftly pushing off his socks. “hey, by the way, i sent you an email response to your attendance discussion for today.”

you don’t speak, eyes roaming over the expanse of his back, still covered by fabric, like a starving man before a feast.

jihoon peeks at you. “it was sweet.”

“yeah?”

he doesn’t say anything else. jihoon’s eyebrows raise, silently prompting you.

you let out a loud, horrible groan that tears at your throat. the insides of your thighs are warm as you move across the bed to grab your discarded phone, the wet fabric of your panties catching against your skin, cold and shocking.

jihoon begins to chatter once more as you swipe on the email notification. he’s quiet in public but you can’t help but treasure how talkative he becomes afterwards; how all the little snide comments he’s kept to himself are let loose.

you look at the email.

you furrow your brows. you look over it again.

I am glad to see at least one of the students in our discussion section will not be a complete novice to Greek theater. I hope after this semester you will be able to engage with your boyfriend in a more informed matter when it comes to his passions.

However, despite how sweet your email was, I do have to remind you to please stick to proper email etiquette. Your use of – °˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖° is highly unprofessional, and I urge you to not include such things when emailing any staff or faculty or teaching assistants. For this misconduct, you will be deducted a point from your discussion grade for today. Please keep this in mind for the future.

Well wishes,

Mr. Lee

your jaw drops open.

“you fucking deducted me for my emoticon?!”

“we agreed to be strangers,” jihoon reminds you. he removes his pants. you can’t even find it within yourself to be horny. the warmth of your cunt is overtaken by the red-hot anger that licks through your veins. “and it’s inappropriate to send your ta heart and sparkle emoticons.”

“it’s a fucking – oh my god,” you reach towards the top of the bed, fingers grabbing the corner of his pillow. you tug it to you. “it’s not that serious.”

jihoon steps out of his pants. his thighs are thick and pale, and when he turns towards his closest you can see how snug his black underwear is against the supple curve of his ass. fleetingly, because you are angry at his audacity, you allow your eyes to follow the curve of his asschecks and how the band of his underwear rests low on his hips.

“teaching assistants and students aren’t to have any sexual relations,” jihoon recites. “it’s contract. if something happens, your little not-that-serious emoticon is evidence.”

you grab the pillow fully, swinging it around your body and at jihoon. it hits him in the middle. he lets out a soft noise of surprise. “you’re such an ass.”

jihoon shrugs. “we signed a contract, baby.”

he tucks his thumbs underneath the waistband of his underwear, and then he’s pulling them down his legs. you don’t even have it in you to look away. you marvel at his naked lower half. his cock, thick and flaccid, hanging between his thighs. the dusky color of it; the dark hairs that travel from underneath the hem of his tank top to the base of his cock.

jihoon pulls on a pair of grey joggers, concealing his cock and thighs from your eyes. “listen. i don’t want to be the bad guy. but we really can’t be risking anything.”

his cock is covered and he’s talking about something entirely different, but you’re still thinking about his dick. you’re still thinking about his dick as he walks from the bedroom, bare feet softly hitting the hardwood floors.

you trail two of your fingers along your bare thigh. his dick, flaccid and thick in your hands. it feels like it’s been forever since you’ve had your hands or mouth or fucking cunt around his dick; forever since you last pressed your thumb against the slit of his cockhead, since his raspy, gentle groans were being pressed into your skin.

you skim your nails along the soft insides of your thighs.

it’s not like you’re sexually depraved. you and jihoon just had sex the other day. but there’s something about this, the situation, being strangers, that makes you feel as if you’re starving.

your fingers move to your panties. you let your nails delicately linger alongside the lips of your cunt through the fabric, little sparks – little pieces of glitter, almost – making your toes curl.

fuck lee jihoon, you think, and then you’re sliding your forefinger down between your pussy lips. you don’t move the fabric of your panties. leaning back against his bed, you let your finger drag down and push up, your wetness soaking your panties.

his bed envelopes you as you lean back. tilting your hips up and bracing your feet against the mattress, you add another finger to the stimulation of your pussy. you let your fingers grow rougher, let them dig in slightly to the sensitive area around your clit.

your fingers find your hole, stretching the fabric of your panties to reach in.

“fuck.”

your eyes flutter open – when did they shut? jihoon is standing at the entrance to his room. his long hair is pushed back from his face by a black headband. in one hand he holds a metal water bottle.

his eyes are wide, his sweet lips parted as he stares at that spot between your thighs.

jihoon shuffles further into the room, placing his water bottle on top of his set of drawers. you’ve begun absentmindedly petting your pussy, once again dragging your fingers over your clit lazily.

jihoon presses his knees against the foot of his mattress.

you hum, twisting your wrist. you press your thumb against the side of your clit, your fingers dipping once more to your hole. this morning you had chosen to wear a pair of pink panties. you don’t regret it now. you’re so soaking wet that you know jihoon can see the shape of your cunt through the fabric.

your fingers begin to contract. you massage your pussy through the fabric leisurely, rhythmically. you drag your thumb down from your clit to meet your fingers, press your fingers down to barely sink into your hole.

jihoon lets out a deep noise. he braces his hands against the mattress, makes a motion to crawl towards you.

“no,” you say, words slightly slurred. “no. one point, remember?”

jihoon’s brow furrows.

you reach down with your other hand, legs spreading wider. with your other hand you pull at the flesh of your pussy lips, offering your fingers more space to work with. you shift your hand, making sure to keep one lip in place. your other hand – the one with soaking fingertips – strokes up and down, up and down, up and down.

jihoon’s hand settles on your ankle. you kick out. “no sex, yeah?”

jihoon lets out a strangled noise you’ve never heard from him.

you let your eyes fall shut. you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. letting out a soft breath, your fingers begin to glide up and down your cunt more quickly.

you begin to focus on your clit more. your hand that was holding your cunt lips moves up, focusing on baring the area around your clit. with your other hand you begin to stimulate the direct areas on either side of your clit. you are still working through your panties, but you’re so wet that the friction is almost nonexistent; your fingers just slide, massaging into the flesh.

you begin to set a rhythm. you rock your forefinger and middle finger against the sensitive area around your clit. you rock once; twice; then you’re dipping your fingers down the length of your cunt, down to your hole; you drag them back up, and begin your elaborate play once more.

it’s somewhat treacherous. it would be easier if it was jihoon. you would be able to fully relax back into the bed, just have to lay there and take it.

but: no sex.

so you slowly build up a climax, toes curling and chest arching up. it’s not sudden, not unexpected. it’s a slow climax that has your cunt tingling, head dropping back against the pillow.

you continue to slip your fingers against your clit, dragging out your climax, continuing through it.

eventually you come back to yourself.

your wrist hurts; your fingers are cramping. discomfort takes over you more than lust, and so you relax your body back into the bed, hands moving from your pussy.

and you look at jihoon.

your boyfriend drags his gaze up from your pussy to your face. one of his hands is wrapped around his cock. he hasn’t taken it out of his joggers, just as you hadn’t taken off your drenched panties. you can see the thick outline of it through the grey fabric. the dusky head of it rises from the waistband of his pants.

his hand disappears into his pants. you can see his knuckles as he drags his hand down the length of his cock. you pay special attention as his hand reappears, thumb bullying the fat head of his dick.

you hum, stretching your arms above your head. you extend one of your legs, the other leisurely arching against the mattress.

you let your hands wander along your chest. you aren’t doing it to stimulate yourself but to draw jihoon’s attention. to help him along, you suppose.

his eyes follow the trailing of your fingers. one of your hands cradles a tit, the thumb of your other pinching a nipple against your forefinger.

eventually jihoon lets out a groan, dropping his head. short spurts of cum pulses from his cock, soaking his hand. jihoon continues to fuck his fist through it, hissing and letting out breath moans.

you feel sedated; satisfied. so does he. jihoon crawls up the length of the bed to plop next to you. he doesn’t cuddle against you. he just lays his body next to you, thick muscle of his arm against yours.

“no sex,” he breathes out.

“no sex.”

W E E K F I V E

you are going to murder your teaching assistant.

the halls of the history building are nearly vacant save for the lone straggler. lee jihoon has his office hours late enough in the day to where most classes are over. most everyone’s day is over.

but you are far from being done.

the ta offices are tucked back with the professor offices, closed off behind a heavy wood door that matches the old style of the rest of the building. you get to the door a few minutes before his office hours officially start, glaring down at the screenshot on your phone.

While your writing response over Medea is sufficient, I am loath to remind you to use proper citations in the responses. Otherwise it will be considered plagiarism. As a warning, your letter grade for this assignment will fall a whole grade.

again: you were going to murder him.

why couldn’t he just let you off with a warning? why did he immediately jump to taking your grade for the assignment down? he was being completely unfair and you weren’t going to stand for it.

the clock on your phone switched to a minute closer to his office hours.

still five minutes away.

whatever.

you reach out for the door knob, twisting the cold metal in your hand. the door is heavy to open, but you jam your shoulder against it and swing it open.

the teaching assistant office is a room with three desks pressed against the wall on each side. there’s hard, uncomfortable chairs; two sockets in the entire room.

and lee jihoon, sitting in one of the chairs with his cock in his hand.

immediately your boyfriend flinches, eyes wide as he looks towards you. once jihoon sees it is, in fact, you and not some poor student walking in to request help.

then, like you weren’t even there, jihoon turns away and begins fucking into his hand once more.

you hurry through the door, shoving it shut behind you and pushing in the lock.

all the while you don’t look away from jihoon.

his teeth sink into his lower lip, and his head tips back to reveal the long column of his pale throat. his black bangs fall around his face, not obscuring a single centimeter.

jihoon’s hand works quickly, furiously, over his dick. precum drenches the head. when he drags his hand down he hisses, face wincing.

you move across the room, shrugging your backpack onto the ground.

the assignment and grade having left your mind entirely, you kneel before jihoon. he peers down at you, eyebrows raised wearily. “no sex,” he reminds you.

“no sex,” you agree.

you raise your hand to your face. it’s the easiest thing to spit into your palm, to replace jihoon’s hand with your own. as soon as you squeeze around his dick jihoon lets out a low, raspy noise.

his cock is thick and perfect in your hand, the heavy weight of it tempting. you want it in your mouth; want him to be fucking his cock down your throat.

instead you let him fuck your hand. you move your hand down. the slide is slightly rough, your spit and his precum not quite enough. jihoon likes it, though; you know he does. his breath is harsh and labored, his eyes squeezed shut.

you twist your wrist as you move your hand towards the head of his cock. you press your thumb into the slit of his dock.

“gonna cum,” he warns you.

then you think back to your letter grade.

meanly, perhaps even cruelly, you drop your hand to the base of his cock and squeeze, cutting off his orgasm. jihoon lets out a startled, irritated noise.

“my assignment.”

“fuck,” he grumbles, one of his hands raising to push back his bangs. “are you serious?”

“let me off with a warning,” you say. you keep one hand around the base of his dick, tight and trapping. your other hand goes to his balls. you hold them, thumb gently swiping over the flesh.

jihoon’s breath shutters in his throat.

“a warning,” you demand.

“fuck,” he says again. “fine. a warning.”

triumphant, you let a large smile take over your face. you begin to move your hand once again.

W E E K N I N E

“now that you’ve finished properly with oedipus rex,” jihoon begins, rounding the table at the front of the classroom, “let’s get some opinions. raise your hand if you enjoyed the play.”

more hands than not raise around the room, including mingyu’s. you shoot him a betrayed look. the past nine class weeks the two of you had been close, sitting next to one another during lecture and discussion. you traded conversation and thoughts more often than not, using one another to bounce ideas and theories.

and for him to have enjoyed the play?

jihoon moves to lean against the desk. he crosses his arms over his chest. this time he’s wearing all black. it seems to lengthen his figure, stretch him out, as well as broaden the line of his shoulders.

he looks good.

“let’s get some opinions on people who didn’t like the play.” immediately his eyes are on you, calling out your name. “you didn’t enjoy the play.”

traitor.

you shift in your seat. “uh. no, not really.”

“why?”

you were going to suffocate him in his sleep.

“it’s rather –” you break off, searching for words. you weren’t the literary student; he was. “i don’t understand him, i guess.”

jihoon tilts his head. “him? sophocles? or oedipus?”

“oedipus,” you clarify.

“can you explain a little further? what exactly don’t you understand?”

you bite down on your tongue for a moment, trying to gather yourself. the classroom is silent as you wait, unintentionally putting pressure on your shoulders as you realize they were all waiting for you to speak up.

“he – oedipus – he’s sort of stupid, isn’t he?” someone chokes behind you. you ignore them, looking at jihoon. despite him putting you on the spot like an asshole, he’s still your boyfriend. his face isn’t harsh, isn’t judging as he watches you struggle for words. for a moment he isn’t your ta – he’s your boyfriend. he’s your boyfriend and you’re having a plain, casual discussion. “i mean. he knows the prophecy. but he just does whatever he wants anyways? he’s just – he’s got no common sense.”

jihoon hums, tapping his fingers along his forearms. “so his arrogance has made him entirely unlikable to you. are there any redeeming treats, do you think?”

you shake your head. “it makes him deserve his ending, i think. he thought he was above it all.”

jihoon nods. “i see. remember that argument for your paper. that’s a big question that needs answered: does oedipus deserve his ending? you could analyze that further and get a pretty solid base for your essay.”

he begins to question other students about whether they liked the story or not, leaving you alone. the remainder of class flows as such, ending with jihoon gently urging everyone to write down their thoughts to revisit for the essay.

you gather your things and put them into your backpack. mingyu loiters next to you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark jeans.

“what’re you doing after this?” he reaches down and grabs your backpack after you’ve zipped it up, slinging it onto his shoulder. “wanna hit the library? we could bounce some more ideas around.”

smiling, you begin to agree.

jihoon calls your name, having gathered his own things and lodging his foot in the heavy wooden door, keeping it ajar. “do you mind coming with me to the office for a minute or two? i want to talk about what you’ve said during class.”

you swallow back a sigh, throwing jihoon a firm-lipped smile. mingyu swings your backpack back off his shoulder, handing it to you. “good luck.”

you make a face at him. mingyu doesn’t know the true nature of the relationship between you and jihoon, but he does know that you’ve visited jihoon during office hours more than once. not a week has gone by without you setting foot into the little ta office, setting your printed-out versions of whatever classic the class was working on.

“print every story out,” jihoon had advised, voice carrying that air of superiority he always seemed to gain when the two of you were sat in the dark office. “mark it up. it’ll help you pay close attention to every line.”

jihoon leads you to the ta office, weaving through the throngs of students making their way through the marble halls. you sort of want to reach out and grab onto his shirt, just to ensure he stays visible. but you don’t.

another ta is in the office, steadily working away at their own homework. she throws a smile at the two of you as you enter. “hey, jihoon.”

“hey.” he crosses into the room, setting his laptop in front of the chair that he had, only a few weeks ago, received a rather satisfactory hand-job from you in. “your office hours are over, aren’t they?”

the other ta nods. “yep. just working now. never seems to end.”

jihoon settles into the wooden chair, flipping up the screen to his laptop. he had to change it from the selfie the two of you had taken during a hike, matching dandelion flowers tucked into your ears. now a mountain range greets him. “we’re gonna be discussing oedipus rex.”

“won’t be a bother to me!”

you push over a chair close to jihoon, the feet of it scraping against the floor.

“pull out your notes,” jihoon says. he pulls up his own version of the play on his computer; they’re scans of his own copy, scribbles and highlighted passages littering every single page. “we’ll go over what exactly prompted you to think this way about oedipus. it’ll help you get a real solid foundation for the essay.

“so,” he says once you have your notes spread out. “oedipus is a flawed character. there’s no doubt about it. the stage directions themselves reveal as much.”

as he talks, raspy voice droning on and words blending together in your mind, jihoon’s foot begins to slide across the floor. you can’t help but look at it, watch it. his black leather shoe moves from in front of him, slowly, silently, gliding across the floor to nudge against your own shoe.

“he does whatever he wants, that’s what you said?”

you nod.

“during discussion you mentioned that he knew the prophecy and ignored it,” jihoon says. his foot now fully rests against yours. it’s just one point of contact, and yet it seems to electrify you; warm you up. you can’t help but focus on it, like a cat watching a bird through the window.

“but he doesn’t,” jihoon says. “he thoroughly believes his parents to be the king and queen of corinth. according to oedipus, and forgetting the context we ourselves know, he has escaped his fate.”

his words fade out. jihoon’s hands settle on his keyboard, a single finger absentmindedly tapping at a key. it’s not hard enough to do anything. it’s just a simple tap, a fumbling gesture.

his shoe shifts. he presses his foot against yours from toe to heel.

the other ta in the room begins to collect her things. you listen to her as she moves about, closing her laptop and shuffling papers.

jihoon shifts in his chair. his knees spread out. his trousers strain, just slightly, against his thick thighs. the barest sliver of pale ankle slips out from beneath his trousers, his black socks hidden beneath the leather lip of his shoes.

the ta opens the door; closes it behind her.

“his character is one the citizens of greece would have identified with – at least the ones in athens,” jihoon says, and then he’s turning his face towards you. feeling rather caught, you meet his eyes. “so why do you think he deserves his ending?”

you furrow your brows. you’ve gone over this. “because he actively chooses it through his arrogance. he ignores the prophecy.”

jihoon sighs, lips pursing together. “you haven’t paid attention to a single word i’ve said.”

your mouth falls open a little. “i have!”

“haven’t,” he corrects.

jihoon stands from the chair. you miss being able to see the skin of his ankle. he crosses the room, hand falling to the door knob. he locks it. “i think we need to work on your attention span, don’t you?”

your mouth goes dry. he begins to unbutton the cuffs of his black shirt as he moves back across the room. he pushes up his sleeves, shoving off his thick forearms. “jihoon?”

jihoon sits back in his wooden chair, legs automatically spreading out. one of his hands rests on the armrest of the chair, while he set his elbow on the other, using it to prop up his head. jihoon raises his brows at you. “well?”

“what?”

he sighs, as if burdened. “take off your pants and underwear.”

you snap your head towards the door. after verifying no one had magically walked through, you look back at jihoon, hissing his name. “what are you going on about?”

“we need to work on your memory,” he explains matter-of-factly, voice taking on that arrogant lilt he so often gets when in this room. jihoon likes this, you think; likes being in a position of power over you. likes being able to boss you around; able to tell you what to do.

with one last glance at the door, you stand from your wooden chair. jihoon watches unabashedly as you work your pants down over your ass. you leave both your jeans and underwear on the hard floor of the office.

jihoon pats his thigh wordlessly.

you feel heat rush towards your cheeks. you’ve sat on his thighs before, have ridden them before. but it felt so fucking different to be lowering yourself onto the thick muscle in a university office, your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, the backs of your hands lightly brushing against the wood of his chair.

you don’t do anything for a moment other than just sit on his thigh. the fabric of his pants is like silk against your skin, and you can’t help but slowly, hesitantly, rock your hips down onto him.

jihoon’s hands go to your hips. he tilts his head back, the curls framing his temples brushing against the corners of his eyes.

“now,” he says, “you think oedipus ignores his prophecy.”

you look down at your boyfriend, pouting at him. “you’re punishing me because i have a different opinion than you? about some old play?”

jihoon presses his lips together. then his hand is coming down sharply on your outer thigh, the sound acutely piercing your ears and reverberating in your head. he rubs roughly at the skin after, thumb swiping against the patch of skin as it turns violent with anger from his slap.

