#how to draw a girl in easy steps

[majestyeverlasting]

the moments in between

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Summary: When Joel and Ellie arrive at the Jackson commune, his strong frame and intense gaze captivate you, but as the days pass, you lose hope that he might be drawn to you as well. That is, until the walls come crashing down and the truth finally reveals itself.

Word Count: 7.3k [slow burn]

A/N: I put a lot of love and time into this one. It's my longest fic so far but it didn't feel hard, which I like to believe is a good thing. Hope it resonates, hope you feel the feels and the yearning between these two—let me know! Hope you're well.

A breeze follows Tommy as he saunters in through the doors of the Tipsy Bison, the soft click of his boot heels echoing off the wood with each easy step. The cowboy hat on his head casts a shadow over his eyes until he takes it off, his dark hair cascading down over his ears. There’s a small smile playing on his lips that makes you narrow your eyes.

Cleaning the bartop suddenly loses its appeal, but you don’t stop, only slow down. The fresh, tangy scent of lemongrass continues to waft up from the motion.     

“We close early on Sunday’s, officer,” you tease as he climbs onto a stool. 

He frowns as he sets his hat aside. “I don’t look like a cop, do I?” You shrug, and he chuckles as his gaze roves over to the pool room. “Nate back there? Yo, Nate!” 

“Evening, Tom,” the older man calls back as he polishes a cue ball. 

“Joel’s made it into town.” There’s no overt emotion in the way he shares the news, but you can see that it’s all in his eyes as he waits for you to react.  

“Joel, Joel? As in your brother?” He nods, still in disbelief himself. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing, Tommy—right? What the heck.” He used to talk about him all the time. 

His exhale makes way for a shaky smile, “I know. Made it in not too long ago with a young girl he’s looking after,” he tells you, voice thick with a mix of emotions. “He’s outside. Wanted to come in and see if you’d let us grab a drink.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Know it’s late. Promise I’ll make up for the trouble.” He knows it’s no trouble. Not when it comes to him. 

He turns around, barstool squeaking, and waves Joel in through the window. 

You move to start working on their whiskies. “Make it up by letting me be the baby’s godmother?” The glasses clink as you set them onto the bar and begin pouring the caramel colored liquid, smirking when you meet his gaze.

Tommy isn’t completely opposed to the idea. You’d been in Jackson since the beginning, a friend to him and Maria in every sense of the word. Arguably family. “If you can manage not to tick me off until the little one gets here.” Despite his words, his eyes are fond. 

The door creaks open, and Joel strides in, scanning the room. There are pictures on the walls of American icons and landmarks, and old Polaroids of commune members. There’s a guarded confidence to the way he walks, an intensity. 

Tommy quickly leans in and whispers, “He means well. It’s been a long day.” 

Joel takes a seat beside his brother and acknowledges you with a curt nod, tugging on the collar of his shirt.  

“Welcome to Jackson,” you greet, introducing yourself afterwards.

“Joel,” he says, taking you in with a steady gaze. 

“Tommy’s told me a lot about you.” You push their glasses closer to them in an encouragement to start drinking.

Joel takes his first sip and fights back a reflexive grimace. It’s been a while, but it's good. Good enough to make him feel pleasantly warm as it glides down. Tommy drinks off his brother’s lead, and you realize just how alike they look. Joel’s hair is a little shorter and accented with streaks of gray, but they both have those same dark, telling eyes. 

They fall into light conversation, but it’s clearly not what they'd talk about if they were alone. That’s when you sense the distance. The slight edge to the space between them. It’s why Tommy resorts to drawing you in, the two of you ripping off each other as Joel listens, fine with not having to speak until this whole little ordeal was winding to an end. However, he does sit up a little straighter whenever you laugh. You pour them more whiskey when their glasses get empty.     

Eventually, the remaining light outside fades away. Tommy hisses at the sight, standing. “I gotta get home to Maria,” he says, stretching his back. Joel moves to get up too, until, “At least finish off this glass, man. You’ve earned it.” Tommy squeezes his brother’s shoulder. He means it genuinely, at least. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, Joel. Thanks again for this,” he tells you. 

“Bye, sheriff,” you call after him. Tommy scoffs.  

Joel realizes just how quiet it is when you move aside to tinker with a bison trinket sitting on the counter, unsure of what to say with Tommy gone. He knows you can see him looking at you. “So, are you here by yourself?” he finally asks. 

A playful smile tugs at your lips. “That’s not a creepy question at all,” you tease, quickly gathering that he doesn’t find the implication funny. “Uncle Nate?” you call. 

“Busy!”  

You raise your brows at Joel. “Not alone.”

Nate was chosen family. The man taught you everything you know about shooting, fishing, and survival even though you gave him a hard time for it when you were younger. He was also the founder of the Tipsy Bison. He only came into the bar on the weekends when he wasn't on patrol. His time in the military all those years ago made it hard to step away from a life of service. 

“We were cleaning when Tommy came in,” you tell Joel. He takes in that information wordlessly. 

“You aren’t much for talking, are you?” Joel takes a sip from his glass. “Nothing wrong with that. Must mean you don’t miss much. Really observant.” When he doesn’t respond, you smile shyly, realizing he probably just wanted to relax after a long day. “Guess I won’t stand here and talk your ears off.” 

The floor creaks as you disappear into the recreation room with Nate, rounding the corner. Joel exhales, shoulders dropping from being drawn up. He almost misses your company. 

Nate sits hunched over a word search puzzle, using the pool table as if it's a normal desk. He doesn’t look up at you, even when you give an affectionate tug to his curly gray ponytail. It was something you’d been doing since the days you both were out on your own and had to stay quiet all the time. Back when there was no safety, no security, no commune. 

“Ouch,” he drones, unphased. 

“Are you gonna come out and meet Tommy's brother?” you ask, low so Joel can’t hear. “I feel like you guys have a lot in common: brooding and grumpy.” Pride flutters in your chest when the man’s lips twitch. 

“I’ll meet him… eventually. Gotta finish this puzzle.” You realize there’s a small hourglasses going, the sand swiftly filling the bottom portion. “There ya are—serendipity.” He circles the letters. 

Word searches were something he recently started doing. When you have a past as extensive as his, it’s always chasing after you in one way or another. Especially in those quiet moments that sneak up on you. He claimed that seeking out words from amid an ordered chaos keeps the racing thoughts at bay whenever they come rushing in. 

Joel is finished by the time you join him again, and you realize he’d waited instead of calling out. Already standing, ready to go. 

“Anything else I can get you?” 

He shakes his head. “I appreciate your hospitality.” 

Joel turns to leave but you keep talking, “So I reckon Tommy already squared you away with a house and a tour of the town?” 

He stops. “I’m across the street from him. Gettin’ the tour tomorrow.”  

“That’s great, I’m really glad you found us.” You sound so genuine that there’s a flutter in his gut. “We’re a pretty crazy bunch, but I think you’re gonna like it here.” 

“Hope so.” Those are the words he leaves you with.

Your eyes stay trained on his back as he makes his way towards the door, stride the same as when he first arrived. Perhaps a little looser. Before he exits the bar, his eyes catch a glimpse of one of the decorative license plates secured to the wall: Austin, Texas. 

Shortly after he makes it outside, his heart rate ticks up in that impending way he wishes wasn’t so familiar, breath catching in his throat as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. There’s no escaping the panic as it sets in, surging through him. A few staggering steps allow him to brace a hand on a wooden directory board. 

You see it all from inside. At first, you think he’s trying to read the sign, but then he hunches over more and grips his chest. Without thinking, you jog towards the doors. 

“Joel?” You call once you’ve broken outside. 

It’s a cool spring night, a crescent moon shares its pale glow from above. Most of Jackson is already tucked away inside or at least halfway there. But in this sliver of time, it feels like it’s just the two of you outside. Joel doesn’t let on that he’d heard you, but the moment you’re close enough, you recognize what’s going on. You press your palm to his back to let him know you’re there. That he’s still here. 

“Concentrate on your breathing. In and out, just like that,” you encourage, settling on rubbing his back in measured passes. Then you go quiet on the off chance he needs that. 

In your newfound silence, Joel is forced to focus on the shaky breaths rising from his lungs. That’s when he accepts he’s not in control. Not in the grand scheme of things. There’s a whole big fallen world just outside the gates of this haven. A world that had taken people he loved and was cruel enough to let him be the one who lived to tell the tale. The heat that rises to his cheeks is made up of frustration more than distress, crackling like pop. Like coals. 

The ground takes on a vignette as he stares at it, his vision briefly closes in. You never withdraw your touch. 

When his breaths eventually begin to steady, you remember how to breathe yourself. With a tired exhale, he straightens back up to his full height, and you take a few small steps away. Maybe this wasn’t new, but a fact of life for the man who’d rode into Jackson in an air of mystery and a young girl by his side. Maybe he never wanted you to get a glimpse at this side of him. If he feels that way, he doesn’t make it obvious. He almost looks appreciative that you’d bothered enough to care. 

“Sorry to scare you,” he rasps, not meeting your gaze even though he can feel it. You want to tell him that there isn’t much that scares you anymore. At least that’s what you like to believe. “I’m usually alone.” 

Except, tonight, he wasn’t. And maybe that wasn’t such a terrible thing. 

•••

Howdy Stranger

This is Jackson Hole

The last of the Old West 

Joel reads the painted wooden sign as Tommy and Maria show him and Ellie around. There are people everywhere. Children playing outside, adults fluttering in and out of shops. All while the Teton mountains loom and watch over it all with their snow-capped peaks. He looks over at the girl when she nudges his arm, pointing to a Calico lounging on a porch. Despite her beaming smile, all he offers is a low hum. 

It was hard to be in the now when his thoughts were split between the past and future. Up until Jackson, there was no such thing as stability, and he couldn’t help but think about the day that the rug would be pulled from beneath the commune as well. Ellie’s smile fades when she notices the harsh squint of his face. He kicks himself for it.   

“Cat hater,” she mumbles under her breath.

Joel grunts and directs his attention back to his brother. 

When the tour comes to an inevitable end, Ellie sings Jackson’s praises after Tommy and Maria go their separate ways with a promise to reconnect later that day. He lets her talk as they make their way back to their new house, idly agreeing every once in a while. A few curious eyes fall on them as they walk, but Joel doesn’t pay them any mind. 

“Dude, are you even listening to me?” Ellie stops walking to give him a flat look. 

“I hear you,” he insists. “Been hearing you for the past ten minutes.”

There’s no snark in his tone, but Ellie still feels the slight sting of offense. “Well, sorry for being excited about having a nice place to live for once. It’s not like I was born into hell or anything—I mean the Boston QZ.” Sarcasm drips from her voice as she starts walking again, faster so it looks like they’re not together.

Joel swallows down guilt like it’s just another pill. His legs are long, so it doesn’t take much to catch back up with her.

“Hey…Kid…Ellie.” She keeps ignoring him. “This is new for me too, okay? Everybody’s got a different way of processing, can we agree on that?” It’s a fair enough proposal. He never had been forward when it came to sharing his thoughts. “Wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmurs, deciding to take a break from her rambling for his sake. The mutual silence isn’t so bad. 

Someone he isn’t expecting to see is you. You’re wearing a backpack and ushering a line of young kids into the community center. One of the little girls stops and stretches her arms up towards you, earning a playful eyeroll before being lifted onto your hip. Joel doesn’t miss the way the afternoon sunlight catches your face. 

•••

The next day, a faint thump against the door startles Ellie as she sketches in the dining room. Rather than getting up from the table, she remains still, pencil in hand and brows furrowed. Upstairs, the spray of the shower continues as Joel lets it drown out everything else. Three light knocks eventually sound, and she musters up the courage to scurry to the front. 