“because you’re ignoring the text,” jihoon says. his hand slides from your thigh around to your ass. his fingers dig into your asscheek, contemplating the weight of it. “it’d be one thing if you had actual evidence that wasn’t in conflict with what sophocles was telling us.”

“if you’re trying to get me wet,” you say, thumbs tapping against his shoulders, “i’m not sure this is the way to go.”

jihoon moves the hand that was on your ass back to your hips. he squeezes the flesh beneath his hands, and then he’s slowly leading you into a rocking motion. it’s not much, but there’s enough connection between your cunt and his thigh to have a gentle swell of lust licking at your pussy.

“don’t be smart,” he says.

“you act smart all the time,” you snap back. you keep rocking your hips. “why can’t i?”

he scoffs a little, nails slightly digging into your skin. instead of any pain, they send a little spark of heat through you. “i’ve got degrees in this,” he explains. “i’m literally allowed to talk about this.”

“now,” he says, “oedipus never ignores his fate. he says as much. he believes polybus and merope to be his parents. when he becomes doubtful, he confronts them: ‘. . . i went to mother and father, questioned them closely . . . so as for my parents i was satisfied . . .’”

for a moment you’re speechless. and then you let out a loud laugh despite yourself. “you little fucking nerd, reciting oedipus rex to your girlfriend while she’s rubbing herself on her thigh.”

jihoon’s jaw tightens. he moves, hands on your hips pushing you up and off of him. once you’re standing, he joins you. as soon as jihoon is on his feet he’s pushing you around, moving so your bare ass is against his front. then he pushes further, pressing your body against the table in front of you. the edge of your table reaches your upper thigh, and so it’s easy for jihoon to place his hand against the middle of your back and press you until your front is firmly against the surface of the table.

as soon as your chin is touching the cold table, jihoon is bringing his hand down sharply against your ass. you can’t help but let out a startled shout, body jerking from underneath him.

“be good,” he murmurs, hand now gentle as he rubs at your skin in apology. “listen to your ta. trying to help, baby.”

“you’re being mean,” you say, toes curling against the frigid office floor as his hand travels to rest against the curve of your ass.

“wouldn’t have to be if you’d be good,” he says. jihoon moves his hand down, the tip of his forefinger gliding against the area where your ass and thigh meet. “you gonna be good for me?”

you shift, moving one of your arms so you can rest your face against it. forehead pressing against your forearm, you nod.

“good. now oedipus believed polybus and merope to be his true parents. he was still desperate to avoid the prophecy, so he abandoned his princely title and corinth. he wanted to be free of it, baby.”

his fingers tip inwards. your entire body tenses as his fingertips press alongside your folds. he doesn’t do anything further; doesn’t insert them. instead he just keeps them there, absentmindedly shifting his hand.

“he is arrogant,” jihoon absconds, allowing you a single point. “we see that in the beginning. ‘. . . the world knows my fame: i am oedipus.’”

jihoon waits for a moment after quoting the play. when you don’t do anything other than let out a shaky breath, he rewards you. jihoon slowly moves his fingers against your cunt. he trails his fingers up and down your length. he maps out the full expanse of your pussy. his fingers slide up over your hole, which was now leaking and clenching properly. he brushes his digits over your clit almost clinically, giving it no more attention than the rest of you.

“but he doesn’t ignore the prophecy. he believes he’s foiled it until he forces the shepherd to tell his story. he refuses to stop; refuses to listen to reason. he’s arrogant, yes, and hurtles straight towards the horrid truth of his parentage and marriage without a second thought.”

jihoon slowly, tortuously, slips a single finger into your cunt. his finger isn’t so thick to cause any discomfort. instead your pussy welcomes it, clenching around the digit. you can’t help but bare down on his finger, hips searching for more.

later you’ll remember to be mortified by the fact your boyfriend got you wet while talking about sophocles.

but now you press your eyes shut, fingers lightly scraping against the surface of the desk.

jihoon pushes his finger all the way inside of your pussy. you can feel it when it’s fully in, his knuckles scraping against your flesh.

you cart your hips back, trying to get his finger to graze that special spongey place.

“be good,” jihoon says, and then he’s retracting his finger from your cunt entirely.

you let out a small gasp, brow furrowing. you turn your head to peer back at him. “hoonie….”

jihoon laughs at you, and then he’s lowering himself to press his chest along the line of your back. jihoon presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, one of his hands still holding tight to your hips. “you’re so cute when i’m fucking you,” he says, mouth moving against your cheek as he speaks. “you always get so cute. what is this?”

you pout at him. jihoon presses another kiss to your cheek, and then he’s standing.

this time jihoon slides in two fingers. you frown, insistently pressing your forehead against your forearm as the stretch of his fingers slightly burns. it’s not unpleasant, of course. just a gentle burn that signals the walls of your pussy stretching to accommodate him.

“there,” he says, satisfied. “now. where was i?”

he’s silent. you realize he’s waiting for you to speak, to prove you were listening.

you let out a strangled groan, trying to think back. he had a single finger inside of you and it wasn’t enough. you try to think. you try to think of a single word to say that isn’t fuck or more; try to think despite the way jihoon is slowly angling his fingers towards your front, pressing them up.

you can’t help but press your thighs together in anticipation.

jihoon clicks his tongue, and then he’s pulling his fingers out. you let out a whine, trying to push yourself away from the desk.

both of his hands go to your shoulders, keeping you firmly against the surface. “stay still,” he warns you. “i know you have a listening problem but i didn’t think it was this bad.”

there’s a rustle of clothing behind you. “don’t look,” jihoon says. “keep your face against the table.”

you can’t think of a reply, can’t think of anything to do other than what he says. you wonder if you should feel ashamed of how easily you become compliant for him.

“oedipus doesn’t ignore the prophecy,” jihoon restates, and then he’s pressing his front against your ass. he’s taken off his pants and is just in his underwear. you can feel the shape of his thick cock against your ass, can feel it’s hard length along you. “he just believes polybus and merope when they say they are his true parents. there’s no harm in that. anyone would want to believe it when the people who raise them say they are their true parents.”

jihoon rocks his hips against you. his hands are holding your hips still as he, essentially, humps against your ass.

“so in that regard your argument has a fallacy,” jihoon announces.

a fallacy?

you want to say something biting about how he’s able to even think about fallacies and arguments when he’s humping your ass, but then jihoon is returning two of his fingers to your pussy and you elect to keep silent.

“he is arrogant, though,” jihoon says. he pushes two of his fingertips into your hole. you clench hungrily around them as if your pussy was trying to suck them in. you wonder if you’ve always been so – so whorish for him, or if it was a recent development from not having been properly fucked in nine weeks.

“his pride is something that transcends time,” jihoon carries on. he doesn’t press his fingers any deeper inside of you. he rests the tip of his ring finger just barely against your clit. he doesn’t move it either; just rests it there, taunting.

“everyone can think of a political leader who is too arrogant for their own good,” jihoon says. “it’s a tale as old as time. sophocles set the precedent with this story. a king on top of the world who listens to no one, only to be brought down to his knees by fate.”

jihoon begins to slide his fingers in. he does it leisurely, slowly, as if he has all the time in the world.

“the evolution of his character is a fascinating one,” jihoon says, his ring finger leaving its place to instead rest against your hole. he doesn’t slide it in. you want to buck your hips back and force it inside. “arrogance to being humbled in every sense of the word. he is only wise until he can no longer see; only sees the truth once he is blinded

“do you remember,” jihoon says, “what he says after he blinds himself?”

you shake your head against your arm. his two fingers are nearly settled entirely inside of your pussy. you want them so deep inside of you that you can feel them in your throat.

involuntarily you clench around his digits.

jihoon clicks his tongue. his fingers stop moving in you. “what did i say? be good. none of this shit.”

you let out a little whine, your free hand curling into a fist. “sorry,” you say, unable to keep your voice from pitching up in desperation. “i’m sorry, hoonie.”

“say you won’t move,” jihoon instructs, voice seemingly detached. “say you’ll be a good girl for me and won’t move.”

your lower lip wobbles. you feel somewhat humiliated like this: your front pressing against the surface of a ta desk, shirt rucked up along your stomach and bare toes curling against the marble floors of the university history building. your boyfriend pressing all up against you, fingers stuffed into your cunt, telling you what to do as if you were some pathetic whore, desperate for a cock inside.

but, because you are exactly that, you repeat his words, feeling wetness trickle from your pussy. “i’ll be good,” you whimper out. “i won’t move. i’ll be a good girl.”

jihoon lets out a quiet, nearly-silent huff of laughter. he retracts his fingers from your pussy, and immediately you’re feeling panic strike you.

“be patient,” he chides you as you begin to press back against him. three of jihoon’s press against your hole. “be a good girl.”

jihoon pushes his three fingers into your pussy. you let out a high keening noise like a wounded animal, eyes squeezing shut and cunt eagerly drinking his fingers up. they’re nothing like his dick, aren’t as thick or delicious, but they’re something.

the stretch burns and you wiggle absentmindedly, relishing in it. the burn is acute and hot and you yearn to press into it, to take more and more and more.

“good,” he says once all three of his fingers are stuffed inside of you. “you look pretty like this, baby. you know that?”

you whine. you don’t move.

jihoon’s three fingers press up, and when they bump against your bundle of nerves you can’t help but wiggle back, searching.

“do you remember?” he repeats. “what’s the first thing oedipus says after he’s blinded?”

you shake your head. you don’t know how he expects you to think about anything. you feel as if you’ve been strung along, as if he’s been tugging at a chain and you’ve been stumbling behind him.

“‘oh,” jihoon quotes, and then he’s lowering himself to press against you. his mouth it against your ear, his fingers shifting within your pussy due to his change of position. when he speaks again you can hear his voice as clear as day despite how he murmurs, and it’s as if he’s wrapped entirely around you; as if he’s consumed you. “‘oh, the agony! i am agony.’”

jihoon presses his fingers back into you so the tips of them were pressing against your pleasure spot once more.

“he’s felt true agony now,” jihoon explains. he keeps his fingers still now. “he’s an icarus fallen to the earth. his wings of wax have melted. he’s a king with his word left in crumbles; with his queen dead and children made of sin. he’s nothing.”

jihoon’s nose presses against the shell of your ear. “his arrogance was his destruction. can you tell me more about it?”

you open your mouth to speak. you can’t. and even if you could, it isn’t as if your brain is working. there’s nothing inside of your mind. the lust, the desire, that takes over your body is so big it swallows up everything else and renders you dumb.

jihoon huffs out a laugh, mean. “fine. at least do this to prove you’ve listened to me: tell me the first thing oedipus says after becoming blind.”

you feel as if he’s surrounding you. you can feel jihoon’s weight along your back, can feel his fingers inside of your cunt, stretching you out. you feel so keyed up, so ready for something. not something – him. you want jihoon. you want him carnally. you want his dick stuffed inside of your pussy. you want his mouth on your neck; want his hands on your tits. you want him pressing your face into the desk and drilling into your pussy.

you open your mouth. an embarrassing noise comes out.

“come on,” jihoon says. “you can do it.”

“‘oh,’” you breathe out, trying to remember the exact words. “oh, agony! i’m — i’m agony!”

jihoon must judge your vague quotation as good enough. he moves off of your back, and you can’t help but whine, wanting his weight settled against you once more.

his hand shifts inside of you.

he slides his fingers out. you can feel your cunt resisting the slide, pussy clenching down on his fingers.

“hoonie,” you beg.

“be good,” he chides you. “remember. no sex.”

and then jihoon is thrusting his fingers so forcefully into your pussy that you can feel the sting as his knuckles hit your ass. the sharp noise of skin hitting skin rings out. you can barely process it before he’s withdrawing his fingers and fucking them back in just as quickly.

jihoon finger-fucks you harshly, as if it were his dick he was shoving inside. your ass jiggles with each thrust back in. you whine and cry, and you can feel your ass begin to smarten from the sting. but you still arch back and meet each thrust of his fingers eagerly, craving the pleasure-pain.

it’s rough and you can feel the orgasm, that string he had been messing with for what seems to be hours, begin to tighten.

“want,” you pant out, fingernails scraping against the desk. “want you, hoonie. please, please, please.”

“beg, baby.”

you let out a cry. there’s tears at the corners of your eyes. “please, hoonie. i want you. want you, want you. i want you, hoonie.”

your voice breaks off, tight with emotion.

jihoon lets out a curse, and then he’s dropping behind you. jihoon shoves your leg up, and you follow suit, placing your knee on the able and giving him access to your pussy. jihoon shoves a hand against your thigh, keeping it in place on the table.

his mouth licks a stripe from where his fingers plunge into your pussy to your clit, taking that aching muscle between his lips and suckling.

when you orgasm it’s harsh and loud, fluids gushing from your pussy and soaking jihoon’s face. he takes you into his arms, pulling you to the floor with him and pressing kisses to your face.

“good girl,” he murmurs, voice raspy and comforting. the office is drenched in the smell of pussy – of your pussy – and his nose shines with your release. he ignores it, his clean hand pushing back stray strands of hair from your face so he can press a sweet kiss to your nose. “good girl.”

W E E K T H I R T E E N

you think, fleetingly, that you’re not being fair.

but then you remember that girl – girl, because she can’t be any older than eighteen, fresh out of high school and far too young to be sniffing around your boyfriend – and how she pressed close to jihoon as she showed him something on her computer, and you can’t help but think you’re not being harsh enough.

with that in the forefront of your mind, you ease the hot pink dildo in your aching cunt. you can feel fluid gush from your pussy, a slick combination of your own desire and the generous amount of lube you had massaged onto the dildo.

the stretch burns, stretching the walls of your pussy. it’s a stark, acute contrast to the three fingers you used to stretch yourself, and you couldn’t help but arch your back up off of jihoon’s couch, toes curling and mouth dropping open.

you can feel the fluids leak down your pussy, sliding along the curve of your ass.

good, you think. sink into the fabric of the couch so from now on, whenever he sits here, he has to smell your cunt.

your hand stills once the base of the dildo is flush against your ass. you shift, hips tilting as you try to relieve some of the sting.

you stretch out for your phone, glancing at the time. the dildo is pushed from your pussy by the movement.

jihoon will be home any minute. your hand returns to the dildo, pushing it back into your pussy. your cunt sucks it in, eager and greedy.

clenching down on the dildo, you can’t help the thrill of satisfaction that shoots through you. you feel so delightfully full, as if some part of you was a gaping hole that needed to be filled.

well –

you suppose that line of thought isn’t too wrong.

you grab the dildo, fingernails digging slightly into the jelly-like texture. you slide the dildo from your cunt. despite how much lube you used, despite how wet your cunt is, the dildo still is slow to slide out, your pussy clamping down to try and keep it in place.

you pull it out until just the tip of the dildo is pressed against your hole. your juices glint evilly on the dildo, a long, thick string along the side of it.

slowly you ease it back inside. you tip your head back, foot pressing down on the cushion of the couch in an attempt to mentally steady yourself. it’s a dragging sensation that has impatience licking at your brain, trying to push its way to the forefront.

you pump the dildo in and out, in and out, until you are satisfied that the burn from your pussy stretching to accommodate it is no more.

you draw it out.

and then you force it back in, sharp enough for the gelatin balls to slap against your ass in a poor mimicry of the real thing.

your free hand goes to your tit, framing a pebbled nipple between two of your fingers. you massage it, pull it, as you harshly fuck the dildo in, soft pants escaping your mouth as your body begins to ignite with pleasure and the wanton desire for more.

you can’t help but want. it’s as if the desire is written into your dna, lining the fabric of your entire being. you want to be fucked, want to be thrown onto your front and taken from behind; want jihoon fucking his fat cock into your pussy in one swift motion, forcing your pussy to stretch around him.

you want jihoon.

you could devour him, you think as you crook the dildo up towards the front of your body, searching for your g-spot. you would devour him whole. you would take and take from him until he’s entirely yours, body and soul.

the lock to the door clicks. you hurriedly bring the fingers messing with your nipple up to your mouth, licking at them before taking the nub between them and rolling.

the front door to jihoon’s apartment swings open, your boyfriend stepping through. his eyes immediately catch on you, naked and wanton.

“what – fuck –” he shoves the door shut behind him, loud and firm. “what the fuck are you doing?!”

you slide the dildo from your pussy, slow and torturous, ensuring he’s watching. jihoon’s eyes, naturally, flick down to your pussy. the dildo is still slick with fluid, and you can where the more dense of your fluids stain the pink of the dick.

“what are you doing,” he repeats, dropping his leather bag to the floor.

“taking matters – ah,” you moan out, massaging your gummy g-spot with the head of the dick. “taking matters into my own hands, jihoon; what else?”

his hands go to his shirt. jihoon hurriedly pushes at the buttons of his white dress shirt, letting it fall to the floor after he’s done. his trousers follow suit, and he leaves them behind with his shoes and socks.

“what are you doing?” you grin at jihoon toothily, echoing his words. “no sex, remember?”

jihoon moves towards you regardless. he had done his hair that morning, gelling it back. now a few stray strands frame his temples, giving him a perfectly disheveled look. his tank top does nothing to conceal his collar bones, the line of his shoulders proud and wide.

his hands find your thighs. he separates your legs, baring your pussy entirely.

you still your hand, just keeping the dildo snug inside of you, refusing to move it further. “what are you doing, jihoon?”

“looking,” he retorts, eyes dancing around your body as he takes you in. you think you look like some perverted creature, carnal desire and desperation written onto every centimeter of skin.

“don’t touch,” you chide him, moving an leg from his grasp. jihoon tightens his hold on the other as you press your foot against his chest, lightly pressing in a piss-poor attempt to push him back.

jihoon rolls his eyes at you, nose crinkling and mouth twisting into a sneer.

“oh,” you breathe out, sheathing the dildo fully inside once more. his eyes meet yours. you let a grin take over, unable to help but tease him. “‘oh, the agony! i am agony!’ isn’t that right, hoonie?”

for a split second you can see shock take over jihoon’s features, catlike eyes widening. a strike of triumph hits you, feeling as if you are the cat that got the canary.

but then jihoon is grabbing the dildo from your hand. he pulls it out, the slide making your mouth drop in a gasp and body arch up off of the couch.

“h – hoonie –!”

“agony,” he hisses, and then jihoon is shoving his boxers down to his knees.

his cock bounces from his underwear, slapping against the fabric of his tank-top. it’s thick and angry, and when he runs his hand along it, rubbing at the head, a thick marble of precum leaks from it.

“no – no sex,” you say, voice hoarse as you subconsciously keep your eyes on his cock. you’ve been starving for jihoon’s dick for so long, and here it is, thick and pulsing in front of you.

and like a starving woman in front of a table overflowing with food, you eagerly welcome jihoon’s dick when he presses the tip against your hole. you spread your legs, knees knocking against his hips as he presses against you.

jihoon keeps his dick in hand, not entering you. he rubs his dick up between your folds, a soft curse escaping his lips at how wet you are. once he’s at your clit he stops, rubbing the head of his dick against you.

“fuck –” your voice is taking on a whining tone, and you can’t help but fleetingly wonder what happened to you showing jihoon who’s boss, making him witness just what he’s missing. but that thought is gone from your mind as soon as it enters, and instead you’/re pleading with jihoon. “please, hoonie – please fuck me, please.”

he sighs, the tip of his cock pressing against your hole. still, he doesn’t enter you. “i thought we agreed on no sex,” he says. “no sex until the semester is over.”

you cry out, hips trying to shift upwards and force his dick inside. jihoon pulls back. “please – put it in. it won’t count – won’t count if you don’t cum in me, yeah? won’t count if i don’t cum around your dick.”

jihoon lets out a loud, shivering groan that seems to release from the depths of his soul.

jihoon presses his dick into your cunt. the head pops past your entrance, and then he’s sliding home.

your pussy takes jihoon eagerly, sufficiently prepared by your fingers and the dildo. his dick is just slightly thicker than the dildo, and so there is a pleasurable sting that burns at your core. it’s not horrible, and you let out a moan as you cant your hips up.

jihoon doesn’t stop pressing into you until his balls are against your ass. his hands are on either of your legs, keeping you spread for him. jihoon uses his grip on you to push himself back, bringing his cock out of your cunt slowly. the drag of his dick is delicious, is everything you’ve been missing for months.

you’re not sure if this is just because you haven’t been fucked appropriately since august and it’s in the middle of november, but you feel completely overwhelmed by jihoon.

his cock feels so good inside of you. it’s thick and warm, and when he shifts his dick presses up towards your core. his blunt head presses against your g-spot, and you can’t help the little mewl of approval that escapes you.

“feels good,” he breathes out. his eyes flutter, nails digging into your skin. “you feel so fucking good.”

jihoon pulls his hips back, leaving your pussy save for the tip of his dick. he lingers, the fat head of his dick keeping you plugged.

when jihoon thrusts in, it’s rough and well-aimed for your g-spot. you let out a shrill noise, eyes rolling back. you don’t know if sex has ever felt like this before – if you’ve ever felt so overwhelmed just by a single thrust.

your hands scramble, grabbing at the couch. “hoonie!”

he slides out; fucks back in.

jihoon’s pace is rough, as if he’s making up for lost time. as if he’s determined to mold your pussy back into the shape of his dick. he uses your pussy, uses you. he uses your cunt in an almost detached way, as if you were some random fuck and not his treasured girlfriend.

eventually jihoon is pulling from your cunt with a strangled moan. his dick is drenched with your fluids, thick strings decorating it like lewd jewelry. jihoon palms his dick, and then he’s thrusting into his hand once, twice, thrice before he cums onto your stomach.

he lets out a moan, a gasp of your own joining. his cum is thick and hot. you want to shove it into your pussy.

jihoon’s hands go back to your thighs, and then he’s dropping to his knees.

“can’t wait to fuck you,” he groans, “can’t wait to fill you up. as soon as finals are over, you’re mine. got it? you’re mine.”

then his tongue is licking a stripe up from your cunt to your clit, and all other thoughts leave you.

W E E K S I X T E E N

the lecture hall, just like most of the rest of campus, is nearly deserted.

you had left your apartment as soon as the email about your final grade dinged your phone, delight and want immediately turning at your stomach. you had been looking forward to this day for months: the day you and jihoon were finally free to fuck (and publicly be in a relationship, but that wasn’t the most pressing matter at the moment).

jihoon was at the front of the large room, talking to the last stragglers of the exam he had to oversee. you rush down the steps, unable to help the broad smile on your face.

your boyfriend looks up as you thunder down the auditorium, and you catch the moment his own face breaks out into a wide grin.

he calls out your name as you step off of the last step.

the student he’s talking to waves goodbye, and you take the spot where he had been standing.

“hey,” you say, unable to keep your smile tamed. “how’s it going?”

jihoon rolls his eyes at you, folding his arms over his chest. this close to him you could smell his cologne, the sharp smells of amber and vanilla. he was wearing his white dress shirt again, though this time it was dressed up with a simple black tie.

“glad it’s over,” jihoon murmurs.

you glance around the room. there’s two girls at the back, talking excitedly as one of them packs up their things.

“took you forever to grade the exams.”

jihoon scoffs. “as if. you turned it in last night at midnight.”

you shrug. the girls begin to make their way out of the room, calling out good-byes to jihoon.

“all things considered,” he says, raising a hand in acknowledgement towards the girls, “this semester wasn’t so bad.”

you laugh at him. “it’s been agony to me,” you say, knowing how loaded the word is for the both of you.

the heavy wooden doors shut solemnly behind the girls. it’s as if a switch flicks off in jihoon’s mind. his eyes visibly soften before you, his smile taking on a gentler shape.

“i missed you,” he says. he doesn’t say anything else; that isn’t jihoon’s way. he’d write a thousand poems for you and keep them locked away. he’ll say three words, i missed you, and his meaning will include a hundred other things: i love you; i adore you; i want you close to me always; you bewitch me.

“i missed you, too,” you echo, hoping he feels the weight of your simple response.

jihoon keeps his face passive as he opens his arms, and you go easily into his embrace. you burrow your face into his neck, breathing him in. he wraps his thick arms around you, pressing you close to his body.

for a moment the two of you just exist in this little universe.

jihoon is the first to pull away, though he doesn’t go far. as if magnetic, you tilt your lips towards him, meeting his mouth halfway.

the kiss begins gentle and solemn. it’s the end of a sentence, finishing the semester, which had been filled with tension and desperation, with a sweet embrace and soft lips.

you separate your mouth from his. you skim your lips along his chin, following the edge of his jaw. you trace the edges of his face with your mouth, trying to memorize the shape of him.

“i missed you,” you say again.

jihoon is silent. he sinks a hand into your hair, cradling the back of your head. he guides your face back to his, his lips pressing a long kiss to yours.

this time when jihoon kisses you it’s firm. his mouth is insistent against yours, devouring you in a way that leaves you breathless. he presses you back, his tongue sliding past your lips.

jihoon walks you backwards until your thighs are bumping against the table. he keeps your head still, tongue licking into your mouth and exploring.

his free hand slides beneath your shirt, grabbing at the flesh of your hip.

“hoonie,” you say, pulling back from his mouth. jihoon hums, pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth. “want you.”

“got me,” he returns.

despite his gentle words, jihoon’s hands move quickly against you. he tosses your shirt and bra aside, mouth attaching to your neck as soon as you are bare. his hand slides down to the waistband of your pants, fingers dipping past it. jihoon presses open-mouthed kisses to your skin, eager to reefamiliarize himself with your body entirely. his nips at the curve of your tit, and then his mouth is suckling at a pebbled nippple.

you whine against him. you run your hands overh im. you feel the curve of his own pecs, feel the flat plane of his stomach, still hidden by his shirt. you tug at his tie, and then you’re molding your hand against his straining erection.

jihoon groans against you. “careful,” he says.

“we shouldn’t get too carried away,” you return. your fingers find the button of his trousers nonetheless. it’s the easiest thing to pop it through the hole, loosening his pants. “we should go home. anyone could walk in.”

“‘oh, the agony,’” jihoon says, and then he’s turning you around and pressing you against the table.

he’s quick to pull your pants and underwear to your ankles. jihoon helps you step out of them, leaving them in a discarded mess by the leg of the table.

he smooths his hands over your legs and thighs as he stands, his tough heavy and warm. jihoon positions you; slides his hand along your leg and pushes it up onto the table, foot dangling over the edge.

he slides two of his fingers inside of your pussy. you clench down on the intrusion, biting down on your lip.

“don’t –” you sigh out, turning over your shoulder to look at him. “i’m ready.”

jihoon blinks at you for a moment, and then he’s cursing. “slut,” he says, though his lips twitch up into a grin.

he doesn’t bother undressing all the way. you can feel the fabric of his pants bunch against your ass when his cock is buried deep inside. his cock stretches you so delightfully. you feel as if you’re finally whole after an eternity of missing something.

maybe you really are a slut.

jihoon slides his dick out slowly, making you feel every centimeter of his cock. the glide is nearly on the side of too-dry, but your eyes roll back nonetheless, nails scraping against the wood of the table.

“fuck,” he breathes out, and then he’s punching his dick back into your pussy.

you rock forward on the table, the edge of it digging into you. you don’t mind it. instead you push back, meeting his thrust.

“missed you,” jihoon says. you wonder if he’s talking about your pussy. you wouldn’t blame him if he was: you missed his cock, afterall.

you missed out his dick feels within you, heavy and stretching you out. you missed how he fucks into you, how his hips slap against your ass. you missed the sting of him fucking you, the sting of skin against skin coupled with the electric sparks of pleasure that shoot through you when the blunt head of his cock hits your g-spot.

jihoon fucks you as if you were reuniting. which, you suppose, you are. he fucks you as if he’s treasuring each thrust, as if he’s making sure each rock of his hips is perfect to make up for lost time.

you can feel the fabric of his shirt when jihoon presses his front against your back. his black tie dangles beside your face. he uses his weight to keep you against the table, his hips picking up pace.

he practically jackrabbits into your pussy, hips frantic.

“missed you,” he says, and then he’s grabbing your face to press another open-mouthed kiss to your lips. there’s no finesse: it’s just as messy as the way he fucks you. spit slides from mouth to mouth, tongues meeting and tangling.

he’s devouring you, you realize. he’s gobbling you up, owning you inside and out.

jihoon reaches down, his fingers finding your clit easily. he slips his fingers against your clit, the wetness of your pussy making the glide easy. his fingers against your clit are just as frantic as his hips fucking into you, and the combined sensation brings your orgasm crashing down around you more quickly than you would like.

he slows his hips to a stop as you cum around his cock, whining high at the back of your throat. it’s overwhelming. you haven’t cum around his dick in months. his cock stretches you still, and every minute shift of your hips back against him has his dick pressing against all the sensitive places.

“good?” his voice is raspy against your hair.

you nod.

jihoon pulls back, and you hiss at the feeling of his dick leaving your pussy.

he doesn’t stay gone for long. jihoon maneuvers you onto your back. he grabs each of your thighs, holding them up and baring you to him. you can feel the juices of your release as they slide down your cunt.

he thrusts back in. immediately you’re tossing your head back against the table, eyes rolling back. your toes curl.

jihoon hooks your legs over the crook of each of his arms, and then he’s setting a harsh pace once again. his grunts are loud againsts the quiet of the room, the slapping of skin against skin sending heat rushing up towards your face. you feel too high strung, feel as if your neurons and electrons are buzzing around underneath your skin. you want to move away from his cock and how it tortures you, pressing against your g-spot as sensitivity rears its ugly head; you want to fuck down onto his dick until you’re unable to walk.

when jihoon cums, it’s copious. it’s too much. you feel his dick throb within you as he spills, filling you with hot seed. it’s so much; you want more.

jihoon pulls his dick from your pussy only once he’s finished. he isn’t done with you, though.

he slaps his palm against your cunt, the sensation acute and electric.

you want to cry. you don’t want him to ever stop.

jihoon slaps your cunt again, and then he’s hooking three of his fingers inside of your pussy. he thrusts him inside in the same fashion he did his cock: harshly, roughly. the sting of his knuckles against your flesh isn’t unlike the sting of his hips.

when you cum, it’s with a loud sob. he presses the fingers of his free hand against your clit, rubbing it once more while his fingers keep pressing up against your g-spot, relentless in his mission of wringing you dry.

after it’s over, you hold out your arms.

jihoon gathers you into his embrace easily, pressing a kiss to your forehead. you know you should hurry and dress, know that it’ll be a matter of time before someone wanders into the room.

you don’t care.

instead you just bask in the attention of your boyfriend, forehead pressing to his shoulder.

#svthub #ksmutsociety #my writing #✏️— writing #lee jihoon x reader #lee jihoon fic #lee jihoon oneshot #woozi x reader #woozi fic #woozi oneshot #lee jihoon smut #woozi smut #svt #svt x reader #svt smut #svt oneshot #svt fic

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kisses4reid · 2 days

Text

not our scene | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, - part 2

summary - an undercover mission causes realisations that otherwise would be squashed in denial

genre - fem!shy!reader x spencer, forced/wanted proximity, fake relationship -> real relationship, awkward idiots, fluff

warnings - awkwardness, mentions of trafficking and manipulation, realisations of love

w/c - 1.9k

a/n - second part!!! sorry for the cliffhanger that’s my favourite thing to do NOBODY COME AT ME. maybe third part/epilogue?? who knows. love y’all

The instrumental music that poured from the live band on the elevated stage came to a close, you and Spencer hovering on the opposite side of the expansive floors, discreetly keeping an eye on two large kitchen doors. The room erupted in applause, which you joined into, for the band, the man you assumed to be the main musician stood and bent at the hips with a sly smile - he knew he was good. The room quieted down to a small chatter from the abundance of people that filled the room. Women with large hats, velvet gloves, and bright lips cornered tall men in grey suits (or the other way around) and laughed like they’d known each other for many years. Men with peppering beards whispered to each other before letting out howls and pointing towards women who were not their wives. The wives stood silent.

Spencer cleared his throat, breaking you out of your trance, “He’s been in there for around 10 minutes now. I’m gonna call it in, in case they’ve already got the tracker on him.” You nodded with a tight lipped smile, still recovering from the rollercoaster of emotions that dancing with Spencer had put you through. He glanced at you once more before holding down a button on his cuff and speaking out loud. You nodded along, in case anyone was watching - and also as a kind of self-soothing motion.

You didn’t drink - well, not often. So when a different waiter came up to you both every 10 minutes asking if you’d like a variety of alcohol, you had to kindly decline each time. And each time you became more irritated. People laughed loudly, people danced in quick blurs, people came up to you both and stared at your dress for a little too long. Thankfully, Spencer took your hand (you’re still in love after all) and nodded with a smile that almost made you forget you were on a mission.

The two of you escaped onto a balcony with a cold breeze accompanying the faster music that both of you wanted to avoid. Your night was already over, just as it started. One dance. You scolded yourself for wanting more, a longer night, for Webley to continue manipulating people. But you’ve done your job, you’ve completed your mission, and now you have to go home and act like all of it never happened.

“Great job, the officers have been notified and we’ve got a tracker on him now. You two can leave whenever-“

“I think we’ll stay for a bit.” Spencer spoke up, and it shocked you. It must’ve shocked Morgan too as the line went dead quiet. “Right, Y/n?” He gulped and eyed you with pleads. His tie was slightly askew, the wind flapping his jacket lightly, his eyes reflecting the stars that now hung high in the sky.

“Y-yeah. This party’s actually…” You looked over the over-crowded floor, to your red and sore feet, to the bad alcohol standing on the waiter's trays. But then you looked over to Spencer. His eyes, his hair, his small smile, his red tie. “The party’s actually not that bad.” You say with a smile.

“Okay… don’t stay for too long. We don’t want everyone to be hung over for a flight home tomorrow.”

The balcony was made of white concrete pillars and marble floors, sconces of warm lights and vines of ivy that wrapped around the pillars and balcony like waves of seaweed. It was beautiful, just like the rest of the establishment, it was unfortunate its main use was to take advantage of innocent people. But you weren’t out there to think about that - at least that’s what you assumed. Spencer wouldn’t want to stay to talk about trafficking or crimes surely.

In that moment, even after watching his small smile of excitement that you agreed to stay with him, all you wanted to do was kick off your shoes and take a goddamn breath.

You walked over to the parapet of the balcony and was glad to see the top was a flat slab of concrete, just wide enough for you to pull yourself up and sit down.

You sighed in relief, taking off your heels and letting them fall onto the shiny marble.

Spencer followed your movements, standing next to you and looking out onto the view. City lights and stars blended in with each other from this angle.

“Are you okay?” He asked gently. You smile, “That’s the third time you’ve asked me tonight. Do I look troubled?” He stood for a moment before turning his head towards you, his hair sweeping across his eyebrows in the breeze. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” “Was it really that obvious?” “To me, yes… I think that if I didn’t pretend to enjoy tonight people would’ve been suspicious of us.” You frown slightly, “You didn’t enjoy the night?” “I didn’t enjoy the reason, nor the location. I enjoyed the people though.” He sends you a smile that makes your heart flutter and your cheeks redden. You hope he doesn’t see it in the dim lighting.

Inside, the dance finishes and people clap, and you do too. Spencer glances at your hands and smirks slightly. “You don’t think they’re suspicious now? We danced once, and now we’re out here watching them like weirdos.”

Spencer turned to lean on the balcony and look into the ballroom, shrugging. “We’re two young people in love,” he turned to look at you, eyes warm and deep, “alone time is what we need.”

You bit the inside of your lip and stared at Spencer. His suit, his matching (skewed) tie, his hair and his eyes. He did the same to you, before gulping and looking down at the floor. He bent and picked up your shoes, turning them in his hands and observing. “These are too small for you.” You laugh at the obvious fact, “They’re JJ’s. She’s got the tiniest feet I’ve ever seen.” “You’re only one size above her.” “She wears high heels much more often than I do.” “You swap between sneakers and converse. You’ve only bought new shoes two times since I’ve known you. This is the second time I’ve seen you wear heels, and even then they were practically ballet shoes.” He smiled to himself like it was an inside joke. “Oh…” You looked down at your feet and realised he was exactly right, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your black converse right now.” “Morgan didn’t let me. He said he was pressured to make me look good by all the girls.” He lifted a finger and turned fully towards you, “Did you know that sleeve buttons on suits were created to help doctors who worked in the war keep their sleeves up? Now, they’re a sign of intelligence and wealth. Also, a few weeks ago, you called me a grabologist because of my collection of ties, but did you know that the largest collection of suit ties is owned by a New Zealander woman called Irene Sparks. Now, I think I’d like to oppose that not with my own collection, but with Morgans.”

You smile at the memories of the girls dressing you up, fueling the sisterhood that the childhood version of you missed out on. You thought about Morgan, Hotch and maybe Rossi, and how they were probably dressing him up as well. It was truly a found family, something that you felt you belonged to. They knew your habits, they knew when you were lying, they knew a good portion of your past. And you knew all the same for the rest of them. But Spencer?

Mentally, without realising, you had been creating essays for him since the day you met him. You made journal entries for everyone else, but for Spencer it was books on books of mental notes and facts and aspects of him and his life that you kept in the back of your mind, ready at any point to bring out and use. Why he wears mismatched socks, why he likes purple, why he can’t handle too many people talking at once, why he feels uncomfortable at hospitals, why he hasn’t contacted his father in years. And he knew no doubt even more about you. He had a talent for knowing your emotions and feelings like no one else could, and it made your heart palpitate every time he did it.

“I mean, you’ve seen my collection of ties but jeez, you’d think a guy who mainly wears t-shirts would keep his collection small. You’d like one of his, it's a green that matches that bedside table you painted once. Like those socks you got me last Christmas. But anyways, he somehow had a perfect red to match your… dress. Which by the way, I noticed a lot of people looking at you - and I don’t blame them. I think you look, um, I think you look incredible.” His rambling quietened down for a moment as he tried to avoid eye-contact with you, before he cleared his throat and continued on with his rambling (which mixed with compliments every second sentence).

And suddenly, you realised this was all an excuse. You were in denial, so badly, that you thought of him as a subject of your devotion without stepping back and seeing the real picture.