She peeks out the window first, spotting you. Someone she hadn’t seen around. An amused smile pulls at her lips at the way you’ve seemingly wrestled the big basket you’re holding into a better grip than before. 

When she opens the door, you let out a relieved sigh. “Special delivery,” you say before introducing yourself. 

“That’s a really pretty name,” she compliments, already warming up to you. “I’m Ellie—is all that stuff for us?” When you nod, she excitedly steps aside and ushers you in. 

“I’m not gonna say you shouldn’t have because that’d be a lie,” she shamelessly admits. “You can put it right over here.” You follow her into the living room and place the welcome basket on the coffee table. 

A few of the ladies you volunteer with helped you put it together after your shift counseling for the spring break camp. There were cookies, seeds, natural soaps, feminine hygiene products, and even a knit blanket that looked particularly soft and cozy. Ellie wastes no time reaching out to run her fingers over it. A laugh bubbles up your throat when her jaw drops. 

“This is literally what clouds feel like.” She haphazardly pulls the blanket out the basket, wrapping it around herself like a cape. “If Joel says anything, this was specifically included for me.” 

“I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to share if he asked nicely,” you reason, amused. Ellie’s nose wrinkles. “But to be fair, we did think you’d be the one to really appreciate it.”

She smiles at being considered. “Who made it? This is, like, next level.” 

“A woman named Emilia,” you tell her. “She actually made me one back when Jackson was first being built up that I still have,” you tell her, taking a seat on the couch and looking around. The evening sunlight pours in through the windows, casting golden streaks onto the floors. “Now she’s always got a few on standby.” 

Ellie sits beside you, reaching out to dig through the other contents in awe. “They told us the commune's only, like, seven years old on our tour yesterday,” she recounts. Think you’ll have your blanket forever?” 

“Forever’s an awful long time. It might hold up,” you think aloud. Ellie nods, contemplative. “I can take you by to meet her sometime, if you’d like. She’s the resident seamstress, so you’ll probably end up crossing paths anyways.” 

“What about you? What do you do?” she asks, giving you her full attention. 

“I mainly help coordinate community events. Been stepping in to assist with the youth spring break camp for the last couple days, though,” you say. “Also bartend on the nights that I feel like it. Just for fun, you know?” 

Ellie's face lights up. “I’ve had whiskey before.” She puffs out her chest when she says it, and you play into her pride by raising an impressed brow. The first and last time you had a sip was when you snuck it from Nate as a teen. “But that’s really cool, though. The community stuff and all that.” You can tell by her tone that she means it. In more ways than one, you’re reminded of your younger self. 

“Joel’s gonna join the patrol. He says I’m too young, but that’s just bullshit.” She says the last part lower as if he’s somewhere listening. “I’ll figure out a way to make him cave.” There’s an air of confidence to her voice that suggests she’s done it before. The thought warms a tiny portion of your chest.

“I’ve gone out with my uncle Nate a few times. It can be a lot,” you admit. “He just wants you safe, Nate’s the same way.” 

As Joel stops at the top of the staircase, freshly showered, he catches those last words. He’d know your voice even if it’d been forever. His footsteps are quiet as he descends the stairs, but you hear him coming nevertheless. Ellie’s too busy sniffing the pine soap as you straighten up and glance his way. Joel’s eyes are as observant as you remember when they land on you, seeing into you, it seems. His damp hair is combed back in a way that makes him look more distinguished. 

“There you are.” You stand up with a smile. You’d been wondering how he was doing since the panic attack.

He wishes your warmth wasn't so compelling.  

Ellie whips around to look at him. “I know you said not to open the door to strangers—which is practically everybody at this point—but she’s really nice and brought us gifts so you can’t be mad at me,” she rushes out. He clocks the blanket around her shoulders. 

He hmphs. “That’s how they get you.” He’s not being serious, but Ellie frowns, trying to read through his eternal poker face. “Treats and a friendly smile.” Your lips twitch in amusement as Ellie narrows her eyes. 

When Joel starts walking your way, she consoles herself with the fact that he would've already asked you to leave if he sensed your intentions were off. The commune wasn’t filled with questionable people like that anyways. The two of them didn’t have to be apprehensive of every soul they came across anymore. 

He’s close enough now that you can smell the cedar soap on his skin. “I’m not a stranger,” you lightly defend. “Not entirely.” You look from Ellie to Joel. 

A wall rises in real time, shutting you out right along with the night you met. It happens in his eyes just like everything does. He hadn’t mentioned you to her, and it was your mistake for believing he would’ve at least passed on a name. 

You swallow back a small lump in your throat that may not be entirely just. “Anyways, hopefully you guys will be able to put this stuff to use.” 

“Of course we will,” Ellie pipes up. “Are you leaving already?” She hadn’t missed the finality that had crept into your tone. 

You nod. “Don’t wanna take up too much of your evening. I actually meant to come by sooner.” 

“Well, are you going to the dining hall for dinner?” Her gaze flicks to Joel. “Maybe you can come with us.” 

Joel knows he’s in trouble when he hears the fondness in Ellie’s voice. It’s the same sentiment he was straining to tamper down within himself. Every time he opened his mouth or looked at you, it tried to claw its way to the forefront. The last thing he needed was another person getting close enough to see that he was a million tiny pieces being held together by the glue of whatever god was keeping him alive. 

You decline her invitation, expressing plans to go to your uncle’s place. But you give her a rain check. When you go to leave, Joel allows his eyes to flitter down the rest of your body. 

That wouldn’t be the last he saw of you. But it was always from afar, lingering on the outskirts. Wishing there was a seamless way he could fall into your orbit without sending everything spiraling out of control. 

You were always looking right back at him with hope in your eyes, holding space. Waiting for your world to be shaken. 

•••

Laughter, chatter, and music drown out the insects that usually take precedence at night. Weeks of planning had finally come into fruition. All of Main Street is lined with fairy lights that cast their warm glow down on the summer festival. There was no shortage of entertainment, games, and food. It was a time to let loose and relish the sweetness in the air along with that of life. 

Nate plays his harmonica for a group of children around the bonfire, all clapping and stomping along. A smile graces your face as you walk by, waving at him. The fullness of your heart almost overrides the ache that has settled in the arches of your feet. You’d barely sitten down since earlier that morning when preparation began. There was a sense of responsibility that came along with the orange vest you were dawned in. The pressure to assist, and guide, and answer questions wasn’t all on you, but the other volunteers were better at taking breaks. 

Tommy’s grainy voice breaks into the air through a megaphone, “Thirteen-and-up three-legged races starting in five minutes, this is your last call. Grab a partner and make your way over to the east lawn,” he says. “Again, this is the last call.”

Joel and Ellie already happen to be seated at a picnic table that gives them a perfect view of the race setup and Tommy facilitating in an orange vest of his own. Ellie had already worked through her first honey cake and was eyeing Joel’s. He pretends not to notice until she looks up at him all wide-eyed.  

“Can I—” he slides his plate over to her. “Thanks.” 

“Your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” he lightly accuses, shaking his head. 

“What does that even mean?” She takes a bite. “Weirdo.” 

Joel just grumbles and tosses a napkin her way. She wipes her mouth and keeps staring at him. Not because she’s waiting for an answer, but because there’s amusement sparkling in his eyes. Which happens more often now that they’d had a couple months to settle into Jackson. A laugh was coming, she could feel it. 

“Quit gawking at me and eat.” There’s a tell-tale waver in his voice. 

“No.” Ellie lightly kicks his shin beneath the table and that’s what sets him off. 

He tries to bite back a chuckle, but he gives in when it doesn’t work out, shoulders shaking. Ellie starts grinning at him from across the table, and he kicks her back with the tip of his boot. 

“Hey!” She breaks into giggles and retaliates. He lets her have the little victory. 

A small smile lingers on his face when he regains his composure. They sit in a comfortable silence as Ellie finishes the rest of her dessert, taking in the festivities around them. 

It isn’t long before a girl with dark hair approaches their table. She’s a ball of masked nerves. “Hi,” she greets. “Ellie, right?” She says it as if it’s possible for her to have forgotten. As if after they sat together at last week’s movie night, she hadn’t been thinking about her since. 

Ellie get’s uncharacteristically squirmy. “Oh. Hey, Dina.” 

Joel can’t believe it.

Dina tucks a flyaway behind her ear. “My old partner bailed, so I was wondering if you’d maybe wanna do the three-legged race with me. I think we’d make a better team anyways.” Then she glances at Joel. “If you wouldn’t mind me stealing her away for a bit.” 

“Take her,” Joel quips, making Dina laugh. 

Warmth rushes to Ellie’s cheeks as she stands. “Sure, let’s go.” 

The two of them jog over to get prepped for the race. Joel watches the whole while, warmth kindling in his chest at the fact that she was slowly finding her tribe. The race doesn’t start for another couple minutes, and when it does, Ellie and Dina burst off into first. It’s intense. The whole ordeal is a mess of laughter, stumbling, and flailing limbs. In the end, the duo end up placing second, crossing the finish line only to fall into a heap of giggles with their legs tied together. 

Joel stands from the picnic table with a grunt to throw away all the empty plates. He has every intention to sit back down, but notices a few frazzled volunteers carrying mops and towels. Then his eyes rove over to the long line standing at the drink stands. Adults check their watches, children fidget. A woman in an orange vest is talking to another woman managing the stand. He doesn’t realize is you until you turn away from her and beeline towards the community center, looking stressed. 

“Hey,” he calls out to a stout man wearing an apron. “Do you know what’s going on?” 

He’s surprised Joel caught on. Everyone else was carrying on as usual, carefree and unaware. “There was a spill at the community center. You know Mr. Robertson’s special Summer Fest punch?” he asks in a thick Brooklyn accent, Joel nods because he’d heard the rave. Apparently it was made especially for the festival. “Kitchen’s flooded with it. I didn’t have time to build an ark,” he jokes.  

Joel wrestles with himself. “I’ll go see if I can help.” 

By the time you exit the community center, gaze fixed over your shoulder, you crash into Joel. He instinctively reaches out to steady you, touch firm but gentle. “Whoa, easy there.” The low timbre of his drawl is enough to draw your mind away from all the noise. “You alright? Here, let’s get out of the way.” You let him pull you aside by your elbow. 

When you look into his eyes, there’s so many things you wish it was the appropriate time to say. It’s been cordial between the two of you, but it always seemed like he was in a constant state of backing away, like an animal scared of giving into a primal craving.  

There was always a reason why he couldn’t stay in your presence longer than he did. He had to get back to Ellie, or turn in early for his patrol shift the next day, or some other excuse. Even during the game nights you hosted, he would always leave before his belly was full and the real fun was about to begin. When everyone was finally free of the day’s worries and truly ready to talk, laugh, and let everything ride on the toss of a dice. 

He’d resigned himself to enjoying you in the little here and there, the moments in between. So much so that even Ellie had begun to notice. It was in the way he never allowed himself to lean in too close whenever you were at his side. Or never fully crawled out of his shell no matter how many times you smiled sweetly or let your fingertips brush his forearm. 

“Does anything hurt?” He asks more intently. As he scans you over, he notices your clothes. The lower portion of your vest and the thighs of your flared jeans are stained with a wet, dark substance. 

“I’m fine, Joel.” You pull away from him with more force than necessary, feeling guilty for the way he swallows and takes a step back. “Sorry.” You release a heavy exhale, tears welling in your eyes with a dull sting. “I’m ruining everyone’s night.” 

Joel frowns. “No you’re not. Tell me what happened.” 

“I was trying to transfer the extra beverage dispenser onto the wagon so I could wheel it out to the drink stand, but it slipped out of my grip,” you explain. “The lid came off and the punch spilled everywhere.” You wipe your tears away quickly, as if they’ll stain too. 