“Spencer…” You cut him off and he looked up with big eyes, surprised you spoke up. You were the only person that let him ramble, it may have been the only time you stopped him. “Wh- You wanna go home?” He saw your eyes, you looked in pain, in shock, in… “No, Spencer, I… Um.” You pressed your lips together and looked down - were you really going to say this? Were you really going to admit you loved the man in front of you without any evidence that he felt the same way? He was your coworker, your best friend. Everything could be ruined in just a few words. Suddenly, you wanted to take your train of thoughts back, to let him continue on with his rambling - it always calmed you down anyways.

Suddenly, his palm was held out in front of you with a small mint in the middle. You looked up at him and his worried but genuine smile. “Here,” he said softly. You took the mint in your hand and simply stared at it. To be loved, is to be known. “Um, Spencer. I…” His eyes were wanting, curious, they were so goddamn beautiful, “I… I love you.”

His mouth gaped slightly and his cheeks reddened. Spencer gulped and fiddled with his fingers before chuckling nervously, “I was supposed to say it first.” “What?” “I was supposed to say I love you first.” You hopped down from the concrete railing, dress falling to cover your shins again. “I can take it back if you want.” You responded quickly. “No, no don’t take it back, even if you did I don’t think I could mentally accept that you had taken it back.” You covered your mouth with your hand and looked up at him in shock, “So you-” “I love you, too.” He nodded and took your hands from your mouth, holding them in his, “I have since the third week you’ve worked with the BAU.”

“Oh, that’s great um…” You looked down at your intertwined hands and furrowed your eyebrows, “What do we do now?” “We could go to the McDonalds that’s a 10 minutes walk away or, I could kiss you.” He stared into your glistening eyes and wanted to pinch himself to see if this was actually happening. “I don’t-”

“You don’t like McDonalds, sorry, my brain is-”

“Just kiss me.” You replied exasperated.

“Okay.” He nodded and placed his hands on your waist.

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#criminal minds #spencer reid #cm #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #🍵 —☆ pia’s pages

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dixons-sunshine · 1 day

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So Beautiful | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl had never fully shown you his scars before. He was too afraid of what you might think of him if he did. However, after being together for a while, he decided to finally bite the bullet and show you what he had kept hidden from your view for so long.

Genre: Mostly fluff, some angst if you squint.

Era: Prison, pre season four, post season three.

Warnings: Swearing, Daryl is insecure in this (I wanna hold him and reassure him that everything is okay), mentions of past abuse.

Word count: 1.5k.

A/N: This was meant to be a drabble, but it ran away from me lol. I hope y’all like this!

Daryl was breathing heavily. His chest was rising and falling quickly as he tried to control his breathing and ease his anxiety. It wasn’t the first time someone had seen his scars, he tried to remind himself. Carol had seen them. Merle had seen them. Hershel had seen them. It wasn’t like nobody knew of them, but he knew that this time was different.

This wasn’t some random person that had to patch up some injury he had sustained. This was you. His partner. The one he cared for deeply, on a whole other level than he did others, on a level that the archer was sure was love. The one he could see himself spending the rest of his life with, however short that might be. That made you different from the rest. You were so vastly different.

Talks of the abuse the archer had endured had come up from time to time, but only on Daryl’s terms. You never pressed to hear more about his childhood, knowing that Daryl would tell you on his own time if he wanted you to know. And sure enough, slowly but surely, over the months the two of you had been together ‘officially’, Daryl had slowly started opening up to you. However, he had never shown you the scars on his back before. He had allowed you to patch up a wound on his chest before, and that had been the most you had gotten to physically see of the cruel pain that had been inflicted on him in his life.

Until now.

The scars on Daryl’s back were on full display for your eyes to see as he sat on the edge of the bed in your shared cell with him. With his back turned to you, he didn’t have to witness the reaction you would give him. He feared a disgusted reaction, a sharp intake of breath as you fully gouged the extent of the pain he had endured that were gruesomely carved into his skin, a permanent, cruel reminder of his father’s abuse. He feared that you would shrink away from him, that you would see him like the worthless piece of garbage most people in his life had viewed him as, like he viewed himself as most times. And the worst part was that he wouldn’t even blame you if you did.

However, he had not expected to hear your voice calling out to him, that usual softness and love he always associated with your beautiful voice as present as ever.

“Is it okay if I touch them?” you asked him softly, your tone of voice gentle and sincere. You weren’t pressing, weren’t insisting on touching them. You were simply asking, and you would be completely okay with it if he said no.

Daryl did not turn his head to look at you, too nervous to do so just yet. However, after a few beats of silence and contemplation, Daryl hesitantly nodded his head. He anxiously awaited the soft touch of your fingers, but they never came. Instead, Daryl felt a soft, tender prodding from something soft against the highest scar on his back, a slight wetness being left in its wake. As the prodding slowly trailed down the scar and onto the next one, he quickly figured out that the soft prodding was caused by your slightly chapped lips.

Daryl sighed quietly at the oddly comforting feeling, an involuntary shiver rolling over his spine. He closed his eyes, relishing in the comfort your actions were bringing him. Slowly but surely, as your kisses trailed over each scar on his back, his initial uneasiness started fading away, instead being replaced by a sense of contentment and love, all thanks to you.

As you placed a final kiss to the lowest scar on his back, you raised up from the bed and moved to stand in front of him. Daryl ducked his gaze down to the floor beneath him, suddenly feeling nervous all over again, but you didn’t allow him to do so. You gingerly took a hold of his chin with your forefinger and thumb, and you gently tipped his head up, making him look at you.

Looking deeply into the eyes of the man you loved most, you sent him a small, soft, reassuring smile. “You’re so beautiful, Dar.”

Daryl scoffed at your words. “Ain’t beautiful,” he denied your statement. However, he couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered at your words. He had never been called beautiful before. He had always considered it to be a feminine compliment, a compliment reserved only for women, a compliment he reserved only for you. So why his heart started beating faster and his cheeks started burning at your compliment, he didn’t know.

You laughed softly at his denial, shaking your head as if he had said the most absurd thing humanly possible. And to you, he had. It broke your heart that the man in front of you could not see himself the way you saw him: loyal, fierce, kind, unendingly fucking beautiful. There were so many other things that could describe the archer, and almost none of them were negative. Sure, everyone had their flaws, and there was no denying that Daryl had his flaws as well, but they were part of what made him Daryl. They made him the man you loved, and there was little that you wanted to change about him.

Except the way he isolated himself when it mattered most to talk to people, and the way he viewed himself, but other than that, he was perfect.

“Well, you’re beautiful to me, Dar,” you told him, your hand moving from under his chin to cup his cheeks instead. You rubbed soothing circles over the stubbled skin of his face with your thumb, your eyes looking deeply into the ocean-coloured ones of your partner. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t they say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Well, I’m the beholder, and this beholder is telling you that you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Your other hand came up to his chest, your fingers gingerly tracing over one of the jagged marks on his broad frame. “These don’t take away from the way I see you, Dar. If anything, it makes my view of you even better. All this shows me is that life threw you a lot of fucking curve balls before all of this, and you prevailed. Do you know how strong that makes you? How brave?” You shook your head with a huff of laughter, the sound one of wonder. “God, I can’t even begin to explain how much these don’t deter me at all. They’re relics of a time in your life you overcame, a time in your life I see you trying not to let define your present and future. If that’s not the epitome of strength, I don’t know what is.”

Daryl was rendered absolutely speechless. You truly believed that of him? All of that? You couldn’t, could you? Unwillingly, a lump formed in the archer’s throat. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He couldn’t believe that you thought so highly of him, even after he showed you what he considered the ugliest part of him, physically speaking. However, his heart swelled at the knowledge that you did not view him any differently than you had before. You still looked at him with such love, a love he oftentimes felt he didn’t deserve, but he definitely was not about to throw it away, either.

“Thanks,” Daryl mumbled awkwardly at your high praise of him. He did not know what else to say. He wanted to say so many things to show how much he appreciated your words, how much he appreciated you, but he just did not know how.

You smiled at the singular word that left your partner’s mouth. It was so simple, so underwhelming, so undeniably Daryl. To most people, that simple response would be a punch to the gut after such a heartfelt confession, but to you, the response was enough. Daryl was a man of action, not a man of words. He showed his appreciation to your declaration in the form of his hands coming to rest and your hips, slightly tugging you forward to stand closer to him, albeit in-between his legs. He also showed it in the way his eyes sparkled up at you, the emotions swirling around in his beautiful irises conveying more than words ever could.

“Of course,” you replied softly to his thanks, your hand trailing up from his bare chest, up his face and to his hair. Your fingers ran through his brown locks, gently untangling any knots in their wake. “You have no idea how amazing you are to me, Daryl Dixon, but I promise, for as long as you’ll have me, I’ll never stop trying to show you.”

Daryl’s heart both sped up and stopped simultaneously. Your admission made the archer want to cling on to you and never let you go. He had wanted something, someone like that his whole life. Someone who could look past everything and still love him unconditionally. And he had found it. He had found you, and he certainly did not intend to ever let you slip through his fingers.

“Guess yer gon’ be stuck with me forever, then,” Daryl said in his gruff tone of voice, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

A small chuckle escaped your chest. “I really don’t mind the sound of that.”

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apollogeticx · 2 days

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✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ LABOUR ♡·˚

— [♡] ; souls tied by fate will inevitably cross paths again. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: endgame gojo satoru, afab!reader, slow burn, pregnancy, regret, hurt/comfort, angst, co-parenting, vulnerable gojo satoru, past suguru geto x reader, past rejection, longing, bittersweet, I'm dramatic so I write dramatic shit, chapter one of ten

wc. 2.7K

prologue | part 2

The decision settled in your heart like a stone—cold, hard, and undeniable. You couldn’t stay at Jujutsu High anymore, not after everything that had happened. There was nothing left for you here but the constant reminder of Gojo’s rejection, and the emptiness it left inside you. Suguru Geto had offered a new path, one that resonated with the bitter anger building in your chest. It was risky, dangerous even, but at this point, you didn’t care. What did you have to lose?

The world outside Jujutsu High seemed vast and unforgiving, but it was nothing compared to the loneliness you felt within its walls. Geto’s name was whispered among the students with fear and disdain, but you saw something different now. He had the strength to break away, to challenge the system that had let him down, and if anyone could understand the pain of rejection, it was him.

The first step was to find him, which was easier said than done. Geto was no longer a visible presence in the sorcerer world. He had gone underground, building his own network of cursed users and spirits. The whispers about his whereabouts were few and far between, but you clung to the faintest rumors like lifelines, searching for any clue that would lead you to him.

Your chance finally came one evening, as you overheard two upperclassmen talking in hushed tones about a recent sighting of Geto. They mentioned a remote area where cursed energy had been felt, a place known for being a hideout for rogue sorcerers. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

You left that night, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. You knew the consequences of what you were about to do—if anyone found out, you’d be labeled a traitor, just like Geto. But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was getting away from the pain that had consumed you and finding a new purpose.

The journey was long and arduous, taking you through unfamiliar streets and rural roads. With each step, the doubt in your mind grew louder. What if he didn’t want you? What if he turned you away, just like Gojo had? The thought of facing yet another rejection made your stomach twist in knots, but you pushed forward. You had to know. You had to try.

Finally, after what felt like na eternity, you arrived at the rumored hideout—a dilapidated building on the outskirts of na abandoned village. The air around the area was thick with cursed energy, almost suffocating. You hesitated at the threshold, fear creeping up your spine, but you steeled yourself and stepped inside.

The interior was dark, lit only by the faint glow of cursed energy radiating from various objects strewn about. You could sense the presence of others, though you couldn’t see them. Shadows moved in the corners of the room, watching you, but you kept your focus straight ahead.

And then, you saw him.

Suguru Geto stood at the far end of the room, his back turned to you as he spoke quietly with one of his followers. Even from this distance, his presence was commanding, the air around him heavy with power. There was something about him that felt both intimidating and strangely familiar, as if you were looking at the reflection of everything you had been feeling—the bitterness, the anger, the sense of abandonment.

He turned around slowly, his gaze landing on you with a piercing intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. His dark eyes seemed to see right through you, reading every thought and emotion as if they were laid bare before him. For a moment, you wondered if you had made a mistake—if this had been a foolish, reckless decision.

But you had come too far to turn back now.

“What do we have here?” Geto’s voice was smooth and calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. He studied you, his expression unreadable. “You’re not one of mine.”

You swallowed, your throat dry, and forced yourself to speak. “I came to find you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I’ve been studying at Jujutsu High, but I can’t stay there anymore. I’ve seen… I’ve read about what you believe in. And I… I want to join you.”

There was a flicker of amusement in Geto’s eyes as he raised na eyebrow. “You want to join me?” he repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. “And what exactly do you think you have to offer?”

Your heart sank at his words. You knew you were nothing compared to the powerful sorcerers that surrounded him. You were just a student, someone who had been cast aside by the very person you had admired most. But you also knew that your desire to serve his cause, to belong somewhere, burned stronger than anything else.

“I don’t have much,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I’m not the strongest sorcerer, and I don’t have any followers. But I understand how it feels to be abandoned, to be rejected by the world. I’m ready to serve your purpose, whatever it takes.”

For a long moment, Geto said nothing, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence was suffocating, each second stretching into eternity. You stood there, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for his judgment. In that moment, it felt as if your entire life hung in the balance. If he accepted you, you would have a new purpose, a new place to belong. But if he rejected you…

Finally, after what felt like na eternity, Geto’s expression softened, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re eager,” he said quietly. “That much is clear. But eagerness alone isn’t enough. My cause isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s dangerous, and it requires a level of conviction that few possess.”

You nodded quickly, desperation creeping into your voice. “I understand. I’ll prove myself, if you give me the chance.”

Geto regarded you for another long moment, as if weighing his options. Then, with a slight nod, he turned away from you, signaling the conversation was over. “Very well,” he said. “If you want to join me, go back to Jujutsu High. Pack your things. Leave everything behind. Once you’ve done that, come back. If you’re serious, I’ll know.”

Your heart leapt in your chest at his words—he was giving you a chance. It wasn’t a full acceptance, not yet, but it was something. You bowed your head quickly in gratitude before turning to leave.

As you stepped out of the hideout and into the cool night air, your mind raced with a mixture of excitement and fear. You had taken the first step toward a new life, toward leaving behind everything that had hurt you.

Now all that was left was to return to Jujutsu High, pack your things, and leave for good. There was no turning back now.

The night was unnervingly quiet as you made your way back to Jujutsu High, the soft rustling of leaves the only sound accompanying you. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows across the ground. Your mind buzzed with the events that had just unfolded—Geto had accepted you, even if it was only tentative. The prospect of belonging to something, of having a purpose again, gave you a strange sense of comfort, but it was wrapped in na unsettling realization.

To fully embrace this new path, you had to leave everything behind.

As you approached the school grounds, a wave of nostalgia hit you. The familiar hallways, the training grounds, even the library where you had spent so many hours—all of it felt like a distant memory, as if you were already na outsider looking in. These places had once held significance, but now they were nothing more than relics of a past life. You had made up your mind; you would abandon all of it for a chance at something more—something that could give meaning to the ache you carried inside.

The dormitory was dark and still when you returned to your room. Your belongings were strewn about, a quiet reminder of the life you had lived here. You hesitated for a moment, standing in the doorway and letting your gaze drift over the small space that had been your home for so long. It was strange how quickly it all felt irrelevant.

With a deep breath, you began packing your things. You moved with mechanical precision, folding clothes and stuffing them into your bag, taking only what you absolutely needed. As your hands grazed over small personal items, you realized how little they meant now. There was no point in holding onto these things—mementos of a life you no longer wanted to be part of. A gift from a classmate, a framed photo of your team during a mission, a charm you had once carried for protection—they all seemed to mock you now.

Your hand hovered over the chocolates you had made for Gojo, the same ones he had so casually rejected weeks ago. They had been sitting untouched for so long, the once carefully crafted gift now rotting and forgotten. A bitter taste filled your mouth as you stared at the box, the last remnant of your foolish hopes - now laying in your trashcan.

As you zipped up your bag, you felt a strange sense of liberation. You were finally doing it—leaving behind the person you had been, the person who had been too afraid to act, too afraid to take control of her own fate. You were stepping into a new future, one where you could be strong, where your pain had a purpose. Suguru Geto had shown you that.

You slung the bag over your shoulder, taking one last look at the room. It felt distant already, like a ghost of a life you once knew. Without hesitation, you turned and left, walking silently through the darkened halls of Jujutsu High. Every step away from the dorms felt like shedding na old skin, leaving behind the memories and emotions that had weighed you down for so long.

Your feet moved automatically, each step taking you further from Jujutsu High and further from Gojo, you didn’t dare look back, afraid that if you did, you might falter, might hesitate. You had made your choice. You had committed to this path, and there was no turning back now.

The night air was cold against your skin, and with every step, the familiar halls and grounds of Jujutsu High faded into the distance. There was na ache in your chest, a deep, gnawing pain that threatened to overwhelm you, but you forced it down, telling yourself that this was the right choice. That Geto would understand, that his ideals would give you the strength you needed to find purpose.

By the time you reached the outskirts of the town, the sky had started to lighten, a soft glow spreading across the horizon as dawn approached. You kept your head down, avoiding the few early risers who were beginning their day. No one paid you any attention. To them, you were just another traveler, just another person passing through.

Your destination was clear—the same dilapidated building you had found before, where Geto’s presence had been strongest. The cursed energy in the area was unmistakable, and the faint pulse of it called to you like a beacon, guiding you back to him.

As you walked, the reality of what you were about to do began to settle in. You were leaving everything—your friends, your teachers, your life as a jujutsu sorcerer behind. The people you had trained with, the ones who had fought alongside you, they would all consider you a traitor. But for some reason, that didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. You were tired of being invisible, of feeling like na outsider in your own life. With Geto, maybe you would finally belong somewhere.

After hours of walking, you finally reached the hideout once again. The building loomed before you, dark and foreboding, just as it had before. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there the first time, as if the entire area was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside.

This time, the space felt different. The shadows seemed heavier, and the cursed energy more oppressive. You could sense other presences here—Geto’s followers, cursed spirits lurking just out of sight, their eyes on you, watching, waiting. But you didn’t waver. You had already made your decision.

As you ventured deeper into the building, you found him in the same spot as before, standing with his back to you, his long dark hair spilling over his shoulders. He was speaking with one of his followers in a low voice, but the moment you entered the room, his attention shifted. Without turning around, he acknowledged your presence with a quiet, “You came back.”

His voice sent a shiver down your spine—not out of fear, but because of the power it carried, the certainty in his words. It was so unlike the doubt you had felt at Jujutsu High. Here, in Geto’s world, there was no room for second-guessing. Everything he said, everything he believed, had a purpose. You wanted to be part of that.

“I did,” you replied, your voice steady despite the nervousness you felt. “I left everything behind, just like you said.”

Geto finally turned to face you, his eyes sharp and assessing. He looked you over, taking in the sight of you with your bag slung over your shoulder, your expression determined despite the fear you tried to hide. A slow, almost approving smile curled at the corner of his lips.

“And why, exactly, should I take you in?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with a challenge. “What can you offer me that my other followers can’t?”

You had expected this question, but it didn’t make answering it any easier. You had thought about this moment the entire way back, rehearsing what you would say, but now that you stood in front of him, words failed you. What could you offer? You weren’t the strongest sorcerer, you weren’t experienced in battle. All you had was your conviction, your desire to follow him.