“Accidents happen,” Joel’s tone is steady like scripture, tenderness peeking through just enough to cling onto. “Everybody’s fine. The world's still turning.”

Nobody had reacted in an extreme manner. There were gasps and startled jumps, but assurances came rushing in as the janitorial volunteers insisted that they’d get everything cleaned up. Everyone in that kitchen knew that there were worse things in life than spilled juice. Sure, it was upsetting, considering the time Mr. Robertson spent and the people looking forward to drinking more, but it was a small mistake in the grand scheme of things. But when your heart is already heavy and your mind is tangled with other concerns, those little mishaps feel like the most devastating ones. 

There was a directness about Joel, though, that eased away the guilt crawling beneath your skin. It was like he understood what screwing up truly was and this was many light years from it. 

Dina spots Joel in the distance and points him out to Ellie. “There he is over there.” 

Their smiles fall from their faces when they get closer and realize you’re crying. “Holy shit, what happened?” Ellie looks between you and Joel, worry etched onto her face. 

“I just made a stupid mistake.” You sniffle, trying to regain your composure, not wanting to worry them.  There was always something unavoidably daunting about seeing adults cry. 

“You girls stay here with her for a second. I’ll be right back,” Joel instructs. 

A new song starts up by the live band that’s playing. It’s an instrumental rendition of Every Breath You Take. A decent crowd has gathered, nibbling on sourdough and nodding to the melody. Some people are wrapped in each other’s arms. Joel soaks it all in as he navigates back to the racing lawn. 

Tommy claps him on the back when he makes it and Joel returns the gesture. “You enjoying yourself, man?” Tommy asks. 

“Yeah,” he says distractedly. “There was a spill at the community center, so no more punch. You think you can get everybody on the same page?” 

“Copy that.” 

Tommy’s voice carries through the megaphone as Joel makes his way back to you, the announcement fading with each step. 

“Howdy, folks. Some of you may have already heard, but in case you haven’t, there’s been a little spill and we are unfortunately all out of Mr. Robertson’s world famous punch for the night. We apologize if you didn’t get the chance to try it, but I promise we’ll figure out a way to make it up to y'all. In the meantime, I heard the lemonade and ice tea ain’t half bad.” 

His words blur into the background as Joel makes it back to you. There are a few disappointed groans, but nobody is completely devastated by the news. They keep carrying on just as he knew they would. 

Tears no longer streak your face when Joel makes it back, Ellie and Dina seeming to have lifted your spirits a little more. 

“Do you wanna go get cleaned up?” Joel suggests. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, the feeling of your clothes sticking to your skin is beginning to grow uncomfortable. You take a deep breath at the thought of walking home, away from Summer Fest, all the energy, all the fun. Joel sees the disappointment on your face. 

“I can go with you,” he offers.

•••

The walk to your house is quiet, the sounds of the night's festivities now distant. The porch steps creak gently under your weight as the two of you ascend them. Joel watches as you unlock the door, but finds himself cemented as you step inside. Confusion, appreciation, frustration, and want are all amalgamated into one look directed at right his way. Without saying a word, you head further inside, leaving the door open. 

Joel’s hands twitch at his sides like he’s a live wire wrought with energy. Bugs would fly in if he didn’t do something—that’s the justification he creates. You’re halfway to the laundry room when you hear the front door shut behind him as he follows after you. 

The living room is illuminated by dim lamplight as he walks through. A quick glance into the kitchen gives him sight of one of Ellie’s more recent drawings stuck to the refrigerator door with a smiley face magnet. It's a portrait of your face that you agreed to sit for one lazy afternoon while Joel was away on patrol. 

The air smells like you. Understated and sweet, floral and earthen. Small plants line multiple windowsills despite how convinced you were that you couldn’t keep anything alive. The whole commune would be worse off without you and he’d be the first to wilter away. 

At the sound of a zipper and clothes brushing against skin, he stops his pursuit of you. Miles away even though you’re mere yards apart. All he has is your shadow, dancing in the dim light pooling out of the laundry room and into the hall with him. He backs himself into the cool wall and closes his eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Up and down and up again. An SOS in the middle of a sea when salvation was right within reach. It gets quiet after a while. No more running water, or cabinet doors, or shuffling around. 

“You can let me in, you know?” comes your voice, so light it’s almost nothing. Joel releases a shaky breath and opens his eyes to the sight of you, dawned in old shorts and a graphic tee. You wish he would say something, anything. Share a fraction of what’s going on in his mind. “I’m right here, Joel.” 

“I know. I see you.” There’s a defensive edge to his voice that’s wounded around the edges, as if he’s trying to accommodate the truth that burns within his ribcage, his stomach, beneath the entirety of his skin. 

“So now what?” You swallow your nerves, studying his face, his neck. “We’re just gonna keep seeing each other for the rest of our lives and that’s it? No knowing, no feeling, no experiencing?” You ask. “No loving?”  

One by one, the walls close in, until it feels like you’re standing toe to toe with nothing but words as weapons and honesty being the only way out. It’s not a fight he’s ready for. He can trek through the harshest winters, fight off monsters and all manner of men, but he’s defenseless in front of you.

There will be no victory, no rising from battle with a bloodied fist or blade, or immediate relief akin to the coming of spring. The only way out is to dig within, and he already knew what resided there. It was a matter of carving it out and laying it on an altar for you to see as you did the same. It’s not a fight at all, it's a sacrifice. All risk with probable reward. 

“I don’t want that to be all that we do.” You’ve never heard Joel speak so quietly. It’s as if there’s Infected lurking nearby and he doesn’t want to be devoured. “Think about you too much.” 

“I was starting to think you didn’t like me at all. Not like how I like you,” you say. 

Joel swallows thickly, warm all over. “How do you like me?” 

You push out of the laundry room doorway to step closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, the beating of his heart. You let it thrum against your palm until a shallow breath slips past his lips, then you move to cup his stubbled jaw, lightly brushing your thumb over his lower lip. The urge to touch you back grows so great that he finally gives in and lets both of his strong hands settle on your waist.  

Joel can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he leans in towards you, studying your face, searching for any sign that this might be some elaborate ruse. Instead, he finds something so poignant that he doesn’t have the words to define. It’s as terrifying as it is wonderful to, for once, be unable to size up what he’s up against. 

You close the space in between you with a softness that takes his breath away. Bared heart meeting bared heart. Joel’s lips are gentle and unhurried, every second savored and not a single one missed. You try to focus but it feels like you’re falling and flying all at once. Then his fingers dig into your waist a little harder, a silent plea to stay there with him, the warmth of his kiss, the firmness of his body as he pulls you closer. 

Your hands find their way to the back of his neck to play with the hair curled at his nape. The kiss deepens not in urgency but a shared understanding. A promise sealed in the way your bodies fit together. And then, slowly, deliberately, Joel eases back, lips lingering on yours for a heartbeat longer until there’s a slight space in between again. Your breaths mingle as he rests his forehead against yours, thumb stroking tender circles on your waist. 

When you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you, wondering if you can feel that two worlds having converged into one, buzzing with a newness that’s as beautiful as all the words you’d kept bottled inside. 

•••

It hadn’t taken much. Just a hug and a few soft kisses pressed to the underside of his jaw. When Joel’s grumbling finally subsided, it made way for the soothing ripple of the river. You’d settled along the bank and stretched out a few blankets when you first arrived. An hour seemed to pass in the matter of a few seconds, laughter, conversations and all. Now the sun creeps closer and closer to the horizon up in the ombre sky. 

It wasn’t any fault of your own that you’d asked Joel if the date could extend a little longer. It’d been a month of getting to see him in this light, open and unguarded, generous with giving those slow, easy smiles. Willing to lay down across your lap like this when you asked sweetly enough. 

The small mouth of a fish breaks the surface of the water as you trace along his hairline, disappearing by the time you run the pad of your finger down his nose. His lips twitch as he continues to ward off sleep. This time, there’s no stopping a soft laugh from rising up your throat. That’s all it takes for his eyes to flutter open, blinking until they’re able to focus on the soft upturn of your lips. No sooner do they avert to the sky, assessing the fleeting light. 

“We gotta head back now,” his voice is gruff. When he moves to sit up, you place a delicate hand on the center of his chest and he settles back down with a sigh. “C’mon, sweetheart, the sun’s setting. I don’t want you out here in the dark.” 

Packing up and riding back to the commune meant this moment would be resigned to a memory. “A few more minutes won’t hurt,” you insist. 

Before Jackson and before you, every second was about enduring to the next. Life was an endless onwards, onwards, onwards reverberating through his veins. Slowing down was always a risk until you showed him that sometimes life’s most worthwhile moments were in the stillness. Somedays that was easier to remember than others, but he sure did put in an effort. 

“I think you’re enjoying this more than I am anyways,” you tease. The corners of his lips quirk upwards before he can stop them. 

You continue on like that, tracing his face, occasionally glancing up at the snow-capped peaks of the mountains. Then an animal catches your attention across the way, lean and tall with short antlers protruding from its head. You suck in a breath of pleasant surprise, and Joel startles upright thinking the worst. His shoulders relax when he sees the creature. It bends its neck down to nibble at something in the grass until deciding to gallop away. 

“Just a mule deer.” He gives you a look. 

“I know, sorry. I get excited.” You offer an apologetic smile and he's reminded of how beautiful you look in the light of the setting sun, features aglow. He doesn’t say anything, just soaks you in here and now. An airiness fills your chest. 

He stands with a groan, extending a helping hand back down to you. When you’re steady on your feet, he takes your chin in one gentle hand and tilts your head back so he can align his lips with yours. The kiss is brief, and he follows it up with a soft peck.  

“Will you let me take you back home now?” he questions. “Ellie’s gonna have our heads if we’re late for game night. Especially when she’s choosing the line up.” 

•••

No heads roll that night. Plenty of dice do, while Uno cards are slapped onto the coffee table, and Jenga blocks fall. Tommy, Maria, Dina, and your uncle Nate, eventually file out of Joel’s house, leaving the three of you alone. Ellie feigns sleep on the couch as soon as it’s time for cleanup, and dozes off for real as you and Joel start taking care of everything yourselves. 

He steps up behind you as you’re standing at the kitchen sink, snaking his arms around your middle. A curious hum rises up your throat as you lean back into him. 

“I think somebody cheated during Jenga tonight,” he hushes against the shell of your ear, relishing the way you shiver at the warmth of his breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

Joel noses at the back of your head. “So you weren’t the one touchin’ me during that last round?” he asks. “Scratching my back, squeezing my thigh.” 

“It was innocent,” you insist. “It's a stressful game, I was just trying to ease your nerves. How was I supposed to know your hands would get all shaky?” 

A sudden chuckle shakes his chest, sending a ripple of warmth through you. “Ease my nerves? We weren’t even on the same team.” His fingers squeeze your hips in quick, gentle pulses, making you arch into him in a spell of helpless giggles. Joel evades your attempts to grab his wrists, but shows you mercy when you turn around, looking up at him through your lashes like you could do no wrong. 

“You’re lucky I happen to like you an awful lot.” He places both hands on the counter behind you, effectively caging you in. 

You smooth your hands up his chest, admiring the soft lines by his eyes, the handsome bump of his nose. “I know. I’m the luckiest person alive.” 

“No, that’s me,” Joel whispers. 

He’s certain of it. 

- 

Thank you so much for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts, it’s my favorite thing.