“I—I’m not the strongest,” you admitted, your voice faltering for just a moment before you regained your composure. “But I’m ready to dedicate myself to your cause. I’ve seen how the world works, how it doesn’t care about people like us. I want to change that, to be part of something greater.”

Geto’s eyes remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He studied you for what felt like na eternity, and you could feel the weight of his judgment pressing down on you. Then, finally, he spoke again, his voice softer, but no less commanding.

“Conviction is important,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “But dedication without strength is a liability.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, Geto raised a hand to silence you. “Still, you’ve come this far, and I can see that you’re serious. I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself.”

Relief flooded through you, though it was quickly tempered by the realization of what that might entail. Geto wasn’t someone who handed out second chances easily. Whatever he asked of you, it wouldn’t be simple.

“You’ll stay here, for now,” he continued, gesturing to the room around you. “Train with my followers, learn from them. When the time comes, we’ll see if you’re truly ready to stand by my side.”

You nodded, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. This was what you had wanted—a chance, a purpose, something to fight for. And now, Geto had given it to you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, bowing your head in gratitude.

Before you could fully process it, a voice rang out from the entrance of the hideout, sharp and commanding.

“So, this is where you ran off to.”

Your heart froze in your chest.

Satoru Gojo stood at the threshold, his blindfold gone, revealing his piercing blue eyes that glowed with a mixture of anger and something else—something deeper, more intense.

He had found you.

notes: thank you for reading the first chapter! if you wanna be tagged just let me know!

taglist: @username23345 @arminswifee @tomiokasecretlover @ffyona1214 @tojirin @eggrollforyou @ironicsss

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scribblesofagoonerr · 1 day

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under pressure | katie mccabe x teen reader x caitlin foord

thank you to the anon that requested this one. it's been fun to write it!

i think i'm gonna plan a part 2 of this maybe, depending on what reaction i get from this one...

pairings: katie mccabe x teen reader x caitlin foord

summary: there's a lot of pressure that comes with being the next big thing in women's football sometimes

warning: talks of a eating disorder and angst

It sometimes felt like you had the world at your feet. You were well aware of the word on the street that you were the next big thing in women’s football. The headlines were quick to label you as a future star, comparing you to legends like Marta or Sam Kerr, but of course being the youngest to sign a professional contract sometimes came with a certain level of expectations, and that was something that nobody could really prepare you for the weight that would follow.

Living alongside Katie McCabe and Caitlin Foord felt like a dream in itself like it would for any football-crazy teenager and you were no different, you moved in with them after your own parents couldn’t travel to England with you.

Caitlin and Katie were quick to become more than just teammates or mentors, they became family.

It should’ve been perfect– It mostly was.

At least until the pressure started to become too much for you, the media scrutinised everything about you: your every move, every game, every slip-up. There felt like there was never any room for mistakes and it started to take its toll on you.

The expectations suffocated you and you started to believe the medias’ words, not only the media but the pressure of fans as well, you felt like you were weighed down by an anker of harsh criticism.

Maybe if you were smaller– lighter, you could be faster. You could be better.

It only started small, barely noticeable in fact, just skipping meals and convincing yourself that you were just too busy. The comments on how lean you looked pushed you further, but it didn’t take long for the innocent excuses to morph into something darker.

The hunger pains were a lot easier to bear than the suffocating pressure, but you should have realised that it would be harder to hide, and before long, it wasn’t just you who had noticed the toll it was taking on you.

“You seem a lot quieter today kid,” Caitlin was the first to pick up on your bitter mood as you made your way out of the London Colney and headed in the direction of where Katie had parked her car earlier on when you all arrived for training, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’m all good,” You gave her a weak smile and kept your shoulders slouched as you opened the car door to climb in.

Are you sure, kiddo?” Katie noted the exhausted look on your face as she opened the car door and climbed in, “Cait’s right, you don’t seem like yourself today.”

“I’m fine Katie,” You all but growled in response and slumped down in the backseat of the car, “I’ve already told you I’m fine, so just leave it, will you?” You hadn’t meant to be rude but you really do hate all the persistent questions being fired at you.

You hated being the centre of attention, despite what the media said about you.

It didn’t take long for you to begin feeling the weight of guilt, “Sorry, didn’t mean to snap like that.”

“It’s okay kiddo,” Katie replied, glancing in the rearview mirror and giving you a reassuring smile, “How about when we get home, we order pizza. My treat?” She offered.

Your smile faltered at the mention of food. Your stomach was hurting from the hunger, but couldn’t give in to the temptations, “Um, it’s okay, I don’t really fancy pizza, thanks,” You respond, biting your bottom lip.

You missed Katie and Caitlin sharing a glance with each other, catching the hesitation in your voice. It was subtle, but they both knew you well enough to notice.

At one point, you used to jump at the chance for pizza nights– especially after a long day of training and now you barely even showed an ounce of interest.

“Okay,” Katie simply nodded and started the ignition of her car up.

The drive back home was quiet, too quiet. The hum of the engine mixed in with the quiet volume of noise in the car filled the silence, but your thoughts were still loud. You couldn’t help but stare out the window, feeling the familiar tightening in your chest.

You hated the fact that they were starting to notice more, it was easier when they didn’t and you could still pretend that things were fine, even if they definitely were not.

You couldn’t ignore the way that your hands trembled slightly from exhaustion or the pounding in your head that had become all too familiar lately.

You just had to pretend for a little while longer.

Back at the house, you immediately make a beeline for your bedroom while muttering something about needing a shower. As soon as you closed the door, you leaned against it and took a deep breath.

The initial feeling of hunger gnawed at you but you try to shove it aside, heading into the bathroom to splash cold water on your face all while ignoring the mirror, knowing you wouldn’t like what you saw.

“Hey kid! We’re gonna watch a film, do you want to come and join us?” Caitlin shouted upstairs to get your attention and you jolted slightly in shock.

“Uh, yeah, I’m coming!” You respond, turning the tap off and dabbing your face with a towel before making your way back into your bedroom, you shove a cosy hoodie on and shove your hair up in a messy bun before you head back downstairs to join the two of them.

“Here she is,” Katie exclaimed, gesturing for you to join them in the living room, “Where just deciding what film to watch, do you have anything you’d like to watch?” She questioned.

“Um, I don’t mind. I’m fine with anything,” You told her, plopping down on the sofa beside them as you listened to the two of them argue about what to watch.

Usually it was pretty comical when that happened, but you didn’t have it in you to laugh this time round.

The tension in the room was thick, and you knew it was only a matter of time before they brought it up again.

After what felt like an eternity, Caitlin broke the silence, “Y/N, we’re worried about you.”

Your stomach dropped and you should have known this was coming, but it still felt like a punch in the gut.

“You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping,” Katie leaned forward, her expression soft but serious, “You don’t seem like yourself, and we know that the pressure is a lot, but you know that you don’t need to carry it all by yourself.”

“I’m fine,” You shook your head, feeling the familiar panic rise in your chest, “I just have a lot going on right now.”

“We get it kid, but starving yourself isn’t the way to handle things,” Caitlins’ tone of voice was gentle but still firm. “There’s better ways to cope.”

You couldn’t help the tears that pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away and refused to let them fall, “I’m not starving myself,” You whispered, trying to convince yourself more than them, “I just… I need to be better. I’m not good enough.”

“Y/N, you’re more than good enough,” Katie’s heart broke at your words as she scooted closer and placed her hand on your knee, “You’re incredible, and not just because of football but because of who you are, okay. You can’t do this to yourself, you can’t push yourself to the point where you’re hurting, kiddo.”

Your resolve was crumbing, you suddenly felt the weight of everything that you’d been holding in starting to break down, “I just… I don’t want to let anyone down,” You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, come here,” Caitlin reached over and pulled you into a tight hug, “You’re not letting anyone down, kid. We’re so proud of you– so proud. We just need you to take better care of yourself, and we’re not just talking about football here either. We care about you.”

Burying your face in her shoulder, the tears finally spilled, “I’m scared,” You choked out, “I… I don’t know how to stop.”

Katie soon joined the hug, her arms wrapping around both you and Caitlin, “You don’t have to do it alone,” She paused, “We’re here, we’ll help you, but you need to let us in.”

It felt like for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable. To let them see just how scared and overwhelmed you really were, with all the added pressure of things.

It now made you realise that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to face it all on your own after all.

You could let them in.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal x reader #woso #woso imagine #woso one shot #arsenal women x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #heavy angst #katie mccabe x reader #caitlin foord x reader #scribblesofagoonerr

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mssalo · 2 days

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safety - Part: III

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Obsession themes, Stalking, Panic episode/Paranoia, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, he sees stuff that isn't there, Mentions of war and combat-related trauma, Emotional manipulation, Power dynamics, Noncon/dubcon elements, Unstable mental state, Reader feeling conflicted. Joel needs a hug and therapy. As per usual.

10k

Enjoy!

Part I Part II

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The soft afternoon sun filtered through your curtains as you did one last sweep of your small apartment, making sure everything was in place before heading out.

Your camping gear—neatly packed and checked twice—sat by the door, ready for another adventure.

This one felt different, though.

Maybe it was because you’d never gone so far out, or maybe because the spot had been suggested by Joel, the rugged, quiet man who came by at the supply store.

The thought of him made your stomach do a tiny flip, and you smiled to yourself, biting your lip.

Joel.

He was... intense, that was for sure.

Handsome in a way that took you by surprise—older, gruff, with that scruff on his jawline and those eyes that seemed to see right through you.

He’d been kind of closed off whenever you tried to talk to him, always giving short answers, but there was something about the way he looked at you.

You shook your head, grabbing your bag. Don’t get carried away.

Sure, he looked at you sometimes, his gaze lingering just a second longer than necessary, but that didn’t mean anything.

You were probably imagining it. After all, he was always so reserved, so hard to read.

And you? Well, you were... you.

He probably thinks I’m just a kid, you thought with a small sigh.

Cute, maybe, but nothing more.

You laughed at yourself, shaking your head as the trees closed in around you.

Stop it. Focus on the trip.

You weren’t here to daydream about handsome older men—you were here to camp, to prove to yourself that you could handle this on your own.

He was just... nice, in his own way. That was all.

You couldn’t help but smile as you tossed your gear into the backseat and slid behind the wheel, already feeling the excitement buzzing in your chest.

The open road stretched ahead of you, leading to the spot Joel had mentioned—someplace out past the ridge, quiet and secluded. It sounded like heaven.

The drive was peaceful, your fingers tapping the steering wheel as the scenery shifted from city to countryside.

The trees seemed to grow taller as you left the main roads behind, the air turning cooler and cleaner with every passing mile. You loved this—the sense of leaving the noise behind, of stepping into a world that was all your own. Out here, you could breathe.

The road eventually narrowed into a dirt path, and your car rumbled over the uneven ground as you followed the directions Joel had given you.

The sunlight flickered through the dense canopy above, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor.

It was beautiful out here—quiet, untouched, with the kind of peace you could only find miles away from anyone else.

When you finally pulled into the small clearing, you felt your breath catch in your throat. Wow.

The space was perfect.

The trees formed a natural border around the clearing, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. The ground was soft with pine needles, and the air smelled fresh and earthy, with just a hint of woodsmoke from somewhere far off.

You stepped out of the car, your boots crunching on the ground, and for a moment, you just stood there, taking it all in.

This is exactly what I needed.

You popped the trunk of your car, the warm breeze rustling through the trees as you grabbed your backpack and gear.

The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky, casting a golden glow across the clearing, but you had plenty of time to set everything up before dusk settled in.

With a smile tugging at your lips, you slung the pack over your shoulder and took a deep breath of the crisp, earthy air.

It smelled like pine and moss, with just a hint of the nearby sea.

Perfect.

First things first—the tent.

You dropped your backpack onto the ground and knelt beside it, unzipping the side pocket where you’d stashed the tent poles.

Your fingers brushed over the cool metal, and you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself as you pulled them out.

These damn poles always give me trouble.

You spread the tent fabric over the grassy spot you’d chosen, carefully laying it flat and adjusting the corners.

The fabric crinkled under your touch, the sound almost lost in the hum of the wind and distant birdsong. The air was still, quiet, as if the forest itself was holding its breath while you worked.

With a determined sigh, you grabbed the poles and got to work.

The metal clinked softly as you tried to fit the pieces together, but as usual, they resisted you. You grumbled under your breath, fumbling with the last stubborn connection.

After a few minutes of struggling and a minor battle with the pole that just wouldn’t line up right, you finally secured the tent frame, the fabric puffing up as it took shape.

Not bad, you thought with a satisfied grin, stepping back to admire your handiwork.

The tent stood proudly in the clearing, and you wiped a bit of dirt off your hands, brushing them against your jeans.

You weren’t done yet, though.

With the tent in place, you moved on to your cooking supplies. You pulled out your small camp stove, some pots, and a few basic utensils, setting them neatly near the fire pit.

Everything had a place, and you liked knowing where everything was. Organization was important to you—it gave you a sense of control, made you feel prepared for anything.

It was comforting, like you were creating a little slice of order in the middle of the wilderness.

As you set down your cooking gear, your gaze flicked up toward the treeline, where you could just make out the glimmer of the sea through the trees.

The light reflected off the water like tiny diamonds, and you felt a pull in your chest, a desire to sink into that cool water after all your hard work.

Soon, you thought, grinning to yourself.

Just a little longer.

You double-checked your setup, making sure everything was where it needed to be.

The tent was secure, the cooking supplies organized, and the fire pit was ready for later. With everything in place, a sense of accomplishment washed over you.

The silence of the clearing felt peaceful, almost sacred, as if this place had been waiting just for you.

You took another deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs, and as you exhaled, you felt lighter, freer.

It was just you and the wilderness now, the weight of the world falling away. And with that thought, you couldn’t resist any longer.

You straightened up, glanced back at the sea shimmering in the distance, and a surge of excitement bubbled up inside you.

Without thinking, you raised your arms toward the sky and let out a loud, joyful, “Wooooohooo!”

Your voice echoed through the trees, the sound dancing on the wind.

You couldn’t help but laugh as the echoes faded, your heart pounding with exhilaration.

It was a small victory, this moment—being here, in this beautiful place, by yourself.

“Thank you, Joel!” you called out, a grin stretching across your face.

You weren’t sure if you were talking to the wind or to yourself, but it didn’t matter.

He wasn’t here, but somehow, it felt right to thank him.

After all, he had recommended this place, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the suggestion. You stood there for a moment longer, letting the silence settle in again.

Then, with a smile still tugging at your lips, you turned toward the path that led to the sea.

It was time to reward yourself with a swim, to feel the water against your skin, cool and refreshing.

This is going to be a good trip.

And who knows? you thought, maybe I’ll come back and tell Joel all about it.

· · ──────

Joel had been watching her since she arrived, hidden in the treeline, his gaze sharp and steady. His truck was parked a ways back, well out of sight.

He’d walked the rest of the way, making sure to stay quiet as he moved through the brush, his boots silent against the earth.

He was always careful—old habits from his time in the military never died, and neither did his instinct to remain unseen.

Joel watched her step out, wide-eyed and eager, like she hadn’t the faintest clue about the dangers lurking in a place like this. Even though he’d told her where to come, seeing her here alone had set him on edge.

He had to protect her. Make sure she was safe.

She started setting up her camp, fumbling with the tent poles like he expected she would.

His lips twitched in amusement as she muttered to herself, the poles giving her more trouble than they had any right to.

He watched her struggle, clumsy but determined, and despite himself, he felt his chest tighten again, that same damn feeling that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be watching her like this, but the more he told himself that, the more his feet stayed planted. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against a tree as he kept his eyes on her.

She was smart—he could see it in the way she double-checked everything, making sure the tent was secure, the cooking gear laid out just so.

She wasn’t careless, not exactly. Just… naive.

Still, something about her innocence, her softness, drew him in, despite his better judgment.

As she finished up, he was about to move, maybe head back to his truck and give her some space, but then she did something that made him freeze.

She raised her arms to the sky, her voice bursting out of her in a loud, joyful, “Woooohooo!”

Joel tensed, his instincts flaring, his hand instinctively hovering near his belt. The sound had startled him, snapping him into high alert.

He scanned the area, eyes narrowing, but there was nothing.

Just her. Alone. Safe.

Relief washed over him, but then he felt something else—a strange amusement creeping in.

She wasn’t screaming out of fear. No, she was celebrating, shouting into the empty wilderness like it was hers to claim.

She laughed, carefree and so full of life that it almost… unsettled him. His chest loosened, and before he could stop himself, a low chuckle rumbled deep in his throat.

She had no idea he was there, no idea how close he was.

Then, to his complete surprise, she threw her head back and shouted, “Thank you, Joel!”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up, the words hanging in the air between them, the sound of her voice almost too sweet.

His grip on his belt relaxed, his pulse slowing as he realized she was… thanking him.

For this. For bringing her here.

His amusement deepened, and he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. A soft breeze rustled through the trees, and Joel leaned forward slightly, his voice a low murmur as he whispered under his breath,

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

He watched her for a moment longer, her happiness infectious despite himself. She was something different, that much he knew. Something soft in a world that had long since hardened him.

And as much as he knew he should leave her alone, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Not now.

Not when she was out here, completely unaware of the dangers that could surround her at any moment. Because that’s what he was here for, wasn’t it?

To keep her safe. To make sure nothing happened to her.

Joel watched her from the shadows, still on high alert as she busied herself around the campsite. His amusement had faded, replaced by that familiar tension coiling in his chest, the constant need to keep her safe gnawing at him.

It didn't sit right with him, her being out here all alone.

She had no idea what kind of dangers lurked out in the woods, no clue just how vulnerable she was. He clenched his fists, eyes narrowing as he kept his distance.

She was endearing, sure.

Sweet, even.

But that sweetness was going to get her killed if she wasn't careful. And as much as he wanted to keep his distance, to leave her be, he couldn't. She needs to be protected, he thought, his jaw tightening.

She doesn't even realize how easy of a target she is.

He kept his eyes on her, watching every movement with a careful precision. It wasn't just about keeping her safe from wild animals or the natural dangers of the wilderness.

People-men-could show up.

She was vulnerable in more ways than one, and Joel knew just how ruthless the world could be. His mind was spiraling again, his paranoia threatening to take over, when he saw her heading toward the small lake just beyond the campsite.

His eyes followed her, every muscle in his body tensing as he realized what she was doing.

She was undressing.

Joel's breath caught in his throat as he watched her pull her shirt over her head, her soft skin catching the light of the fading sun.

His mind screamed at him to look away, to respect her privacy, but his body betrayed him, his eyes glued to her every movement.

She dropped her shorts next, standing there in nothing but her underwear, the curve of her waist and hips on full display.

Joel's chest tightened, that familiar, unwanted heat rising inside him. He swallowed hard, his grip on the tree next to him tightening.

All the blood rushing to his cock.

But then she did something that made his blood boil.

With one fluid motion, she unclasped her bra, letting it tall to the ground.

His eyes locked onto the bare skin of her back, the soft curves of her body now fully exposed. She bent down, slipping out of her underwear, her entire form now vulnerable and exposed to the world.

What the hell is she doing?

A surge of anger flared up inside him. She was defenseless, naked, out in the open with no protection.

If anything-anyone-were to show up, she wouldn't stand a chance.

His mind raced with worst-case scenarios, the kind of things he'd seen during the war, the kind of things that made his skin crawl.

She's making herself a damn target.

Joel's jaw clenched, his fists tightening as he took a step forward, every instinct screaming at him to go to her, to tell her to put her damn clothes back on, to stop being so careless.

But then he froze.

His eyes swept over her again, this time with less anger and more... something else. The tension in his chest shifted, the fire in his veins cooling to a slow burn as he watched her step into the water, her body moving with a grace he hadn't noticed before.

Her bare skin glistened in the fading light, soft and smooth, the curves of her hips and the lines of her back almost too perfect.

She moved so effortlessly, her body swaying gently as she waded into the water, unaware of the eyes on her.

Joel's breath came out in slow, uneven bursts as he watched her. His anger faded, replaced by a twisted sense of admiration.

She was beautiful-there was no denying that. Her body was soft, untouched by the harshness of the world. His eyes traced the curve of her waist, the way her plump ass shifted as she walked deeper into the water.

Joel's chest rose and fell, his breathing heavy as he watched her.

His hand twitched at his side, his mind warring between the desire to protect her and the desire to... take her.

Take her - right here, right now on the forest floor.

His gaze followed the curve of her back, the way her hair floated around her in the water.

She was so oblivious, so innocent, completely unaware of the dangers around her.

And that was what enraged him—the recklessness, the vulnerability.

She had no idea how exposed she was, not just to the world but to him. The thought gnawed at him, tearing at the edges of his resolve.

He should have been disgusted with himself for standing there, hidden in the shadows, watching her like this. But the desire twisted deep inside him, growing stronger the longer he stared.

Joel swallowed hard, his throat dry, as his eyes roamed lower, taking in every inch of her.

The tightness in his jeans was almost painful, his cock pressing hard against the denim, aching in a way that made his breath catch in his throat.

The war inside him raged on.

His mind wavered between the desperate need to protect her and the darker, more primal urge he had no right to feel. He wanted to shield her from the world, from the dangers lurking just beyond the trees.

But at the same time, he wanted to take her in all ways possible, to claim her as his. To fuck into her small body. To make her understand just how much she needed him.

No. Stop.

Joel leaned against the tree, his knuckles white as he fought to steady his breath.

His breath hitched as she resurfaced, water cascading down her bare skin like liquid silver.

The way the sunlight danced across her damp figure, catching on every curve and hollow, made her look almost unreal—like something ethereal, pulled straight from a dream.

Her skin shimmered in the fading light, her hair slicked back, clinging to her neck and shoulders in wet strands that only accentuated the softness of her features.

She didn’t belong out here.

She looked too delicate, too pure for the wildness surrounding her.

The contrast between the untamed wilderness and her serene, almost angelic form sent a shiver down his spine.

She was grace in motion, completely unaware of how vulnerable she was.

Each movement she made, each ripple in the water as she waded further in, was almost hypnotic, drawing him in deeper.

He had seen a lot in his life—too much.

The ugliness of the world had hardened him, left him numb to the softness it still had to offer.

But now, watching her, something in him cracked.

It wasn’t just the lust. It was something else.

Something about the way she seemed to glow in the dying light, so peaceful, so unburdened by the weight of the world.

She was everything he wasn't—everything he’d lost a long time ago. Ethereal, untouchable, and yet here she was, right in front of him.

Joel felt the pull again, that urge to protect her, to shield her from the darkness that had consumed so much of his life. But more than that, he wanted to keep her for himself, to have her softness against all his rough edges.

And in that moment, he realized, there was no going back.

Joel's jaw clenched as she started to wade back toward the shore, the water slipping down her body, revealing more of her as she emerged. The way the droplets glistened on her skin, made it impossible for him to tear his eyes away.

His pulse quickened, the primal urge to keep watching nearly overwhelming him.

But then, Joel forced himself to look away.

Not yet.

His fists tightened at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

He wanted to see her fully, to drink in every inch of her-but not like this.

In due time.

The thought stirred something deep inside him, the hunger gnawing at him even more fiercely.

He swallowed hard, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls.

Joel exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down, forcing his gaze back to the safety of the trees.

· · ────

The sun had finally dipped behind the trees, casting long shadows across your camp.

You moved around with a sense of contentment, the cool evening air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

Everything felt peaceful—the kind of peace that you didn’t often get to experience in your daily life.

You set about lighting the small lantern, but as you reached for your flashlight to help navigate the growing darkness, a frown crossed your face.

“Where is it…?” you muttered, going through your bag again.

You checked each pocket carefully, but no flashlight.

You’d been so sure you packed it.

With a sigh, you knelt to check your gear one more time, shaking your head at your forgetfulness.

But then, there it was.

Sitting right in front of the tent flap, the flashlight gleamed in the soft light of the lantern, as if it had been there all along.

You blinked, rubbing your eyes in confusion.

“I swear that wasn’t there before,” you whispered to yourself.

It didn’t make sense.

You hadn’t seen it when you set up the tent, and you definitely would’ve noticed it while sorting through your gear. But after a moment of hesitation, you shrugged and picked it up, flicking it on to make sure it worked.

The beam cut through the growing twilight, casting long, gentle shadows over the campsite.

You felt a little silly for doubting yourself.

Maybe you were just distracted—too caught up in the excitement of the trip.

“Good job, brain,” you muttered with a grin, brushing off the strangeness as you moved on.

As you dug through your pack to prepare for dinner, your hand paused mid-search. You realized something else was missing.

Your lighter.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, slumping your shoulders in frustration.

This was supposed to be the easy part.

You sat back on your heels, glancing around camp, trying to figure out where you might have left it.

But before you could even get up to start looking, something caught your eye.

A lighter.

Sitting near the fire pit.

You squinted, taking a step closer. It wasn’t just any lighter.

It had a goofy design on it—bright colors with some sort of cartoon character.

You raised your eyebrows, picking it up and turning it over in your hand. The lighter had a ridiculous picture of a grinning, cartoonish frog on it, wearing sunglasses. Beneath it, the words “Coolest Camper Ever!” were printed in bold letters.

You burst out laughing, the absurdity of it breaking through your earlier frustration.

“What the heck?” you giggled, flicking the lighter on and watching the small flame flicker to life.

“Well, guess this’ll do,” you chuckled, tucking it into your pocket.

You had no idea where this thing came from—it certainly wasn’t yours—but it was too funny to care.

Besides, a free lighter was a free lighter.

You couldn’t shake the feeling of oddness, though. Finding the flashlight and then this strange lighter? Maybe you were just a bit more scattered than usual, but still… it was weird.

You shook it off, letting the humor of the situation lighten your mood as you went back to your tasks.

· · ────

Joel moved like a shadow through the trees, his steps soundless on the forest floor. Years of survival had taught him how to blend into the background, how to become invisible when needed.

This wasn’t his first time sneaking up on someone—far from it—but something about doing it now, with her, made his chest tighten.

It wasn’t the same as before.

No enemy patrols, no immediate danger. But there was a weight to this, a tension that hadn’t been there for years. He was on edge, his senses heightened, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.

She hadn’t noticed him yet. Not once.

That fact gnawed at him, frustration bubbling under the surface. She was so damn easy to watch, so completely unaware of the world around her.

It bothered him how vulnerable she was, how easily someone could sneak up on her like this.

Like he was doing.

But that's different.

As he moved closer, crouched low among the trees, he caught sight of her bent over her bag, her back to him as she searched for something.

nice view.

Joel quickly dismissed the thought.

He narrowed his eyes, watching her every move, assessing the scene like he had a hundred times before in far more dangerous situations.She was clumsy, fumbling with her things, but she didn’t seem to care.

Didn’t seem to realize how exposed she was.

Joel moved closer, his heart beating steadily in his chest, the thrill of sneaking up on her stirring something dark inside him. He reached into his bag, picking up the flashlight with ease, his rough fingers brushing against the cool metal.

He considered leaving it there for her to find but decided against it. She didn’t deserve to fumble around in the dark. Not on his watch.

Instead, he stepped toward the front of her tent, staying just out of her line of sight.

He placed the flashlight down carefully, making sure it was in a spot where she’d see it right away.

Then, he stepped back, blending into the shadows, watching her from his cover.

The satisfaction he felt when she spotted the flashlight was immediate, that small spark of pleasure flaring up in his chest as she picked it up, her face lighting up with a smile.

She thought she’d just found it by chance, like it was some kind of lucky accident.

Joel’s chest tightened at the sight of her, the tension in his muscles easing for a moment as he watched her laugh softly, holding the flashlight like a prize.

Sweet, sweet girl, he thought, his lips twitching into a small, satisfied smile.

Helping her, watching her without her knowing—it stirred something in him, something deeper than just the need to protect.

He liked seeing her happy, seeing that soft, innocent smile on her face.

And maybe, just maybe, he liked knowing that he had a part in it.

But as she continued with her setup, completely oblivious to his presence, Joel’s satisfaction turned to frustration.

She was too trusting, too naive. Anyone could sneak up on her like this—hell, anyone could do worse. The thought made his stomach churn.

She was easy prey. He could see it. Anyone with the wrong intentions would see it.

That didn’t sit right with him. She should have been more aware, should have been on edge, watching her surroundings like he was.

Instead, she was just… carefree.

Smiling to herself, humming that soft tune, completely at ease.

Joel’s hand clenched around the lighter in his pocket, his thumb brushing over the ridiculous cartoon frog on the side.

He almost didn’t bring it—didn’t want to be caught with something so ridiculous—but it was the only spare lighter he had on him.

He’d groaned internally when he fished it out earlier, irritated by the childish design. But now, watching her, it felt like it fit. She was the kind of person who would laugh at something like that, who would find it cute instead of stupid.

Joel moved again, slipping the lighter out of his pocket and placing it by the fire pit while her back was still turned. He retreated quickly, his heart pounding a little faster as he watched her from the shadows.

Her reaction was immediate. She spotted the lighter, her eyes widening in surprise as she reached for it.

She held it up, inspecting the cartoon frog, and then let out a soft laugh.

Joel shifted slightly, his eyes still locked on her as she moved around the camp, still smiling to herself, still humming that soft tune.

A mix of pride and something darker twisted in his chest.

She’s doing alright, he thought, his eyes softening for just a moment.

She’s managing.

But it didn’t change the fact that she shouldn’t be out here alone. So damn easy, he thought, his grip tightening on the tree next to him.

She wouldn’t be easy prey for anyone else.

Not while he was around.

· · ────

The night had grown darker, the soft glow of her campfire flickering against the tall trees.

The shadows seemed to stretch and shift as the wind rustled through the leaves.

She was oblivious to how exposed she was—how vulnerable. Joel could see it, though, with each breath he took, his eyes fixed on her.

Then it happened.

A sudden thud and a sharp, startled yelp echoed through the still night air.

His body reacted immediately.

Joel’s heart lurched, and his mind instantly raced back to those moments he tried so hard to forget—those moments where a single sound could mean life or death.

His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else. His hand reflexively reached for his knife, muscles coiled, his senses heightened. Without thinking, he moved forward, his feet silent against the earth, ready to act, ready to fight.

His breath came fast and hard as his eyes locked onto her form.

She was sitting, clutching her knee, her face twisted in a mix of pain and frustration.

“Stupid root,” she muttered to herself, clearly frustrated.

She wasn’t in any real danger—just a small cut, a scrape from tripping over one of the tree roots near her tent.But Joel couldn’t process that right away.

All he saw was blood.

And in his mind, that blood meant danger.

His fingers twitched around the handle of the knife, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as the past threatened to swallow him whole. Memories slammed into him—the screams, the gunshots, the sight of bodies crumpling to the ground.

He couldn’t lose her, too.

His mind flashed back to another time, another place, where he couldn’t protect someone. Someone who depended on him.

No. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

Not with her.

She shifted, wincing as she gingerly touched her scraped knee, bringing Joel back to the present.

His chest heaved with heavy, erratic breaths as he forced himself to focus on her—on the here and now.

She wasn’t hurt. Not really. But she was vulnerable. Alone.

And she had no idea how easily that could change.

Joel gritted his teeth, the panic still clawing at the edges of his mind, even as he crouched back into the shadows, watching her, making sure nothing else was lurking in the dark. His grip on the knife loosened, but only slightly.

Her yelp still rang in his ears, echoing in his mind like the sounds of explosions, of soldiers calling out for help, of people he couldn’t save.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe, trying to pull himself out of the spiral, but the need to protect her—to keep her safe—burned hotter than anything else. It consumed him.

Joel blinked, his eyes snapping open, refocusing on her.

She was bandaging her knee, her movements slow but steady.

She didn’t realize how close she’d come—how easy it was for something to go wrong.

She never did.

Joel swallowed hard, pushing the memories down deep where they belonged, forcing himself to stay in the present. She finally stood up, brushing herself off with a soft sigh of relief, and Joel let out a shaky breath of his own. She was okay. For now.

But that fear, that suffocating terror of losing her, lingered in his chest, gnawing at him, refusing to let go.

As Joel watched her by the fire, his mind began to drift, despite his efforts to keep it anchored in the present.

He should’ve been focused, alert, scanning for threats the way he used to on patrols. But tonight, his attention wavered, his thoughts tugging him back to a place he’d rather forget.

The darkness around him wasn’t just the night anymore.

It felt like the blackness from years ago, the same emptiness that had swallowed him whole when the world had gone to hell.

The firelight flickered against her face, soft and warm.

A shadow of something ugly crept over his chest, a weight pressing down on him as memories surfaced.

Old sounds echoed in his ears—the screams, the gunfire, the deafening silence that always followed. He blinked hard, trying to shove it all away, trying to stay here, in the now.

But the harder he fought, the more it pressed in. His jaw clenched as he inhaled deeply through his nose, his fingers digging into the ground beneath him, grounding himself.

He wasn’t back there. Not anymore. He was here, with her.

Watching her.

Focus.

But the silence around her, her obliviousness to what could be lurking in the shadows—it made him feel the same helplessness he had felt back then.

It crawled under his skin, a sickening reminder of what happened when you let your guard down, when you trusted too much.

His heart pounded in his chest as the old memories of blood and failure threatened to overwhelm him.

He couldn’t lose control. Not here. Not now.

He was responsible for her, for keeping her safe. That’s what mattered. That’s why he was out here in the dark, crouched behind trees, sneaking around like a damn ghost.

But the sight of her, so unaware, so damn vulnerable, gnawed at the edges of his mind, warping the lines between past and present.

A flash of something dark ran through his mind—her, crumpled, broken, hurt, blood on her soft skin. He blinked hard, squeezing his eyes shut, fighting off the images.

No.

Not her.

It was just his mind playing tricks on him. The way it always did.

He forced his eyes open again, and there she was—still sitting by the fire, completely unaware of his presence. Alive. Unhurt. Fine.

But the fear wouldn’t leave him.

He’d seen too much, lost too much. And he couldn’t shake the thought that she was going to slip through his fingers just like everything else had. His muscles tensed, his hands shaking slightly as his breath came faster.

He had to stay calm, had to stay in control. But the firelight flickered against her skin, and the memory of another fire, another moment he couldn’t change, flickered in his mind.

He was back there, just for a moment—back in the dirt, the weight of the gun in his hands, the scent of burning wood and flesh thick in the air.

He blinked, shaking his head, trying to drag himself out of it. His fingers curled into fists, grounding himself in the rough texture of the earth beneath him.

She’s not them, he reminded himself again, his breath coming fast and ragged. She’s not them. She’s here. You can protect her.

But the fear was relentless.

His need to protect her was more than just that. It was the only thing tethering him to reality, to something other than the nightmares.

If he could keep her safe, if he could make sure nothing happened to her, then maybe he wouldn’t have to drown in the guilt and the memories that haunted him every night.

Joel wiped a hand across his face, the weight of it all pressing down on him as he forced himself to focus on her again.

His chest rose and fell with shaky breaths as he stood up, retreating back to the shadows. He would watch her, make sure nothing happened to her.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay for one more night.

· · ────

Joel’s breath hitched as he crouched in the shadows, his eyes darting toward every shift in the wind, every rustle of leaves.

Something wasn’t right.

The air felt thick, oppressive, like it was charged with danger, and his gut twisted painfully. He clenched his fists, trying to steady his breathing, but the nagging fear only grew stronger.

Something was out there. Someone was watching.

His mind flickered back to the war—how quiet the enemy could be, how they could slip through the trees, undetected until it was too late.

He was trained for this. He knew when something was lurking, waiting to strike. But this wasn’t like before. This was worse.

Joel’s jaw clenched as he scanned the treeline, eyes narrowing at the dark silhouettes of the forest.

The shadows moved, shifted in ways that didn’t make sense.

His heart pounded in his chest, a cold sweat trickling down his neck.

They're out there. They want her. They couldn't take you - now they want her.

They’ll take her if you don’t move now.

The thought gripped him like a vice, and before he could stop himself, Joel was on his feet, moving toward her camp.

His hand was still wrapped tightly around his knife, his breath heavy and ragged as he stepped closer. His heart hammered against his ribs, every step bringing him closer to the firelight.

He could see her now—still by the tent, oblivious to what was out there, what was coming. He was sure of it.

The shadows… they were moving too fast. Too wrong. The enemy was here. He knew it.

His eyes widened, panic swelling in his chest. Move faster. Move before they take her.

“Joel?”

Her voice was soft, surprised, and completely unaware of the danger as she turned to face him. Her brow furrowed slightly, confusion flashing across her face as she stepped toward him.

But all he could see were the shadows.

Circling. Closing in.

Joel lunged forward, grabbing her arm with a firm, desperate grip. “We need to go,” he growled, his voice rough and frantic.

“What? Joel—”

“They’re here. Right there in the trees,” he rasped, eyes wild, scanning the darkness behind her. “We need to leave now. It’s not safe.”

She froze, her eyes wide with confusion as she looked around, trying to see what he saw. “I don’t—there’s nothing out there—”

“They’re coming for you,” Joel cut her off, his voice urgent, the raw panic clear in every word. His grip tightened on her arm, and for a moment, the fear in his eyes startled her more than his words.

“Joel, wait,” she said, her voice shaky, but she didn’t pull away. She could feel his hand trembling against her skin, his breath coming out in heavy, uneven bursts.

Her heart raced in her chest as she realized something was wrong. Really wrong.

There was no one in the trees. There were no shadows creeping toward her.

But Joel—he believed it.

She could see it in his eyes, in the way his muscles tensed, the way he scanned the darkness like a man hunted.

He wasn’t seeing what was real. He was lost in something else—something dark and terrifying.

Her stomach twisted with a mix of fear and empathy.

Joel wasn’t trying to scare her. He wasn’t trying to hurt her.

He was trying to save her.

But from what?

Joel’s eyes were wild, scanning the tree line as if any second something was going to leap out and drag her away. His grip on her arm tightened, his knuckles white, and his breathing erratic. She could feel the tension radiating off him, his whole body taut like a coiled spring ready to snap.

The way his gaze darted around, the sheer panic in his voice—she could tell he wasn’t seeing the same world she was.

“They’re here,” he repeated, his voice barely more than a growl. “Don’t you see ‘em? They’re in the trees, waitin’ for their chance. They’re comin’ for you. We gotta go, now.”