[xxbirkindoll]

tangled lines | 18+

pairings: bsf!rafe x bimbo!reader

warnings: unprotected sex, jealous & possessive rafe, fluff, reader is kind of an airhead, soft!rafe, smut, soft sex, oral (fem!receiving), reader uses the word “daddy” two times

summary: rafe gets jealous after seeing reader with a guy at a party and things gets heated when they get to his house

word count: 5.2k

You and Rafe Cameron have always been inseparable. From the time you were kids on the Cut to now, practically glued together as if one of you couldn’t function without the other. You’re the only person who can put up with Rafe’s moods, his temper, and his intense need for control. But you don’t just put up with it, you adore it.

You aren’t scheming or calculating; you don’t try to be mysterious or play hard to get. You’re…well, you’re simple in the best way. You have a heart that could outshine the sun, but sometimes it feels like your head is in the clouds. You aren’t exactly known for your smarts, but that doesn’t bother you. Or Rafe, for that matter.

He loves you for your warmth, your loyalty, and how you can light up any room you enter. But there’s another side to your friendship that’s anything but innocent.

It starts with the little things—Rafe keeping a hand on your back when you walk through crowded rooms, the way he leans in to whisper something in your ear and then lets his lips linger a bit too close to your skin. And when he stares down any guy who so much as looks at you, you don’t ask questions. You just accept it as Rafe being Rafe, your best friend who always takes care of you.

You adore the way he is with you, how he makes you feel like you’re the only girl in the world. And maybe you’re too oblivious to notice how strange it is for two best friends to act this way. How other people often raise an eyebrow when they see the two of you together, whispering to each other or exchanging looks that seem to hold secrets no one else can understand.

But what everyone doesn’t know is that you love it. You love every moment of it. The attention, the possessiveness, the way he always has his arm around you. It makes you feel safe, cherished, and, though you would never admit it, desired.

And then there are the parties. The kooks love their parties, and you and Rafe are always at the center of them. It’s just another Saturday night, and the familiar buzz of bass-heavy music vibrates through the house. Bodies sway, alcohol flows freely, and the scent of sweat and perfume mingles in the air.

Rafe is easy to spot in any crowd. He stands taller than most, and there’s a certain confidence in his stance that draws people’s attention. You’re always close by, smiling and laughing, blissfully unaware of the longing looks Rafe casts your way when you’re not looking.

Tonight, you wear a tiny, tight pink dress that hugs your curves and shows off your long legs. Rafe can’t keep his eyes off you. The way the fabric clings to your body, the way your plump lips pout naturally without you even trying. It’s driving him insane.

You’re at the bar, chatting with one of the other kooks. Some guy who Rafe vaguely recognizes but couldn’t care less about. His name doesn’t matter. What matters is the way he’s leaning in a bit too close, the way his eyes wander over your chest like he has any right to look at you like that.

Rafe’s jaw clenches as he watches, his grip tightening around the bottle in his hand. He doesn’t even realize he’s walking towards you until he’s already there, sliding between you and the guy with a possessiveness that makes the other guy take a cautious step back.

“Hey, babe,” Rafe says, his voice smooth as silk as he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you against him.

You blink up at him, a little startled but then grinning, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Hi, Rafey!”

He internally smiles at the nickname. He despises it, but loves it when it’s coming from your mouth.

The guy who had been talking to you shuffles awkwardly, clearly sensing the tension radiating off Rafe. He mumbles some excuse and quickly disappears into the crowd, leaving you two alone.

Rafe watches him go with narrowed eyes before turning his attention back to you. “What were you talking to him about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say with a shrug, clearly not giving it much thought. “He was just asking about the party, I think.”

Rafe frowns. “You think?”

You tilt your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Rafe can’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You giggle, leaning your head against his chest. “I know.”

But then your smile fades as you look up at him, your eyes wide and sincere. “Rafe, why did you come over here? You seemed mad.”

Rafe’s expression softens as he looks down at you. You really have no idea, do you? How could you be so completely oblivious to the effect you have on him? To how much it drives him crazy to see you with someone else, even if it’s just a harmless conversation.

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Rafe admits, his voice low.

You blink, your brows furrowing in confusion. “Looking at me?”

“Yeah,” Rafe says, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “Like he thought he had a chance.”

“Oh,” you say softly, biting your lip as if you’re trying to process his words.

Rafe sighs, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “I just…I don’t like other guys around you, baby. Not like that.”

Your confusion melts away, replaced by a soft smile that makes Rafe’s heart skip a beat. “Aw, I don’t want anyone else, Rafey. Just you.”

His breath catches in his throat at your words. Do you even realize what you’re saying? What that means? But before he can ask, you’re leaning up on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that makes the rest of the room disappear.

Your kisses are sweet, gentle, and taste like the fruity drink you had been sipping on earlier. Rafe responds instantly, his arm tightening around your waist as he deepens the kiss, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair.

The kiss is nothing new. You’ve kissed before. Innocent, playful kisses that friends sometimes share. But this…this feels different. There’s an intensity behind it, a hunger that neither of you can deny.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“You’re mine, Y/n,” Rafe whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

Your eyes flutter open, and you smile softly. “I’ve always been yours, Rafe. You’re my best friend.”

Best friend. The words echo in Rafe’s mind, and for the first time, they don’t feel right. They don’t encompass what he feels for you, what he wants from you. But he doesn’t push it. Not tonight. Not yet.

He presses another kiss to your forehead, pulling you into his arms. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

You don’t argue. You never do when it comes to Rafe. You let him lead you out of the house, away from the noise and the crowd, and into the cool night air. You don’t say much as you walk, but the silence between you is comfortable, familiar.

You end up at Rafe’s house, as you often do. It’s practically your second home, and Ward and Rose don’t mind you crashing there. You have your own spot in his bed, your own drawer in his dresser. It’s just what you do—best friends who are closer than most.

You settle into Rafe’s room, and you immediately make yourself at home, kicking off your pink Playboy heels—that your Rafey bought for you—and flopping onto his bed. Rafe watches you with an affectionate smile, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

“You’re really comfortable here, huh?” he teases.

You grin up at him, patting the spot beside you. “Of course! You’re my bestie.”

Rafe rolls his eyes at the term, but he can’t deny the warmth it brings him. He crosses the room and sits down beside you, his hand resting on your thigh. You don’t flinch or pull away; you never do. You just look at him with that same trusting smile you always give him.

“Rafey?” you ask softly, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of your dress.

“Yeah?” he responds, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Do you ever…do you ever think about us doing more stuff?” you ask, your voice hesitant as if you aren’t sure how to phrase the question.

Rafe’s heart skips a beat, but he keeps his voice steady. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…we kiss and stuff. And we’re always together. People ask me all the time if we’re dating, and I always say no, but…” You trail off, your brows furrowing as you try to find the right words.

“But?” Rafe prompts, his hand moving up to gently squeeze your knee.

You bite your lip, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “But we never had sex…”

Rafe feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. He’s always tried to keep his feelings for you in check, convincing himself that your friendship is enough. But hearing you say those words, hearing you admit that you wouldn’t mind being more…he can’t hold back anymore.

"Baby..." Rafe begins, his voice rough with emotion as he searches your eyes for any sign of hesitation. But there's nothing there-only that familiar trust and a hint of something more, something deeper.

You wait patiently for him to speak, your heart pounding in your chest, feeling like it might explode with anticipation.

The room feels smaller, more intimate, and the air between you crackles with tension that's been building for far too long.

Rate's hand moves from your knee to your face, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice almost a whisper. "Are you sure you want this?"

You lean into his touch, nodding without a second thought. "I'm sure, Rafe. I've never been more sure of anything."

His heart swells at your words, and any doubt that's been lingering in the back of his mind dissipates. You're not just saying this-you mean it. You've always been honest with him, even when it's been hard. And right now, the honesty in your eyes, in your voice, is unmistakable.

Rafe leans in slowly, giving you one last chance to change your mind, but you don't. You close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that's softer, more tender than any of the ones you've shared before. There's no rush, no urgency—just the two of you, finally giving in to the feelings you've both been suppressing for so long.

He deepens the kiss, his hands sliding down your back to pull you closer, as if he can't bear to be even a millimeter away from you.

You respond eagerly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pour everything you have into this moment, into him.

You've kissed Rafe before, but this... this is different. It's more intense, more passionate. It feels like you're crossing a line that you can never come back from, but you don't care. You want to cross it-you want to dive headfirst into whatever this is, whatever it could be.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you try to catch your breath. The world outside his room feels a million miles away, and all you can focus on is the way his fingers trail up and down your spine, the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"Y/n," Rafe murmurs, his voice laced with emotion. "I've wanted this for so long. I didn't know if you felt the same."

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze with a softness that makes his heart ache. "I didn't realize it at first," you admit. "But now...l can't imagine being with anyone else, Rafe. I only want you."

His grip on you tightens, and he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if he's trying to memorize the feel of you.

"You don't know how happy that makes me," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You smile, a warmth spreading through your chest at his words. "Then be happy, Rafe. Because I'm not going anywhere."

Rate pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours, as if he's making sure this isn't some kind of dream. When he's satisfied that you're really here, really his, he smiles—a genuine, heartfelt smile that you don't see from him often enough.

"You're mine," he says, his voice firm, possessive.

You nod, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "I've always been yours, Rafe. You're my best friend."

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, Rafe's smile falters. Best friend. The title doesn't feel right anymore-not after everything that's just happened. But he doesn't correct you. Instead, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he's afraid you might slip away.

"You mean more to me than that," he murmurs into your hair.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

Rate hesitates for a moment, but then he decides there's no point in holding back anymore. You've always been his—he just never let himself believe it could be real.

"I mean, you're everything to me, Y/n," he confesses, his voice low and sincere. "You're not just my best friend. You're... the person I want to be with. The only person I can see myself with."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and for a moment, you're speechless. You've always known Rafe cared about you-he's shown it in a million different ways. But hearing him say it out loud, hearing him admit that he wants to be with you, makes your heart swell with an overwhelming sense of love and belonging.

"Rafe..." you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss, this one more urgent, more desperate, as if he's trying to convey everything he feels for you in that single moment.

You respond eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer, as if you're afraid to let him go.

The kiss deepens, and soon Rafe is hovering over you, his hands roaming your body as if he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

You let out a soft moan as his lips move to your neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin there, trying to mark you. The sound drives him wild, and he can't help but smile against your skin as he continues his ministrations.

"Rafey," you breathe out, your voice laced with need. "I need you."

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he looks down at you. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion.

You nod, your hands gripping his shoulders as if you're afraid he might pull away. "I've never been more sure of anything."

That's all the confirmation Rafe needs. He leans down to capture your lips in another heated kiss and for the first time, you feel like you're exactly where you're supposed to be. In Rafe's arms, with his lips on yours, with the knowledge that he's yours and you're his.

The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and demanding, as Rafe's hands roam over your body. There's a fire between you now, an unspoken understanding that tonight is different—that tonight, you're both finally giving in to what you've wanted for so long.

Rafe's hand moves to the hem of your dress, his fingers brushing against your bare thigh. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, and you arch into him, craving more. He takes the hint, his fingers slipping under the fabric, slowly sliding up your thigh until they reach your hips.

You let out a soft gasp as he grips your hips, pulling you closer until your bodies are pressed together, every inch of you touching. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, the hard planes of his chest against your softer curves. It's intoxicating, the way he's looking at you, as if you're the only thing that matters in the world.

"Rafe..." you breathe out, your voice trembling with a mixture of nerves and excitement.

"Shh," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, sending another wave of shivers through you. "I've got you, Y/n. I promise."

There's a tenderness in his voice, a promise of care and love that reassures you, calms the nerves fluttering in your stomach. You trust him—of course, you do. He's Rafe, your best friend, the one person who's always been there for you. And now, he's here for you in a way that's even more intimate, more special.

Rafe's hands move to the back of your dress, his fingers deftly finding the zipper. He pauses for a moment, looking into your eyes as if asking for permission one last time. You give him a small nod, and he slowly pulls the zipper down, the sound filling the quiet room.