Her stomach flipped. She couldn’t see anything. The trees were still, the night was calm—nothing moved except the gentle sway of the branches in the breeze. There were no shadows, no figures lurking in the darkness.

But Joel… he was seeing something. Something awful.

For a moment, panic swelled in her chest, the weight of his fear pressing down on her like a heavy stone.

She wanted to pull away, to run, but she couldn’t leave him like this. His mind was trapped in whatever nightmare had a hold on him, and the only thing that seemed real to him was her.

He thought he was protecting her.

“Joel, listen to me,” she said softly, even as her heart raced. “There’s no one out there. It’s just us.”

But he shook his head violently, his eyes wide, unblinking. “No, no, no, you’re wrong.” His voice was strained, and for a second, she thought he might completely lose it. “They’re watchin’… waitin’. I can’t let ‘em take you. You have to come with me now.”

Her pulse thrummed in her ears, her breath quickening as she watched the battle raging behind his eyes. He was lost in something she couldn’t reach.

She glanced at the woods, her eyes scanning the same tree line, trying to see what he saw. But there was nothing. Only shadows and silence.

“Okay,” she said quietly, forcing herself to stay calm, though her fingers trembled as she gently placed her hand on his. “We’ll go. We’ll leave, alright? But you have to calm down.”

He blinked, his breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts. His grip on her arm loosened, but only a little. His eyes flickered between her and the darkened woods, uncertainty clouding his face.

“Just breathe, Joel,” she whispered, keeping her voice steady, even though the fear still crawled beneath her skin. “We’ll go. I’m right here. Just breathe.”

For a moment, Joel seemed to hesitate, his gaze shifting between her and the unseen threat in the trees. His body was still rigid, his muscles coiled with tension, but her voice—her touch—seemed to reach him, if only just a little.

She squeezed his hand gently, her heart pounding in her chest.

“We’ll be okay, Joel. But I need you to calm down. I need you to help me. I can’t do this without you.”

“You’re the only one who can save me,” she whispered, forcing the words through her tightening throat.

He swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since this episode started. His eyes were still clouded with panic, but there was something else there now—something raw, almost vulnerable.

She was giving him what he needed: a sense of control, of purpose. If playing along helped ease his fear, she’d do it. She’d make him feel like he was saving her.

She didn’t let go of his hand. “Let’s go, okay? We’ll go to the car, and we’ll get out of here.”

Joel hesitated for another beat, his eyes darting back to the trees one last time before he nodded slowly. “Alright,” he rasped, his voice strained but quieter now. “But we need to move. Now.”

“Okay,” she agreed, giving him a small, shaky smile. “We’ll go.”

Her heart was still pounding, but she felt a wave of relief as his grip on her arm loosened.

The whole time, Joel’s eyes remained locked on the trees, his paranoia still burning beneath the surface.

She didn’t know what had triggered him, didn’t know what demons had clawed their way into his mind. But she knew one thing for certain—Joel wasn’t in control right now. His fear was.

And as they made their way toward the car, she glanced up at him, her mind racing.

He wasn’t just scared. He was terrified—terrified for her.

But she didn’t let go of his hand, squeezing it gently to pull him back, to ground him in the present. and uncertain, “ I can’t let them take you.”

“They won’t,” she promised, even though the terror in his voice made her own heart race.

“They won’t because you’re here. But I need you to focus on me, alright? Focus on keeping me safe.”

Joel’s eyes flickered again, his shoulders stiff with tension, but he nodded slowly, as if trying to pull himself out of the dark place he’d fallen into.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

She shook her head, brushing it off. “You don’t need to be sorry. Just stay with me, okay?”

They reached the car, and she gently guided him toward the passenger seat, her hand still resting lightly on his arm. He hesitated, looking back at the woods one more time, his brow furrowed in deep suspicion.

But when she opened the car door, he finally climbed inside, his breathing still uneven, but not as frantic as before.

As she slid into the driver’s seat, she glanced over at him, her mind racing.

She didn’t know what exactly had triggered him, but she knew she had to get him away from here, had to bring him back to some kind of safety.

He needs help, she thought again, her heart heavy with the weight of the realization.

And despite everything, she couldn’t help but feel the strange mix of fear and concern that tied them together in this moment.

· · ────

Joel’s fingers twitched, his hands balling into fists in his lap as he stared out the windshield, still scanning the woods. The shadows played tricks on his mind, flickering with movement that wasn’t really there.

His chest was tight, his pulse still pounding in his ears.

But when he looked over at her, sitting there, waiting for him to calm down, something inside him clicked.

He couldn’t let her drive. Not like this. Not when the road might not be safe.

“Move over,” he muttered, his voice rough, but less frantic now.

He reached for the keys in the ignition, and she blinked in surprise, her brows furrowing as she glanced at him.

“Joel—”

“I’ll drive,” he said, his tone final, leaving no room for argument.

His gaze flicked toward the dark trees again, the unease still crawling under his skin, but there was a steady determination in his voice now.

“I need to make sure we get outta here.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her eyes soft with concern as she studied his face.

But then she gave a small nod, understanding that he needed this—needed to feel like he was in control again.

Wordlessly, she slid over to the passenger seat, and Joel settled behind the wheel, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly.

He didn’t waste any time, starting the car and pulling onto the narrow dirt road.

The tires crunched over the gravel as they drove away from the campsite, the darkness closing in around them, but Joel’s focus was sharp now.

His jaw clenched as he kept his eyes on the road, his mind still racing, still half-expecting something to jump out from the shadows.

But there was something grounding about the feel of the wheel beneath his hands, the engine rumbling under his control.

“She’s safe,” he reminded himself. “I’m getting her out.”

The thought repeated in his mind like a mantra, pushing back the lingering panic that had gripped him so tightly just moments before.

He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Not now. Not ever.

He glanced over at her, just for a second, seeing the way she sat quietly beside him, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes flicking between him and the road.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t press him, but he could feel her presence calming him, bringing him back to the present.

But beneath the surface, the fear still simmered, the paranoia still gnawing at him.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still out there, watching, waiting. And that made his grip on the wheel tighten even more.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely loud enough for her to hear.

She glanced at him, her expression softening. “You don’t have to apologize, Joel.”

But he did. He had to apologize for putting her in danger, for not being able to protect her. He wasn’t enough, not in that moment. And that thought alone ate at him, twisting in his gut.

The road stretched out in front of them, the trees looming in the distance, and Joel’s mind remained focused, laser-sharp, as he drove them toward safety.

Toward his home.

Where he could keep an eye on her.

Where he could make sure nothing would ever hurt her.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

well…. that was intense.

(she’s better than me I would’ve ran away screaming)

Horny, people - I hope you can forgive me for not having real smut in this yet.. next chapter is going to be heated, get ready - it’s finally happening.

Again - comment if you want me to remind you when there’s a next part!

xoxo

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li-x1nyu · 2 days

Text

when someone insults you for being with il capitano

but you take matters into your own hands.

capitano x harbinger gn!reader, violence, mentions of blood, swearing, hanging, smidge of angst

a/n: help im so down bad for the fatui harbingers. if villain why hot??

"there's no way il capitano actually likes them." the sound of your lover's name stops you in your tracks. you were just trying to take a walk, but what's this?

"yeah," a different voice says, "i mean, they're so much weaker compared to him!"

"the first harbinger shouldn't settle for someone as low as the tenth!"

your heart drops.

in normal circumstances, you would tell capitano about it, who would track them down without a doubt. you try to appear friendly to your people, instead of unapproachable like certain harbingers.

but today is not a day where you feel merciful.

you turn the corner and see three drunk-looking men huddled in the alleyway.

someone has to teach a lesson.

there's waves of murmurs throughout the townspeople the next day. it's a clear morning, a cool crispness in the air.

capitano's hand rests on the other side of your waist, beneath your heavy coat.

the people huddling are blocking your view, but they are all pointing upwards and whispering.

the two of you follow their gaze to see three men hanging by the neck from the wooden beams of the city, bleeding out and barely alive.

your lover's hand finds yours with a gentle squeeze. "maybe you should head back, darling," he says in a low voice, "you don't have to see this."

"it's alright," you reply, eyes narrowing at the sight before you. you did it after all.

heels clicking, you let go of capitano's hand, making your way to the three. harden your heart, you tell yourself. the crowd parts for you, talking in hushed tones.

when the first man sees you, he starts to beg. half of you relishes in it, the other half feels sick.

"please," his voice is hoarse, blood dripping from his lips, "please, we're so sorry."

you ignore the churning in your stomach.

"we have families," he continues, "p-please.."

one of them has already stopped breathing.

"we didn't mean it, milady," the other stammers. "we've learned-"

the ropes are slashed and they all fall to the floor, dead or alive. gasps rise from the crowd.

you don't say a word. you're not sure you'd be able to if you wanted to.

the only sound in the square is heels on cobblestone, and then suddenly capitano is beside you as you walk away.

"chin up," he says sternly, but not unkindly. "shoulders back, don't break. you can do it."

so you hold your head high until the doors of the fatui's abode shut.

capitano's arms go around you, hands brushing your back. you tuck your head under his chin, avoiding the sharp edges of his helmet. "show them, darling," his voice rumbles with pride. "you did well."

#capitano #il capitano #genshin impact x reader #capitano x reader #capitano x you #genshin capitano #genshin angst #genshin x reader

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milkteabinniechan · 2 days

Text

♡Storms & Sirens - Hyunjin

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: merman! Hyunjin x fem! reader

summary: Mermaids are the mystery of the sea, with few humans ever seeing one. You are the dread pirate queen of the Barbados, a legend that a certain merman has always wanted to meet.

warnings: mentions of claws, sharp teeth, webbed hands

"You're the one they call the Pirate Queen aren't ya? the dreaded queen of the sea?”

You stilled as the deep voice carried across the water. You squinted your eyes out at the blue horizon but there was no other ship in sight. Behind you, your crew continued to grunt and heave as they pulled their oars in unison with one another. You and your crew mates had pulled a small dingy from your ship and were making your way to a nearby island for supplies. You feared the summer sun had finally consumed you when you heard the faint sounds of slapping accompanied by a playful laugh.

“Who goes there?!” You shouted, your hand already brushing against the hilt of your haltered sword.

He swims closer, his fins propelling him through the water with ease, he looks up at you with a pair of bright yellow eyes, a mix of curiosity and admiration.

"I've heard so many stories about you, Pirate Queen. They say you're ruthless, cunning, and beautiful. Which one is true?”

Your eyes widen at the sight of sharp teeth and glistening scales that cascade beautifully down a toned chest and abdomen. His tail captured the moonlight with a haunting and hypnotizing shine. Fully embracing the possibility of this gorgeous creature being a hallucination, you decide to indulge it.

“All be true, fish man. All be true.” You spoke proudly, puffing your chest out slightly.

He chuckles, a deep rumbling sound that vibrates through the water. He reaches out a hand, his claws gleaming in the moonlight, and gently touches your arm.

"Fish man?" he repeats, a smile playing on his lips. "I prefer merman, Pirate Queen.”

Your body tenses at the sight of your claws. The feeling of the sharp cartilage scraping across your skin. This was no hallucination. You had never witnessed something so beautiful and so deadly. You look back at your crew but they are still focused on rowing. You glance back down at the merman then to the horizon, where a small piece of land floats just out of view. “See there, merman? We be dockin’ there. Need to replenish food and water. Do you know of the island?”

He nods. "Ah, I know it. Small, uninhabited except for the wildlife. Perfect for pirates to dock unnoticed." He retracts his claws and flexes his webbed fingers. "I can swim ahead, scout it out for you. Ensure it's safe?” He offers; a coy smile still pulling at his lips.

You tilt your head, hesitation blatantly plastered on your face. But you know that pirates before you have sent out less reliable mates to scout ahead. You weighed the options in your head for a moment before giving the mythic creature a firm nod.

he grinned wide, his teeth glinting in the moonlight, then dived beneath the waves. His powerful tail propelled him forward as he swam towards the island. Hours passed as your dinghy finally approached the island. He resurfaced beside the dinghy, water cascading down his scales. He rested both arms on the edge of the smooth grain wood of the small ship. You give him a grateful smile as you and your crew step onto the sand of the beach and pull the dinghy ashore. The sound of the ocean swept through the air. The salt of the sea clung to your hair and clothes. The island's temperature was a scorching difference from the water, causing you to remove some layers of heavier clothing. The soft, white linen shirt that remained billowed in the wind.

The merman dragged himself onto the sand, his tail thrashing behind him. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you, his eyes roaming over your body appreciatively.

"The island is safe, Pirate Queen. No signs of other humans. Wildlife is abundant."

You nod firmly as you can yourself from the intense jungle heat.

“Thank you, merman. I have my gratitude.”

He watches you fan yourself, his gaze lingering on your face before he glances around the beach.

"You could offer me something more than just gratitude, Pirate Queen. Perhaps a token of your appreciation?" He asks, his voice low and husky. "Something to wear around my neck?”

Your eyes sparkle at his request. Now he was speaking your language. Doing a favor for the promise of treasure was something you always understood, even as a child. Your small smile turned to a generous grin.

“Aye. So it's treasure you be after, is it? I may have just what you want.”

You reach into a small sack attached to your hip to reveal a long, gold chain with a large aquamarine pendant dangling from the end. You hold it close to the creature's face. You watch his perfect features contort and change from pessimistic to astonishment. His eyes widen at the sight of the pendant, his pupils dilating. He reached out slowly, his claws retracting as he took the chain from you. "It's beautiful... like the sea," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. He looks back at you, his gaze intense.

He clasps the pendant around his neck, the aquamarine stone resting against his chest. He propped himself up more, his tail swishing against the tide rushing back and forth.

"Now, Pirate Queen, May I request one more reward?”

“More? Greed for treasure will only consume you, merman. Trust me.” You warn, your voice taking a more serious tone.

He leans up close to you, his clawed hand cradling the back of your head.

"A kiss. For a merman who's never known the touch of a human woman, a kiss from the legendary Pirate Queen would be worth more than any treasure." He grinned.

Your brow furrowed and a shiver traveled through your body at the feeling of his webbed fingers on the back of your neck. Your eyes locked onto his as you felt your body instinctively moving closer and closer to his mouth. You fall to your knees into the sand, your faces now inches from one another. The merman leaned down and he closed the distance, pressing his lips against yours in a firm, possessive kiss. His arms wrap around your waist, holding you close as he explores your mouth with his tongue.

“Ah, you taste even better than I imagined.” He breaks the kiss, panting slightly.

You pull back as well, only slightly with his arms still snaked around your waist. You search his face, taking in his ethereal features. The mixture of human and sea swirled around his skin like an intimate dance of creation. Your eyes had never witnessed something so unique, a living, breathing treasure.

“Let me ask you something now.” You whispered. “Do you have a name?”

He tail slaps against the wet sand, his eyes widening with excitement as he parted his lips to speak.

“Hyunjin. My name is Hyunjin.”

You repeat his name, Hyunjin as the sand hugs the two of you in a warm embrace. Hyunjin rests his forehead against yours, his eyes gleaming with curiosity and something else.

“Tell me, what's it like being a legend? Do people worship you? Fear you?”

You ponder for a moment. An intimate moment such as this was not something gifted often to a ruthless pirate like yourself.

“I suppose a bit of both. I've had men desperate to destroy me and to have me in bed.”

Hyunjin’s arms tighten around your waist possessively. He nuzzles your neck, his gills fluttering against your skin.

"Well, I want both. I want to destroy any who dare threaten you, and I want you in my bed, Pirate Queen.”

You moved in again for another kiss. You were sure what made you want to kiss him again. But the taste of him was everything that drew you to this life in the first place. He kissed you back hard. As if you would wash away with the tide if he let you go. The kiss lasted longer than the first. Soon, you heard the familiar boot stomps of your crew mates returning from the hunt. You sighed deeply and stood up from the beach, adjusting your clothes and brushing away the sand.

You helped your mates load the dinghy full of fresh fruits, wild boar and fish. You reluctantly pushed the modestly sized boat back into the ocean and hopped inside. You glanced back at the shore, hoping to see your merman, your treasure. But where the two of you once lay, there was only sand and shells. You turned your eyes back towards the horizon, rolling your shoulders and considering the fact that you may be delusional. When suddenly the recognizable sound of water slapping unevenly against wood caught your attention. You leaned over the edge quickly to see a shimmering face bobbing up out of the waves.

“Where are we off too now, Captain?” Hyunjin hummed softly.

It seemed that you had become his precious treasure as well. And he would become greedy for it.

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kiwriteswords · 1 day

Text

And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like, "I love you."

AN: Since you guys seem to like the Shy!Reader drabbles!

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader!

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: Everyone

TW: shy!reader, alcohol mention

Five times you were shy around Aaron Hotchner because of your underlying feelings for him + one time, Aaron Hotchner was shy around you because of his underlying feelings for you.

one.

The office was unusually quiet, save for the occasional rustle of papers and the soft hum of computers. The rest of the team was out in the field, leaving just you and Aaron Hotchner behind to finish reviewing the case files for the next briefing.

You glanced at the clock. It was just after 6 p.m. Most people would be winding down their day, but for the BAU, the hours always seemed to blend together. Of course, you didn’t mind—working with the best agents in the FBI was an honor, but working directly under Aaron Hotchner, your team leader and a respected figure in the bureau? That was something else entirely.

And today, you were supposed to help him with the case files for the recent kidnapping case. Alone.

“Ready?” His deep voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you nearly jumped. You didn’t have the time to dissect why this man--your boss, made you feel this way. As if every time he looked at you, it felt like he could see things differently--more than anyone else. You felt a level of exposure you were not quite used to. It wasn’t bad, no. Just made you feel sort of funny inside.

“Uh, yes, yes, sir. Just—just a second.” You scrambled to gather your papers, your hands suddenly clammy as you fumbled with the file in front of you. Great start, you mentally scolded yourself.

You could feel his eyes on you, calm and patient, as you tried to compose yourself. Hotch, with his sharp features and intense gaze, sat down beside you at the long conference table, his presence commanding even though he said nothing. As usual, he was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, tie still impeccably knotted despite the long day.

He always looked so put together, so composed, and here you were, barely able to keep from dropping the entire file on the floor.

And that was the thing about Aaron Hotchner’s microscope; it was never him purposefully looking at you--through you with judgment. Just through a different lens, you could feel it.

“Okay,” you breathed out, finally opening the folder and staring at the first page, willing yourself to focus. But of course, all you could focus on was him sitting beside you, his arm brushing ever so slightly against yours as he leaned in to review the documents.

Hotch’s voice broke the silence again. “I noticed some inconsistencies in the witness statements,” he said, pointing at a section in the report. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the proximity making your heartbeat quicken.

“Right, um, inconsistencies. Yes, I—I saw those too,” you stammered, your voice just a little higher than usual. You could feel your cheeks burning. Pull it together.

As you reached to turn the page, your fingers trembled slightly, and the edges of the papers crinkled under your grip. You cursed yourself internally. He’s going to think I don’t know what I’m doing.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hotch glance at you. His brow furrowed, not in frustration, but in something softer—concern, maybe? Before you could stop yourself, you began speaking too fast, trying to fill the silence.