The dress loosens around you, and with a gentle tug, Rafe pulls it down your shoulders, revealing more of your skin to his hungry gaze. His eyes darken with desire as he takes it off your body, throwing, leaving you lying before him in nothing but your pink lace underwear.

Rafe's breath catches in his throat as he takes you in, his eyes raking over every inch of your exposed skin. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice full of awe.

A blush creeps up your neck, and you bite your lip, feeling suddenly shy under his intense gaze. But Rafe quickly dispels any insecurities you might have by stepping closer, his hands cupping your face as he kisses you again, this time slower, more deliberate.

You melt into the kiss, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. You tug at the fabric, wanting it off, needing to feel his skin against yours. Rate seems to read your mind, because he pulls away just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside carelessly.

Your breath hitches at the sight of him, his toned chest and defined abs on full display.

You've seen him shirtless before, but this is different—this time, he's yours to touch, to explore. And you waste no time, running your hands over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

Rafe groans softly at your touch, his hands moving to your waist as he pulls you against him. The feel of your bare skin against his sends a jolt of electricity through both of you, and before you know it, his lips are trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

You moan softly, tilting your head to give him better access, your hand gripping the back of his neck as you hold him close. The sensations are overwhelming, each kiss sending a wave of pleasure through you, making your body hum with anticipation.

Rafe's kisses move lower, down your collarbone and over the swell of your big tits, his hands sliding up your sides to gently cup them. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, as if silently asking if this is okay.

You nod, your breath coming in short gasps as you watch him, your heart pounding in your chest. Rafe leans down, pressing a kiss to the center of your chest before moving to one of your breasts, his lips closing around your hard nipple as his hand strokes the other.

You gasp, your back arching off the bed as a wave of pleasure washes over you. The sensation is new, intense, and it sends a thrill through your entire body.

Rafe's mouth is hot and insistent, his tongue flicking over your sensitive skin, driving you wild with every touch.

"Daddy," you moan, your voice trembling with need as you cling to him, your long nails digging into his shoulders.

He responds with a low growl, his free hand sliding down your body, brushing over your stomach and down to the waistband of your underwear. His fingers tease the edge of the fabric, and you can feel the heat pooling between your thighs, your body aching for more.

Rafe pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear. "Is this okay?" he asks, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, too overwhelmed to form words, your heart racing with anticipation. Rafe leans down to kiss you again, his lips soft and gentle against yours as he slowly slides your underwear down your legs, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

He pulls back to look at you, his eyes filled with awe and reverence as he takes you in. "You're perfect," he murmurs, his voice full of emotion as he runs his hands over your thighs, spreading them gently to make room for himself.

Your breath hitches as Rafe settles between your legs, his hands gripping your hips as he lowers himself down, his mouth hovering just above your core. He looks up at you one last time, his eyes asking for permission, for confirmation that this is what you want.

You nod, your body trembling with anticipation as you watch him, your breath coming in short gasps. And then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Rafe leans down and presses a kiss to your sensitive clit, his tongue flicking out to taste you.

The sensation is overwhelming, a surge of pleasure that has you moaning his name, your fingers gripping the sheets as you arch off the bed. Rafe's mouth is hot and insistent, his tongue working in slow, deliberate movements that drive you wild with every flick and swirl.

He's slow, methodical, taking his time to explore every inch of you, to learn what makes you moan, what makes your body tremble beneath him. And you respond eagerly, your body reacting to every touch, every kiss, your mind lost in the haze of pleasure that he's creating.

"Daddy, please," you moan, your voice trembling as you reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

Rafe growls in response, the sound vibrating against your skin as he increases the pace, his tongue moving faster, his lips closing around your most sensitive spot as he sucks gently. The sensation sends you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, you come undone beneath him, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm.

He doesn't stop, doesn't pull away, instead continuing to work you through your release, his hands holding you steady as your body shakes with pleasure. When you finally come down from the high, your breath coming in short, gasping pants, Rafe pulls back, a satisfied smile on his lips as he crawls back up your body.

He kisses you, and you can taste yourself on his lips, the sensation sending another wave of desire through you. But Rafe is patient, his kisses slow and deliberate, his hands gentle as they caress your sides, your hips, your thighs.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his voice full of concern as he looks down at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You nod, smiling up at him, your heart swelling with love and affection. "I'm perfect," you whisper, your voice full of emotion as you reach up to cup his face, pulling him down for another kiss.

The kiss quickly grows more heated, more desperate, and soon you're tugging at Rafe's pants, your hands eager to feel all of him, to have him as close as possible. He groans against your lips, his hands fumbling with the waistband of his pants as he helps you, quickly shedding the last of his clothing.

When his cock is finally free, he presses his body against yours, his skin hot and firm against your softer curves. The feel of him, hard and ready against your thigh, sends a thrill of anticipation through you, and you instinctively spread your legs, inviting him closer.

Rafe pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours as he positions himself at your entrance. "You sure, baby?" he asks, his voice trembling with emotion as he holds himself above you, his breath coming in short gasps.

You nod, your eyes wide and trusting as you look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "I'm sure, Rafe. I want this. I want you."

He smiles, a soft, loving smile that makes your heart skip a beat, and then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pushes into your cunt, filling you completely.

The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and a slight sting as your body adjusts to his size. You gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you cling to him, your breath coming in short pants. Rafe stills, giving you time to adjust, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your neck, your shoulders, your face.

“You okay?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice full of concern.

You nod, smiling up at him as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I’m okay, Rafe. Just…move.”

He nods, his eyes dark with desire as he slowly begins to move, his hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm that has you moaning his name, your body responding eagerly to every thrust. The pleasure quickly builds, the slight sting fading away, replaced by a deep, intense pleasure that has you arching into him, your nails digging into his back as you cling to him.

“Rafe,” you moan, your voice trembling with pleasure as he increases the pace, his hips snapping against yours with a newfound urgency.

He groans in response, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you with a desperation that matches your own. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mingling with the sounds of your moans and his grunts, creating a symphony of pleasure that drives you both to the brink.

You can feel the tension building, the pleasure coiling tightly in your belly, and you know you’re close. Rafe seems to sense it too, because he shifts slightly, angling his hips just right, hitting that sweet spot inside you that has you crying out his name, your body trembling with the force of your approaching orgasm.

“Come for me, Y/n,” Rafe murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His words send you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, you come undone, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. The pleasure is intense, overwhelming, and you cling to Rafe as you ride out the waves, your breath coming in short, gasping pants.

Rafe follows you over the edge moments later, his body tensing as he groans your name, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he finds his release, his body shuddering with the force of it and comes inside you.

For a moment, the world fades away, and there’s nothing but the two of you, tangled together in a mess of limbs and sheets, your bodies pressed together as you come down from the high. Rafe collapses on top of you, his weight comforting as he buries his face in your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both catch your breath, your hearts pounding in sync. The room is quiet now, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets as you shift slightly, your bodies still pressed together.

After a few moments, Rafe lifts his head, looking down at you with a soft, loving smile that makes your heart swell with affection. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers gentle as he caresses your cheek.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, his voice full of emotion.

You smile up at him, your heart overflowing with love. “So are you,” you whisper, reaching up to pull him down for a gentle kiss.

The kiss is slow and tender, a promise of more to come, a promise that this is only the beginning. Because now that you've crossed that line, there's no going back. But you wouldn't want to go back, not after feeling what it's like to be with Rafe like this, to be his completely.

When the kiss finally ends, Rafe rolls onto his side, pulling you into his arms. You snuggle into his chest, your head resting on his shoulder as you close your eyes, feeling a sense of peace that you've never felt before.

"I love you, Y/n," Rafe murmurs, his voice soft and full of emotion as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and you look up at him, your eyes wide with surprise and joy. "I love you too, Rafe," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

He smiles, a genuine, heartfelt smile that makes your heart flutter, and pulls you closer, holding you tightly against him as if he's afraid to let you go.

"You're mine," he murmurs, his voice firm and possessive.

You smile, snuggling into his chest as you close your eyes, feeling completely content in his arms. "I've always been yours, Rafey," you whisper, your voice full of love and affection. "And I always will be."

You tilt your head up to look at Rafe, a soft smile on your lips as you watch him sleep. His features are relaxed, a small smile playing on his lips even in his sleep. You can't help but reach out to brush a strand of hair away from his forehead, your heart swelling with affection.

As if sensing your touch, Rafe stirs, his eyes fluttering open to find you watching him. He smiles sleepily, pulling you closer as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You smile back, snuggling into his chest. "Good morning."

There's a comfortable silence between you, the kind that only comes from years of knowing each other inside and out. You both lie there, basking in the warmth of each other's presence, neither of you in any hurry to get up.

But eventually, Rafe speaks up, his voice hesitant. "Y/n?"

"Yeah?" you reply, your head resting on his chest as you listen to the steady beat of his heart.

"About last night.." he starts, but you cut him off with a kiss, your lips capturing his in a slow, lingering kiss that leaves him breathless.

"Don't overthink it," you murmur against his lips. "It was perfect."

Rafe smiles, a sense of relief washing over him as he pulls you closer. "Yeah, it was," he agrees, his voice full of emotion.

You both fall silent again, but this time, there's a sense of contentment between you. Because no matter what happens next, you know that you've crossed that line, and there's no going back. But that's okay, because being with Rafe feels right. It feels like you've finally found where you belong.

As the morning light filters through the curtains, you realize that this is only the beginning. You and Rafe have always been inseparable, but now... now you're something more. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

Because with Rafe by your side, you know you can face anything. Together.

A/N: yall i tried my best i swearrr!!!! i really like the bimbocore aesthetic and i feel like i could make a whole series with rafe and his bimbo gf. like blurbs and fics and stuff. tell me if you want to see more of rafe x bimbo!reader in the future. love uu💗

ps: the dividers are from @anitalenia

[murdrdocs]

MDNI 18+ w/ BILLY BUTCHER

billy butcher has a fat dick.

he's girthy and he's smug about it. standing before you in nothing but his boxers, his arms crossed over his chest as he smirks down at you. you try to keep your eyes on his, but it’s like there’s a magnet drawing your gaze to the obvious erection hung between you both.

his claim still lingers in the air, wrapping you in a challenge, adding heat onto your skin until you're fucking burning with desire and a need to prove yourself.

"i can handle it." you don't mean to sound as petulant as you do, but it's obvious that your claim seems like nothing but a determined whine to billy. he tuts, huffing out a quick puff of air as he looks off to the side.

"uh-huh," he sounds completely unconvinced, but he steps forward towards you anyway. his hand latches onto your waist and he pulls you closer, dipping his head and nudging the tip of his nose against yours. "i don't wanna hear you crying and begging when it's too much, alright? ain't got no fuckin' time for that."

you both know as soon as you hiss or even hint at taking a break, he'll do it. and he does. he's mean, cruel, even, according to some people, but rarely ever with you, and definitely not ever when the tip of his cock—as huge as he claimed it was—is nestled within you.

because the moment your face contorts in discomfort, billy stops. you see his eyebrows twitch like he's fighting the urge to care about himself over you, but that part of him still exists, the softer part that you’ve only seen a handful of times.

he has a hand pressed into your stomach, fingers reaching up onto your sternum and his tone is gentle.