“I mean, the statements are definitely off, like you said. I was just thinking, you know, we could um, cross-check them against the surveillance footage from the convenience store and maybe, uh, match the timestamps, because—well, um, obviously, you’ve probably already thought of that, but I just thought…”

You trailed off when you realized Hotch wasn’t looking at the file anymore. He was looking at you. And oh god, that made things so much worse. You felt the tips of your ears burning now, and you quickly looked down at the paper in front of you, pretending to reread the same line over and over just to avoid his gaze.

“You’re doing fine,” Hotch said softly, his voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

You looked up, blinking in surprise. His expression was calm, reassuring even, as though he could sense how flustered you were. For a moment, you thought you saw the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I—thanks,” you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper. You bit your lip, cursing yourself for sounding so meek. This was Aaron Hotchner—your boss, your colleague. And yet, here you were, acting like a nervous schoolgirl with a crush.

Well, because you did have a crush. A big one. A ridiculous, all-consuming crush that you had been battling for months now. And being this close to him, feeling his presence so close—it was like your brain short-circuited every time. His cologne, his energy--everything that surrounded your senses was just like a drug making your brain work in ways it really shouldn’t be when you have a job to do.

Hotch nodded, his attention returning to the file in front of you, but the moment didn’t pass unnoticed. The air between you felt different now--lighter. As if he understood, on some level, that your nerves weren’t because of the case, but because of him.

You worked in silence after that, the tension slowly ebbing away. But every now and then, you caught him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, as if he was still watching, still noticing.

And for the first time, you let yourself wonder if maybe, just maybe, Aaron Hotchner noticed you too.

two.

It had already been a morning and a half. The team had gathered for a debrief, with everyone scattered around their desks reviewing the latest case notes. You felt the weight of exhaustion after the last long night, and from the looks of it, so did everyone else. It was natural for these long hours to catch up to you all eventually.

“Coffee run?” you asked, glancing around at the others. JJ and Spencer immediately nodded, followed by Morgan flashing you a grateful smile.

“I could use about three cups,” Emily quipped, massaging her temples.

You smiled back and quickly made your way to the break room. As you stood by the machine, the familiar hum of it brewing filled the room. You glanced at the lineup of mugs in your arms, including the one you had specifically set aside for Hotch. His was easy to pick out—simple, just like the man himself.

For some reason, even the simple act of grabbing coffee for him made you feel jittery. Maybe it was because of the way he always carried himself—calm, collected, completely in control. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you, like he was always assessing, always paying attention.

Or maybe it was because you had the world’s most inconvenient crush on your boss.

You sighed and shook your head. It's just coffee. Be normal.

When the machine finally finished, you loaded the cups and returned to the bullpen. As you handed the team their drinks, your nerves started to build as you approached Hotch’s office. His door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, you could see him typing away on his computer, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You knocked softly, pushing the door open a little wider. “Coffee?”

Hotch glanced up, his eyes softening for a brief moment as he saw you standing there, juggling the last two mugs. “Thank you,” he said, his voice warm but as professional as always.

You stepped forward, holding out his cup. “Uh, here,” you said, your voice coming out a little I quickly. As he reached for it, your fingers accidentally brushed against his.

The contact was fleeting but sent a jolt through your whole body. Your breath hitched, and suddenly, you were hyper-aware of how close he was. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, and you swore he must have heard it. You tried to ignore how your hand trembled slightly, but it was impossible with Hotch standing right there.

For a second, he didn’t move. His gaze flickered down to your hand, then back up to meet your eyes, and you could have sworn there was a flicker of amusement in his expression as if he was beginning to catch on to the hold he had over you. He took the cup from you carefully, his touch deliberate and slow.

“Thank you,” he repeated, but this time, there was something softer in his tone. His lips curved ever so slightly—a small smile, barely noticeable if you weren’t paying attention, but you were. You always were.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. Why am I such a mess around him?

“Oh—uh, no problem,” you managed to stammer, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. You took a step back, desperate to escape before you embarrassed yourself further. “Enjoy your coffee, Hotch.”

You turned to leave, feeling your face burn with embarrassment. Behind you, you heard him chuckle softly—a rare sound, one that sent another rush of heat through you. You could only hope he didn’t notice how flustered you were. But then again, judging by that tiny smile, he already had.

three.

A grueling case with long hours and high tension called for alcohol and camaraderie. When Rossi suggested they all unwind at a nearby bar after wrapping things up, no one argued. The idea of a drink and a few hours of normalcy was too tempting to pass up--and much needed.

You found yourself sitting at a long table with the rest of the team, squeezed between JJ and Hotch. Normally, that would have sent your nerves into overdrive, but after the first glass of wine—and then the second—you felt your anxiety loosen just a bit. Just enough to breathe without overthinking every little move you made next to him.

The conversation flowed easily around you, with Morgan and Garcia trading playful banter while Spencer tried to argue some statistic about criminal behavior. You laughed along, but every time Hotch spoke, your focus snapped to him. You couldn’t help it. It was like your mind was on high alert every time he addressed the group, or worse—you directly.

“Good work on the case,” he said at one point, turning to you with that intense gaze of his. “You managed the witness interviews really well. I think it made a difference.”

Your heart lurched. He was complimenting you—praising your work in front of the whole team. The sudden attention made your pulse quicken, and you could feel your face heating up despite the buzz from the drinks.

Before you could stop yourself, the words just spilled out.

With a slightly bolder tone than you usually used around him, you turned to face him fully, giving him a playful smile. “Well, maybe I just wanted to impress you, Hotch.”

The second the words left your mouth, you realized how bold they sounded. You raised your glass slightly, locking eyes with him for a moment longer than necessary. You’d just flirted with your boss. There was no going back now.

Hotch blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but then a slow smile—rare but devastating—appeared on his face. “Is that right?” he replied, his voice low and most definitely amused.

Your heart practically stopped, but before you could spiral too much, JJ leaned over with a laugh. “Well, someone’s confident tonight.”

You hadn’t even realized that not only did you flirt with Hotch, but you happened to do it in front of your coworkers--your profiling coworkers. Ones that were well-trained and versed in all sorts of fucked up psychology that “having an apparent crush on your older boss” would fall under.

The moment passed quickly, and the conversation shifted again, but your head was spinning. The buzz from the drinks had officially worn off, leaving you hyper-aware of everything. You spent the rest of the night trying to avoid looking directly at Hotch, hoping that maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t taken your words too seriously.

By the time you walked into work the next morning, the weight of what happened at the dinner hit you full force. I flirted with Hotch. The realization felt like a brick sinking in your stomach.

You avoided his office all morning, burying yourself in paperwork and case files. Every time someone walked past your desk, you jumped, paranoid that it would be him coming to say something—anything—about last night.

Why did I have to say that? What was I thinking?

By midday, you were a ball of nerves. Every interaction with Hotch now felt loaded, as if you were walking on a tightrope. When he passed by your desk and gave you a small nod of acknowledgment, you nearly knocked your coffee over, your hands trembling as you tried to act casual.

You could still feel the burn of embarrassment every time you remembered how easy the words had slipped out. And the worst part? He hadn’t seemed uncomfortable at all. If anything, he had smiled. That tiny, knowing smile that you couldn’t get out of your head.

Later, when you were both in the conference room, going over case files, the tension felt unbearable. You barely managed to string together coherent answers every time he asked you a question, your brain too busy screaming Don’t be awkward.

But even in your shyness, you couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered what you said. If maybe, somewhere behind that calm, professional exterior, Aaron Hotchner had actually been flustered, too?

four.

Everyone else had left hours ago, but you were still there, finishing up some paperwork that seemed never-ending. The only sound was the soft clicking of your keyboard and the occasional creak of your chair as you shifted positions. Being the newest member on the team, you often double- or even triple-check everything, afraid it would be wrong. This cost you a lot of your spare time, but in fairness, what else did you have going on?

You weren’t surprised that Aaron Hotchner was still there, too. He was always the last to leave, always pushing himself past his limits. It was one of the things you admired about him—and maybe one of the reasons you found it so hard to concentrate whenever you were alone with him.

You glanced at the clock. It was well past 9 p.m., and the fatigue from the long day was starting to settle into your bones. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your eyes when you heard footsteps approaching. Before you could turn around, Hotch’s calm, steady voice cut through the silence.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” he said softly, standing just behind your desk. “Maybe it’s time for a break.”

Your breath caught in your throat for a moment. You hadn’t realized how quiet it was until his voice filled the space. His tone almost vibrating against your ears.

You quickly straightened up, trying to act casual, though you could already feel your pulse quickening.

“Oh, uh, yeah… probably a good idea,” you said, a bit too quickly. You glanced up at him, and for a split second, you wished you hadn’t. He was standing close—too close—and the sight of him with his tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sent a fresh wave of nervousness through you. Why did he always have to look so effortlessly composed?

Hotch tilted his head slightly, as if considering something. “I was about to make some tea,” he said, his voice low and calming. “Would you like some?”

Tea. Something about the simplicity of the offer made your heart flutter. “Sure,” you replied, smiling faintly. “Tea sounds nice.”

A few minutes later, Hotch returned with two steaming mugs. He set one down beside your stack of papers and took a seat in the chair next to yours.

You quickly pulled your hand back, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way your breath caught in your throat. But of course, he noticed everything. That’s who he was.

“Long day,” he said quietly, sipping his tea and glancing over at you.

You nodded, trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling. “Yeah. Feels like the days are getting longer.”

Hotch smiled softly, a rare but welcome sight. “I’d say you handled it well.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Compliments from Aaron Hotchner were few and far between, and when they came, they always seemed to hit harder than you expected. You swallowed nervously, feeling the familiar heat rising to your cheeks.

“T-Thanks,” you stammered, looking down at your tea and willing yourself not to blush. But it was no use. You were hyper-aware of how close he was, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Every word you could have said stuck in your throat, as if your mind had gone blank.

There was a brief silence, the kind that felt charged with something unspoken. Hotch leaned back in his chair slightly, his gaze steady on you. You could feel it—his calm presence, his quiet strength—and it only made your nerves worse. How did he manage to make small talk feel so intense?

“You don’t have to push yourself so hard, you know,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “You’re already doing more than enough. There’s nothing you need to prove--you deserve to be here.”

Your breath caught again. Was he worried about you? The thought made your heart race even faster. You tried to find the right words, but they felt stuck. All you could manage was a small, awkward laugh. “I guess I’m just trying to keep up with you.”

Hotch’s expression softened further, and for a moment, you swore there was something in his eyes—something warmer, more personal. He didn’t respond right away, just held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire now, and you quickly took a sip of your tea, hoping it would calm your racing heart. But the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like a quiet understanding had passed between the two of you, something unspoken but undeniably there.

Maybe he put together all of the pieces and realized you were hopelessly crushing on him, so he had pity and let you be. Maybe he thought men made you nervous--but then again, he’d seen you all buddy-buddy with Reid or even Morgan.

As the minutes passed, the tension slowly ebbed away, but the closeness remained. Hotch’s presence beside you felt reassuring, yet it kept your pulse thrumming in a way that made you wish you could stay like this just a little longer. Even if it meant fumbling over your words, you wouldn’t mind.

five.

The overhead lights buzzed softly, and the air was thick with the smell of coffee. You were sitting at the round table in the conference room, papers spread out in front of you, piecing together a presentation for the case debrief tomorrow. Your focus was sharp, and for once, you weren’t thinking about how close Hotch was sitting. Well, almost.

Aaron Hotchner was seated at the head of the table, reviewing files and notes from his section of the case, his brow furrowed in concentration. The silence between you felt comfortable—until it wasn’t.

Out of nowhere, Hotch spoke up, breaking the quiet. “Your organizational skills are impressive,” he said, his tone casual but sincere. “I don’t know how you keep all of this together so efficiently.”

You froze, your pen hovering above the notebook in front of you. He complimented you--again. The words sunk in slowly, and you could feel your face start to burn. Why did he always catch you off guard like this?

“I—uh, thanks,” you stammered, suddenly feeling the need to escape. Your heart raced as you realized how flustered you must look, your cheeks burning under his calm gaze. You barely managed to glance up at him, but his expression wasn’t teasing. It was soft, warm even.

“I just try to stay on top of things,” you mumbled, pushing your chair back too quickly. The sound echoed through the room, making you cringe. You could feel your face turning crimson as you gathered up your papers in a rush, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Why did he have to say something so nice? Why did you have to react like this every time?

You gave him a brief, awkward smile and practically bolted for the door. “I-I need to get this to JJ,” you blurted out, even though you had no intention of doing so.

As you reached the doorway, your hand on the handle, you heard him call your name—soft but unmistakable. You froze in place, half-turned, not daring to look back fully.

“By the way,” he said, his voice still calm but a touch more serious. “You don’t need to rush out every time I give you a compliment.”

Your breath caught, and for a split second, you weren’t sure if you could move. There was no teasing in his tone, no sharpness—just a quiet, sincere warmth. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Hotch noticed more than you thought.

You finally turned slightly toward him, meeting his gaze briefly. “I… I’ll try not to,” you whispered, your voice shaky but honest. Without waiting for a response, you slipped out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest.

And as you left the room, you heard Hotch chuckle softly to himself. It wasn’t cruel; it was amused, affectionate even. That only made things worse.

As you walked down the hall, the sound of his words still echoed in your mind, replaying over and over. You didn’t need to rush out every time he complimented you. And for the first time, you wondered what might happen if you didn’t.

+one

It had been weeks since the last case that left you fleeing the conference room after Aaron Hotchner’s casual compliment about your organizational skills. You’d spent every day since trying to keep your interactions with him as short and as professional as possible, but avoiding him entirely wasn’t exactly an option. You were part of the team, and your role often required working closely with him. That only made your constant nervousness more exhausting.

Every time he passed by your desk, every time he said your name in that calm, authoritative tone, your heart would skip a beat. The nerves were always there, simmering just under the surface. You weren’t sure if he noticed how flustered you got around him or if he simply chalked it up to work stress. Either way, it made every interaction with him feel like walking on a tightrope.

And today was no different after another intense case had finally been closed. You were finishing paperwork at your desk when you saw Hotch step out of his office, his eyes scanning the bullpen. The moment his gaze landed on you, your stomach twisted.

He started walking over, his strides purposeful. You tried to keep your face neutral, even as the heat rushed to your cheeks. Stay calm. It’s just work.

You looked up at him when he stopped before your desk, forcing a smile. “Do you need something?”

Hotch’s expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes seemed different today. Less intense, more… hesitant? “Can I see you in my office for a moment?”

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you quickly nodded, not trusting your voice. You grabbed your notepad, assuming it was something case-related, and followed him back into his office.

As you stepped inside, he closed the door behind you. The click of the latch made the room feel suddenly smaller--more intimate. You turned to face him, clutching your notepad like a shield.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of your voice.

Hotch didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he walked over to his desk, leaning against it, his arms crossed. His posture was relaxed, but there was something in the way he looked at you—something that made your pulse quicken.

“I’ve noticed,” he began, his voice measured but quieter than usual, “that you’ve been avoiding me.”

Your stomach dropped. He noticed. You hadn’t thought it was that obvious, but of course, this was Aaron Hotchner. He noticed everything.

“I… I h-haven’t been avoiding you,” you stammered, though you knew it was a lie. “I’ve just been busy. Lots of cases lately, you know.”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s not what it feels like.”

You swallowed hard, your nerves threatening to overwhelm you. He wasn’t angry; his tone wasn’t harsh or accusatory, but there was a weight to his words that made your throat go dry. He uncrossed his arms and took a small step toward you, closing the gap between you just enough to make your breath hitch.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he continued, his voice softer now. “But I’ve noticed how you’ve been acting around me. And I have to admit, it’s been difficult to ignore.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your mind racing. Was he going to reprimand you for being unprofessional? Did he think you couldn’t handle your job because of the way you acted around him? Would he send you off to report to someone different? You felt the familiar heat rising in your cheeks and wished you could disappear.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been… awkward,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. At this moment, you felt like a small child, “It’s just—”

Before you could finish, Hotch interrupted, his expression softening in a way you hadn’t seen before. “You don’t have to explain. I think I know why.”

His words hung in the air between you, and suddenly, everything felt different. You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “You do?”

Hotch took another small step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. He was so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. For the first time, you noticed the way his usually composed features seemed more vulnerable—like he was grappling with something inside himself.

“I’ve noticed because I’ve been feeling the same way,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart stopped. He feels the same way? Your mind struggled to process what he was saying. Aaron Hotchner, your boss—the man who was always in control, always so composed—was confessing that he had feelings for you?

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Your thoughts were a tangled mess, and all you could do was stare at him in stunned silence.

Hotch ran a hand through his hair, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture that sent a ripple of shock through you. He seemed just as uneasy as you were, as though he wasn’t used to being in this position—being vulnerable. “I’ve been trying to ignore it for a while,” he continued, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reaction. “But…but I can’t anymore.”

The silence between you felt thick with unspoken words, with all the tension and longing that had been building for weeks, maybe even months. And now it was all out in the open.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Hotch smiled—just a small, almost shy smile that you’d never seen from him before. He let out a soft chuckle, “Neither do I. This is… new for me.”

Your mind was still racing, but somewhere amidst the chaos, you realized that he wasn’t just confessing to you. He was just as nervous, just as unsure. For the first time, Aaron Hotchner—the man who always seemed unshakable—was standing in front of you, vulnerable and open.

You felt a surge of courage then, maybe fueled by the realization that this wasn’t one-sided. He was just as affected by you as you were by him. Slowly, you took a step closer, closing the remaining distance between you.

“I didn’t think you’d ever notice,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly, though steadier than before. You took a breath, forcing yourself to keep eye contact, despite the fluttering nerves in your stomach. “I thought I was just… making a fool of myself. That you’d think I was unprofessional.”

Hotch’s expression softened, his gaze never leaving yours. He shook his head gently, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name, something more tender than you’d ever seen from him before. “You haven’t,” he said softly. “Believe me… I’ve noticed everything.”

The weight of his words hit you, and for the first time, you realized how closely he’d been watching, how much attention he’d been paying to all the little moments you thought were only one-sided. A warmth spread through you, melting away some of the nervous tension that had been building for months.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore—it was charged, yes, but it was also full of something else. Understanding. Relief. The unspoken truth you’d both been dancing around finally laid bare.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, just stood there, the distance between you feeling impossibly small. You took a deep breath, your heart still pounding but lighter now, and offered him a small, hesitant smile. “So… what happens now?” you asked, your voice quieter, as if you weren’t sure you wanted the spell to break.

Hotch’s smile was subtle, but it reached his eyes this time, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “But I do know this… whatever we decide, we don’t need to rush.”

His words were steady and reassuring, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like you could breathe. The uncertainty was still there, yes, but so was the certainty that you weren’t alone in this anymore. That the feelings you’d been so afraid of had been mirrored all along.

You nodded slowly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Together, then?”

“Together,” he echoed, his voice quiet but firm.

And just as you turned to leave, feeling the tension melt away, Hotch called your name again. This time, his tone was softer, almost hesitant. You turned back to face him, your breath catching in your throat.

“One more thing,” he said, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ve spent a lot of time noticing you. Maybe now… we don’t have to hide it anymore?”

His words lingered in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You swallowed hard, your heart racing again, but it wasn’t from nerves this time. It was from the hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something real.

You smiled a genuine smile this time. “I’d like that.”

With that, you left his office feeling lighter than you had in months. And for the first time, the uncertainty ahead didn’t feel so daunting.

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