"jus' take it easy. deep breaths."

he's feeding it to you, agonizing inch by agonizing inch, until you can feel his balls pressed securely up against your spread cheeks.

you're supposed to be taking it slow, but he has the nerve to tell you "atta girl" when you have all of him in you and there's no way you can just sit here and let billy fuck you without any vigor. but no matter how much you beg, billy knows you. he knows if he gives it to you how you want it, then you'll be complaining hours from now, sending him glares and placing the blame for your lingering discomfort on him as if you aren't the one lacking decorum, thinking with your cunt instead of the brains that billy likes you for.

so instead, he takes it slow. he lets you feel the heave of his cock, stretching your walls around his girth, dragging every vein against every ridge until you're writhing around. he does have mercy on you, though, helping you out and giving you some semblance of completeness by rubbing his thumb against your clit until you're squeezing around him.

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader #33 Ghost helps fix up your house or makes repairs - for @glitterypirateduck's Ghost writing challenge

His phone rings again on the following Tuesday morning.

It's been a day and a half, since he's seen you and Orion last. Since he made you promise to call, no matter what, if you needed something. Or if you needed a break, or some company.

Anything. Anything, and he'd be there.

You had tried to push him off a bit, tried to assert your independence, which he appreciates, he values. He likes to know you can take care of yourself and the baby when he's not here. But when he is-

"We're really fine, you know. You don't have to be... available for us, whenever. I mean, like if you have other things. Or people, you don't have to be here all the time. I've been doin' it on my own, and I'm fine. We're fine. I don't want you to feel like you have to-"

His fork clatters to the plate, and your eyes go round as he rises from the chair and steps toward you, firm hand cupping your arm. "I'm here because I wan' to be."

"O-okay, I just don't want you to be here because you think you have to... because you're all the sudden saddled with a kid."

"I'm not here because I feel like 've been saddled with a kid. I'm here because I want to be, because I wanted you the night we made him, and I still do. I want you both." Your mouth drops wide before snapping shut abruptly, warmth rising in your cheeks. You're so cute like this, flustered and nervous, and it reminds him of the night he met you, a sweet little kitten, all alone at the bar. "And you've done more than just a fine job, sweet girl, takin' care of yourself and our baby for me, but when 'm here, it's my job."

So, his phone rings, and it doesn't matter that he's in the middle of spotting Soap at the squat rack.

He drops everything.

"Hi." You're a little out of breath when you open the door, eyes wide and wild, chewing on your lip. Orion is asleep in your arms, blissfully unaware, head lolling on your shoulder, clad only in a diaper.

His head buzzes, still trying to reconcile the truth of this entire thing, the fact that this is his, you and his baby. His.

"What's wrong?" He's massive in your door frame, and ushers you back inside, clicking the lock into place behind him. "What's goin' on?"

"It's... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. I just... I don't know how to fix it and you said I could... call, right? So-"

"Hey." His thumb gently presses into the inside of your elbow, and then he squeezes slightly. "It's okay. I want you to call me. What is it?"

"It's the laundry." You blurt, and then freeze, eyes flicking down to see if Ry has woken up. "I broke the washer, and today is the day I do the baby's clothes, but I can't get it to work and... it hates me." He chuckles.

"It doesn't hate you, sweetheart. Let's take a look." This, he can do. Things with his hands, mechanical things, physical puzzles, easy. It's not the first time he'll have fixed an appliance, and it won't be the last.

He takes the machine apart as quickly as possible, pieces laid out exactly where he needs them, washers and screws and everything all accounted for. It's the belt, he discovers rapidly, an easily fixed problem with a new part.

"I'll have to run down the street quick," he tells you, drawing up to his full height and motioning towards the entryway, "but it's a quick fix." You nod, stepping out of the way, small smile on your lips. He promises he'll be right back, that he'll have it done in no time, and you pad along to the door, standing back as he pulls it wide.

"Simon..." you whisper, and he turns, "thank you."

"Of course."

True to his word, he's back before the hour. The low murmur of the TV echoes from the living room, and he gravitates there before returning to his task, driven to lay eyes on both of you, to make sure you're here, you're okay-

and the sight of it stops him in his tracks.

You're asleep on the couch, shirt pulled up and bra unhooked from it's strap. Orion is cradled against your chest, his tiny fingers curled in the flesh of your breast, mouth lax around your nipple. There's a dribble of milk sliding down his cheek, and the sight of it all makes Simon dizzy. He knew you nursed him, but seeing it for the first time fills him with something he's not sure how to reconcile, adding onto the heap of adoration and possession pounding in his heart. It's a different kind of puzzle, the same kind of barbaric instinct and need roaring in his blood, the one that tells him to tuck you away and never let you go.

He stares for a second longer, scratching this moment into his memory as much as he can before he realizes how tired you are. You do a good job of hiding it, smiling and buzzing about, but in the early afternoon light, he can see the exhaustion so clearly, and kicks himself for not noticing sooner.

When Ry starts to fuss, your brow furrows in your sleep, and Simon can't stop himself. "Shh, shhh." He soothes, pulling him free as gently as he can. You twitch, hands searching, and then your head snaps up in a panic, breaths stuttered. "It's okay. I got him, you just closed your eyes, is all. It's alright."

"Sorry." You croak, sitting up and fumbling with your top. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's okay, mama." He's on his knees in front of the couch, in front of you, and you stare down at him, mystified. "What does he usually do after he eats?"

"Uh... burp? And then he goes down to sleep." You yawn. "A change, if he needs it."

"Alright, 've got it, you go rest. After I put him down, I'll finish the washer."

"Oh, no... I can-"

"I've got him. Nothin' I can't handle." He shifts Orion, supporting his head as he props him up over his shoulder, rubbing his back slowly. He wants to do this, wants you to let him do this, wants you to trust him.

He needs it.

You hesitate. "Are you sure?"

"If I need anythin', I'll wake you." There's a burp cloth on the coffee table, and he places it under Ry's chin. "Huh, lad? If we need mama, we'll get her, right?" You soften, posture relaxing a bit, and then you nod.

"Alright, then."

[writerpeach]

Studious Seduction

Oh My Girl Arin x m! reader

10k words

Thanks to @i-am-lifeform24 for help with editing

Part One | Part Two

---

Read on AO3

"This seems like a bad idea, Miss Choi."

"It's a terrible idea, professor. Which is why we're doing it." 

Without a doubt, there’s very little chance that you won’t be spotted here. Heading up a stairwell that leads up to who knows where is hardly ideal, especially with the sudden rain shower that's started to pour above, foreshadowing this bad decision made in tandem. 

Yet, you’ve never been one to make the best choices. An inappropriate relationship with one of your students has to be ranked at the top of the list, wrong for a myriad of reasons—all that could get you fired. Still, it somehow continues unimpeded, knowing the risks, both of you doubling down even. 

At this point, you’re not sure if you’re a bad influence on Arin, or if she’s a bad influence on you. 

To make matters worse, today’s outfit of choice is this poor excuse for a school uniform that draws all your attention. A risky little ensemble that consists of a white shirt and black tie combo that only pretends to be proper, covering very little of her midriff, as well as this dark little pleated miniskirt so short it might as well not exist for how little of her thighs it hides. It leaves more of her creamy skin uncovered, and being her professor, you know it's not appropriate to look—yet you can’t stop yourself from doing so anyways. 

And then there’s those dark frames on her face, the cherry on top that puts this whole thing together, that takes her from an innocent, responsible student more than invested in class, to this devilish vixen who struts into your office, demanding to be ruined, never taking no for an answer. 

There’s almost no room for imagination, offering you such an obscene view when Arin heads up the stairs, purposefully walking in front of you with slow, deliberate steps. You can see the shape of her perfectly round butt cheeks exposed, her tight fitting thong doing anything but covering up delicious pale flesh. Of course, she knows exactly where your line of sight goes when you walk behind her, making an effort to shake her wide hips a little more with each step, giving you a shameless view of her tight, succulent ass.

This outfit is every dress code violation she could possibly make rolled into one. 

But who's going to admonish her? You? Who can't even think logically at the moment when all your thoughts have turned to mush? Not a chance when all you want to do is slip your hand between her thighs too delicious to resist until she makes a mess on your fingers, the floor, and anywhere else that becomes collateral damage.

Right now, you have the perfect opportunity for exactly that. You’ve lost track of how many steps you’ve walked, but eventually, the stairwell comes to an end, with a set of metal double doors that leads up to the rooftop. As good a place as any other, you think, especially when there's little reason anyone else would want to venture towards the top level during this never-ending rainstorm.

“Here?” you question, when Arin presses your back against the cold wall just underneath the final level of the stairwell. A solitary gaze into her eyes is all you get before she wraps her hands around your neck and plants a heated, sloppy kiss on your lips. She nods in affirmation, but doesn’t give you the time to catch your breath, slipping her tongue into your mouth to make an attempt to taste all of you.

“It's really open here. Pretty easy to get caught," you tell her when she moves from your lips, placing wet kisses across your jawline, moving lower down to your neck. 

"That's the point, professor." Arin places your hands firmly around her waist, leading you exactly where she wants your touch. Her legs spread a little further apart so you can push her skirt up, revealing just how tiny of a thong she's wearing. "I don't care if we get caught. Make a mess of me—" 

She sighs when your fingertips press against her clothed core, so aroused you can already feel her slick leaking through the flimsy fabric. You add more pressure in response, rewarded with Arin's soft gasps against the sensitive skin of your neck.

"We could get in a lot of trouble, Yewon," you breathe out, barely paying attention to anything beyond this. In fact, you hardly care about what could go wrong either, so consumed with lust, one singular desire that Arin shares, and your fingertips ache to slip underneath these panties and sink right in. 

"When has that ever stopped us before?" 

She has a point. 

This is risky as it gets. And that’s what makes it all more exciting. 

Without wasting any more time, you slip a finger underneath the fabric of her panties, into her ridiculously warm cunt. A second one slides in right after, and soaked as she already is, barely puts up any resistance, the entrance of her tight little hole eagerly swallowing you up.

“Professor—“

A few strokes is all you manage before Arin throws her head back in delight, rolling her hips, moaning from nothing more but your fingers slowly pumping in and out of her needy cunt. 

Arin clings to your shoulder as the tempo picks up, her other hand quickly traveling down your torso until it reaches your pants. She finds the button to your slacks right away, unzipping them to slip a hand inside your boxers. You let out a groan when she runs a gentle hand along the length of your shaft, slow and teasing—until she wraps her entire hand around it and grips you tight.

“Yewon..." A wave of pleasure rushes through your whole body. She's stroking your cock with such a perfect grip, slender fingers reaching down to fondle your balls, eager for what they’ve stored up just for her. Meanwhile, the sounds that come from her own throat as she rides your fingers become a necessary distraction, urging you to thrust into her a little faster, a little rougher— 

"How many loads are you going to give me today, professor? I hope they're all as thick as they were yesterday—"

It's rather ridiculous, the things you hear come out of Arin's mouth. The demure looking girl in the front row, raising her hand up high, blushing just at the sight of you, now says the filthiest things when she's got her mouth on your earlobe and her pussy filled with your fingers. She's every bit the opposite of an exemplary student, but you suppose that's your fault, given you're the one who's trading straight A's for the roughest, raunchiest sex that almost always ends up with you finishing inside her. 

But the way Arin sounds when she moans directly in your ear, riding your fingers so selfishly while they stay buried inside her cunt, it makes you forget all that. None of that matters. All that does is satisfying her needs and yours, and you won't stop until she's absolutely drenched your fingers, even if it ruins that pathetic pair of panties. 

"Don't stop, professor. I'm so close…"

She's lost all inhibitions in her frantic desire to keep rocking her hips hard against your fingers. You can feel the tension about to snap, her walls squeezing the life out of your slick digits—all while she tries to keep a steady rhythm in her own pumping, giving your cock a good squeeze each time your fingers plunge to the hilt.

"Professor, please, don’t stop, don’t stop—" Arin’s breathing grows unsteady, heavy, and she gasps for air between every syllable that escapes her lips. You’ll do everything to oblige her, steadily thrusting, curling your fingers to find that sweet spot that gets her to moan the loudest until she lets go of your cock, clinging her entire weight onto you.

"You're gonna make me fucking cum—"

Nothing gets said in response, obeying Arin’s pleas, an uninterrupted stream of juices beginning to coat your fingers while she lets out one continuous moan, unable to speak coherently upon climax. Biting down hard on her bottom lip, she nearly draws blood before the wetness gushes down your fingers, rendering her panties useless, completely ruined with all this sticky arousal.

Her walls flutter around you, this explosive orgasm lasting far longer than you expect—but you don’t let up, pumping away as she spills more, riding this out until it turns into a second one shortly after. And when you press your thumb firmly against her clit, right as she starts to come down from her high, the violent trembles in her body repeat, sending her over the edge a third time, forcing her body to shake against yours, another loud, shameless moan spilling out of her in overstimulation. 

It's a wonder how the rest of campus hasn’t heard the screams echoing all the way down the staircase. Were it not for the rain pouring overhead drowning out her cries of pleasure, it would be near impossible for anyone passing by to not hear a thing. So you’re blessed by the rains, both above, and between Arin’s sticky thighs. 

After it’s all said and done, she can hardly support her own weight when the sensation of your fingers inside her becomes too much for her oversensitive cunt, Arin’s sweaty frame nearly toppling over as she breathes heavily. Good thing you're right here to do what she temporarily can’t, clinging to your body, your hard cock still poking against her as you keep her upright amidst these intense aftershocks. 

"That was, fuck—you've really outdone yourself, professor. I can hardly stand."

When you pull your fingers out, you can’t hide the smirk that spreads across your face with all this slick clinging to your fingertips as she leans on your body to take a breath. The praise washes over you while Arin unexpectedly grabs your wrist, bringing your soaked fingers, all the way up to her lips to fervently suck the delicious liquid off. 

You intently watch her lick herself off you, tongue lewdly swirling around the length of each wet digit, making an effort to swallow all of her mess. Her lips glisten with spit and wetness, a ravenous look in her bespectacled eyes as she cleans whatever she can, tasting every drop of her delicious essence, staring at you seductively until nothing is left. 

"Guess I don't need these anymore," Arin says after a pause, gradually recovering as she peels her drenched thong down her legs, letting it drop to her ankles before she slips it off, stuffing it into your front pocket. A cute little smile later, and she looks more than eager for what's next, unable to tear her gaze away from how hard you’ve been left thanks to her. 

"I should finish what I started, don't you think, professor?" 

You don't even get to answer when Arin drops to her knees on the cold floor, tugging your pants and boxers further down, freeing your cock that so desperately needs it—so desperately needs her. With a cute, light giggle, she spits onto your swollen shaft, pumping the entire length with her delicate fingers, a low moan rising in your throat as she pays extra attention to the underside where she knows you're the most sensitive.

Her slender fingers work up the length of your cock, coming back down with a grip so wonderfully tight. She’s so ready, so eager to have her soft lips around it already. You can practically see her salivating when she leans in a little closer to lap her tongue around your cock in one long, lazy lick, pressing her lips into a light kiss on the tip of your shaft. 

“Yewon—“

You can’t hold in a grunt when Arin rubs your tip against her mouth, not opening up enough to take you whole yet, instead tracing her full, soft lips over your needy cockhead. 

“Don’t you worry, professor. Gonna make you feel so good. I promise.” 

The anticipation explodes all at once as she parts her lips, slipping the entire head of your cock inside. The moment her wet mouth makes contact with your shaft, you groan at the sudden warmth, a sharp contrast from her icy cold hands. She takes more of your length down, hollowing her cheeks, keeping an intense, erotic gaze while slowly bobbing her head up and down. 

"Mhmph—" Her warm breath sends shivers down your spine as her lips slip further and further down, the tip of her tongue flicking against what hasn’t disappeared into her mouth. You can’t help but let out all types of unabashed moans while she guides more of you inside, spit dripping down to your balls as she slides deeper, until nothing of you is left to swallow up, the head of your cock hitting the back of her tight throat with ease. 

"Yewon, fuck,” you say, nearly breathless, and the way Arin looks up at you with her mouth so proudly sealed around every inch—there’s nothing better. “I'll never get enough of your pretty fucking mouth.” 

Arin hums against the length of your shaft at your praise, working more of her magic on you, lips getting down so devastatingly deep against your base. She’s oh so eager, so unwaveringly committed to covering every single inch in saliva. Her hot little mouth slides down effortlessly, bobbing her head back, each stroke just a bit sloppier, a little wetter than the one before, with zero intention of giving you a chance to gather yourself.

“Nobody gives a blowjob like I do, right, professor? Nobody can make you cum as hard as I can. I love being on my knees for you so much, being a good little slut for my professor. That’s what I am, aren't I?"

Nodding your head is all you can do, breath heavy in disbelief of how good this oral assault is, the enthusiasm on display really proving how much Arin enjoys having your cock shoved down her wet, inviting throat. 

You’d sacrifice your entire livelihood for a blowjob like this. 

It’s quite simple to lose track of how many times her talented mouth takes your entire length down, so good at pleasuring you it's impossible to find words. The way her wet tongue flicks against your slit when she slides off, only to have you plunging all the way back into the heat of her throat—it's far, far too good.

"I want you to cum on my face, professor," Arin tells you, so casually as she pulls away for a brief second before going right back to licking up the length of your hard cock, spitting all the excess saliva over the rest of you. Then she’s back to placing hungry wet kisses against each inch, her tongue making a slick path before she gives the leaking slit of your cock another teasing, torturous swirl. "I want all of it."

At this rate, you think you could blow a load anywhere she wanted you to, already so close to bursting just at her tongue lavishing your cock with these feverish licks. She has this way of making you feel so special, like worshiping your cock is all that matters to her, your pleasure the most important aspect in her life. Her greedy mouth proves just that, making you groan so easily, especially when she dips down to pay attention to your balls and slurps so messily on them like she wants your load at any cost. 

A few lazy licks down your sack and you’re back down her throat—just trapped there helplessly as she holds you, her pretty mouth so goddamn overwhelming when she swallows as much of your length as she possibly can, not showing even the slightest hint of strain. Her full lips stay motionless when they slide right down to your base, gaze locked tight, making your cock throb within her tight, wet throat. 

“Stay there, Yewon, shit,” you groan, hands clutching her head against your crotch to speed up the path to climax. Each second she remains there feels like absolute heaven, fostering all this unbearable bliss, all while those doe eyes speak for her when her mouth can’t—impatiently waiting, desperately wanting to empty your balls. 

When she releases her lips from your length, there’s a sexy little gasp that comes with the messy string of saliva pulling her back down. Repeating the act, she plunges right back down, nose nestling comfortably against your abdomen, lips wrapped entirely around the base of your length. “Yewon, god, you know what’s gonna happen if you keep doing that.“ 

"Oh, you’re gonna cum? Want you to paint my pretty face. Don’t you, professor?” 

There’s no answer to offer other than what she wants, all thoughts drowned by another wet slurp when Arin once again takes every inch of you down her throat, the overwhelming warmth of her mouth suffocating your length. Then she rises, exposing your shaft to the cool air for only a moment until her throat tightens when you’re back down, fully sheathed. 

Arin’s so dedicated to hearing you moan that these steadfast strokes show no relent, slurping from base to tip, hair all a mess as she bobs faster and faster, maintaining never-ending eye contact that’ll be the death of you.

“Need it. Need it so bad, your hot cum dripping down my face when I walk back down these stairs. Can’t wait to feel how thick and heavy a load you’ll give me.” 

Her pace only begins to go into overdrive, picking up rampantly when Arin places her hands on your thighs for better stability, the hot slickness of her mouth far too much to handle. She takes every inch, all of you disappearing down, without needing to stop to take a breath, like she’s proving a point at how good she can get you off. There's no restraint as she bobs her head without inhibitions, sloppily, noisily, not even gagging when her throat delivers an unimaginable level of pleasure. 

"Oh my god, Yewon, fuck—"

With each desperate stroke, you're so close to that edge, quickly approaching the inevitable. The tightness in your balls grows beyond your control, and there’s no time to think straight when her mouth feels this fucking good, almost there, absolutely about to—

"I'm gonna fucking cum, Yewon," you groan out just in time, with no qualms about how needy you sound. One last slow descent down to your base, then Arin pops your needy shaft from her mouth right when it seems you’re about to burst any second. 

And looking as salacious as possible, she simply tilts her head slightly backwards, jerking you off while directing the tip of your cock straight at her face, eagerly anticipating the release that's about to cover her.

“Cum all over me, professor.” 

You let out a strained, guttural moan the moment your first pearlescent stream shoots out, streaking across the bridge of her nose. These frantic strokes don’t let up, guiding your milky seed that unloads onto the perfect target—her glasses, coating the lenses in white and getting it all over her rosy cheeks. Another strand fires off as she shifts your cock downwards, a thick stream blasting across her parted lips that deserve so much of this load for helping you reach an explosive release. 

She pumps, and pumps, until there’s nothing left, and by the time your orgasm winds down, Arin is a total mess, one you’ll never get tired of seeing your load plastered all over her. Her stunning features wear you like a proud smile, drenched in her handiwork, thick streaks that cling to her cheeks, those soft lips, and anywhere else it happens to land as she strokes your length to ensure not a drop goes to waste. 

That look is all too familiar when the weight of your load starts to drip down, an orgasmic feeling that brings a grin onto her cum-stained face.

“That’s a big load, professor. Just what I wanted," she says as she removes her stained glasses, taking a nice, long lick right over the lens and making a show of the entire thing. "I think I'm obsessed. With your cum. It tastes so good, but looks better on my face."

"Yewon—you're ridiculous, you know that?" you tell her as she carefully slips the glasses back on, and wipes up whatever has run off to the corners of her lips, bringing her sticky fingers into her own mouth to slurp them clean.

"It's not my fault my professor's cum tastes so good."

But before she can even begin to clean off your cock, or savor what an absolute mess she’s covered in, the sound of footsteps nearby force her to stop mid-stroke, causing both your heads to turn with a shared look of panic. There's only enough time to tuck yourself back into your pants, but there's nothing to do at all about this massive load that's dripping all over Arin, nor what’s done a number on the stairwell. 

"Get behind me, Yewon. Quick."

Arin nods and does as you say, scrambling to her feet, also making sure her thong is still tucked away into your pocket as you zip your pants up. The sounds of footsteps echo louder, yet there's only one real way to escape this stairwell, because you're not going out that door when the rain hasn't let up one bit. 

When the moment those footsteps approach the stairwell entrance, they slow to a halt, making your heart beat faster. Arin moves fast enough to get behind you just in time, out of sight and behind your broad frame. And the two of you wait there, her body pressed against yours, trying to hold her breath, dreading to explain yourself to whoever just made this abrupt end to your fun. 

"Professor? Is that you?" The voice sounds so familiar, but you can't quite pick it out, too muffled by the rain. But there's no doubt you've heard this voice before. It's certainly one of your students, so at least you won’t have to explain this to a faculty member. "What a surprise, seeing you here!"

Normally, you'd have all the time in the world for pleasantries and small talk, but this is the last place where you can do anything of the sort as you try to shield Arin. From who exactly, you have no idea as they walk into frame. Their name escapes you, not that you really care when all you want is to get out of this situation. 

"Is something the matter, professor? Why are you standing there?"

"Oh, uh, nothing. I had some time between classes and came up here to check out the rain. It's not letting up is it?" You put on the best smile possible, knowing Arin can't be spotted right behind you. Luckily, your taller frame can block her body completely, and given how the area is poorly lit, there isn't much worry about the mess that's on her face at the very least.

"No, it isn't. We don't usually get so much rain this time of year, huh?" The unnamed student asks as she glances out the window, and for a brief second you fear the worst—but she doesn't seem to notice anything at all that shouldn't be there. "I didn't even bring an umbrella today either..."

"You might check the library, they'll have them."

"The library?"

"They used to offer some a few months back, but I guess everyone forgot. I'm sure they still have a few left."

"I might give that a try then, thanks. It's good to see you, professor." 

When your student smiles and waves goodbye, heading back the stairs without another word, you're able to finally breathe a huge sigh of relief, knowing the ordeal is finally over, despite taking years off your life. "Jesus, Yewon."

"That was close.” Her own breath stays ragged and heavy, almost completely forgetful to the mess you've left on her face that still glistens. "Good save. Really pulled that umbrella story out of thin air, didn’t you?” 

“Whatever it takes. Hey, they might have umbrellas. I’ve never gone there except to rail you.” 

Arin laughs, then suddenly remembers she still has your filth all over her. “Better go clean up I guess..."

"This was a really terrible idea."

"Hey, this was my terrible idea," Arin corrects with a grin that manages to shine through all the mess. "And I don’t hear you complaining about me giving you a nice, sloppy blowjob, professor.” 

“I could never complain about seeing my favorite student on her knees.” 

“I'll go on ahead. Maybe I'll see you later? For office hours?"

You say nothing more as you let her pass you to head down the stairs first, standing here a bit longer for your heart rate to calm before you too make your exit. You've got a class in under an hour that you haven't prepared for, and now how could you, coming so close from potentially losing your job. But yet, somehow, through all that, Arin was right—the rush of getting caught is exhilarating, but that was far too close for comfort. 

✦ ✦

So after all that, logic would dictate that you should be a little more careful, that maybe you should stop having sex with your student in places you're bound to get caught—but logic went out the window the moment you bent Arin over your desk for the very first time. What else are you going to do though, take her home to your apartment where there's actual privacy, where you don't have to keep quiet?

That sounds so very drab and mundane, and you'd rather spend another ten hours grading papers than go the proper route. You don't even know what you would do if you wound up in Arin's bedsheets, having all the freedom to rail her for hours instead of the thrill of being in public where you have to be quick and quiet.

There's nothing wrong or unhealthy with this relationship. Not one bit. 

You've told yourself on multiple occasions that you should dial it down a notch, not meet quite so often, or at least not in places that will put your career at risk. After all, your luck is going to run out one of these days, and the day could very well come when more than just a student catches the two of you, maybe one of the other professors, or god forbid the university staff. 

And then it's all over for both of you. 

Yet, there isn't a day when you don't seek each other out, find some empty closet, a vacant faculty office, or that spot near the back of the library that's so dusty that no one frequents. 

The risk is almost as good as being balls deep inside Arin itself. 

You can't exactly help yourself when she wears these slutty little outfits that practically beg you to rip them off her, nothing but the shortest skirts imaginable to class, where you have to stop your eyes from wandering throughout the entirety of the lecture. 

Arin sits in the front row for a reason, and that's not to get a better view of the whiteboard. No, it's so she can spread her legs open when no one's paying attention, flash whatever sexy pair of panties she has underneath (or the lack thereof on occasion), and sometimes even play with herself so she can show off how wet she is. 

Somehow, no one's really noticed how often you have her in your office, where there's less talk about class going on, and more your head buried between her thighs, or having her bent over your desk in some obscene position with her mouth stuffed by her ruined underwear and screaming through it.

With everything that’s transpired today, one would think you’d call it early and pack up. Not you though. Not even an hour has gone by since your close call, and Arin is in your office again, sucking you off underneath your desk while you work on grading papers—at least you should be, if only you could focus for more than a few seconds without this warm mouth slobbering on your cock. 

"I bet none of your other students can deepthroat you as good as I can."

"You said you were going to be quiet."

"And you said you were going to fuck me, professor."

You haven't exactly broken that promise, it's more like Arin decided she wasn't going to wait until you finished, always finding an excuse to get in her favorite position whenever she wants to suck you off. 

Luckily, for your students, you're going to be in such a tremendous mood after finishing in this girl's hungry mouth. These papers are downright horrendous—so fucking awful and unreadable it makes you wonder if you should intentionally pound Arin in your office with the door wide open, just so you’ll get caught, lose your job, and never have to deal with some of these students ever again.

Not even a few papers in and you’ve lost every ounce of focus, groaning while Arin empties your balls, her mouth right at your base when your spills right down her throat. With your fingers gripping the back of her head, it's impossible to not avoid bucking your hips into her pretty, sloppy mouth as she drains each thick shot from your pulsing cock, swallowing it all with pride to make sure there's not a single trace of your creamy release that hasn't gone directly into her stomach. 

"All those students probably failed anyways," she tells you, letting the saliva fall from her lips as she shows off her empty mouth with a pleased smile, planting a nice, loud wet kiss on your tip before getting back up to her feet.

"Yeah? Including you?"

"Of course not, professor. We both know before you even look at my paper that I've got a perfect grade." 

"Is that so? And what have you done to deserve that, Yewon?" 

Before you've even gotten your pants back on properly, Arin is already claiming a spot on the edge of your desk, undoing her tie so that it hangs loosely around her neck, and then spreads those luscious thighs as wide apart as they can go, her gorgeous, dripping pussy on display without any underwear in the way. "I can think of a few things. Doesn't emptying you down my throat count for something?"

"Hm, I dunno,” you ponder, shamelessly staring between those delectable thighs at what’s all yours. “Maybe a few points. That'll get you a passing grade at best."

"Just a few? What about all the times I've ridden your cock this week alone, professor? And how many times did you cum inside me?"

"I've completely lost track, Yewon. I guess that'll get you at least ten percent higher."

"How generous of you," she retorts, tone all full with playful sarcasm, unbuttoning her white shirt enough so you can see the color of her bra. It's purple, just like the thong in your pocket that serves as a nice trophy. "Are you forgetting how many times I took your thick cock in my ass until you blew your load inside?"

"Does that really count if you beg me to do so every time you step in my office?"

"Oh no, you can't blame me for how much you love my ass, professor. That's at least twenty points."

"That's a little greedy, don't you think?"

"Absolutely not. If anything, I deserve extra for all those times I let you fuck my face," Arin suggests, spreading her legs further apart to give a clearer view of her bare cunt that’s glistening so beautifully, accompanied with a set of fingers teasing herself for your benefit. 

"Again, you're forgetting the part where you keep dropping down to your knees and begging for it."

Arin can't help but smile, both at knowing you're right—and also how you can't take your eyes off the show her fingers put on when she rubs at her clit, getting wet so easily from playing with herself while staring into your eyes. It's the look on your face that drives her crazy and gives her the urge to show off even more, sliding two digits past her swollen lips into her tight hole, so eager to get herself off in front of you. 

"What about now, profess—" she asks before a moan interrupts her words, leaning backwards to prop herself up so you can watch every bit as she fingers herself. "Does this count for anything?"

"It depends. If you can make yourself cum without my help, then maybe, that'll bump up your grade, Yewon."

"Twenty-five. For making myself cum right in your office," she manages between hitched breaths, pumping her fingers deep in and out, almost bucking her hips off the table at her own touch.

"Twenty. You're not there yet, Yewon," you correct, watching Arin roll her head back with her eyes shut, so beautiful when she's in bliss, achingly sexy how her slender fingers disappear knuckle deep into her own cunt. You've barely had any time to recover since emptying your load down her throat just a minute ago, but the mere sight is more than enough to have you as hard as the wooden desk she’s writhing on. 

Arin reaches down to further unbutton her shirt, giving the full glimpse of her breasts covered up in that pretty lace as her tight frame falls back against the cold surface all splayed out. While this shameless girl continues fingering her pussy, you simply enjoy the view, stroking your cock every few seconds to spur her on. Every desperate moan and gasp from her lips gets louder, all that nectar trickling down between her spread thighs you’re dying to lick clean—but you won’t, because she has to do this on her own. 

You let the lack of words exchanged linger in the air while Arin fingers herself a bit rougher, moving a bit more frantic, knowing all the signs from experience that she isn't too far from that much craved release. 

“Professor," Arin breathes out, the quiver in her voice an obvious indication. Her fingers get so drenched, pulling them out from her heat for a moment to reveal how sticky wet they are as she groans, not bothering to hide how she slides them back in to curl right into herself. "Oh god, professor—“ 

When the pleasure becomes too much, when her back arches off the desk with breathless cries, there's no missing the split second Arin's entire body tenses up—thighs quivering, fingers buried so deep you can hear the wetness while she shakes on the desk from the intensity of her orgasm. It's a moment of euphoria that's only reached because you're watching so attentively, eyes glued the entire time as she rides her fingers long past completion, toes curling, moans echoing through your small office.

Even when Arin is finished, she's unable to regain her composure for more than a few ragged breaths, eyes still closed while the bliss hits hard, long after her high. And you savor every second of her looking so beautiful in this post-climax haze, an absolute mess on your desk that you’re thankful hasn't soaked into your papers.

"Fuck, that was too good, professor," Arin murmurs, slowly pulling her fingers out from herself, just to rub her oversensitive clit, borderline crying from the overstimulation. “It’s too bad it wasn’t your cock I came on.” 

"Then maybe I should deduct points for that?"

"Hey, that's not fair… you just told me—I’d get points for making myself cum."

"I did, but—you would have earned extra for waiting for me to do it. Guess you'll just have to earn back those points another way."

"How exactly should I do that, professor?" Arin asks with the best faux ignorance possible, sitting herself up to scoot off the desk, then leaning down to wrap her slick fingers around your shaft. "If you bend me over and pound me with this cock until your cum is leaking inside me, would that be enough?"

"Perhaps. That would certainly help raise your grade some points.” 

"Give it all to me then," she pleads, giving your cock a handful of languid strokes, just enough to leave a nice trail of her slick along the entire length. "Fuck a load into me, professor. Fuck your top student all over this office."

"Top student? Really?" You can't help but laugh at that, knowing full well Arin is certainly anything but. Far from it actually, not even top ten. "Then I better go find her then."

"Hey! Just shut up and give it to me already," Arin says with that pout still intact, keeping these strokes going on your cock that make you throb so easily, and you’re not sure who needs it more at this point. 

"Fine, but not here. I'm tired of this place. Let's go somewhere else."

It's rather late into the afternoon, with the majority of classes for the day having ended already. That leaves enough of the campus vacant, lowering the risk of getting caught wherever you decide to take Arin—but the risk still isn't zero. Wandering around the university after hours isn't the best idea, especially when there are plenty of places for students to hang out, and worse, faculty offices open late.

So you keep it simple. 

You keep several feet ahead of each other, heading up a couple floors to that really small bathroom by the science department that no one ever uses because it doesn't lock properly. There are much bigger and better bathrooms scattered about, so everyone usually forgets this tiny, shabby thing exists, especially late into the day. Not the most romantic spot, but it’s suitable, and keeps you from scouring the halls without having to dodge other faculty and students. 

You enter first, flicking on the light, and do a quick scan around the room while Arin slips in, pulling the door shut as quickly as possible. There's nothing but a toilet, a sink, and a mirror, but most importantly it looks clean, which is the most important thing. It's not that surprising given that nobody really uses it to begin with.

It’s as perfect a place as ever. 

Double checking the lock still doesn't work, nothing has changed on that front. Arin quickly moves to lean against the wall, and she’s already unbuttoning her shirt, all the way this time, to give the full view of those perky breasts without any bra to ruin the view. You're on her in a flash, claiming those lips with a kiss full of nothing but aggression to match just how badly you want to ruin this girl right now.

"Fuck me," Arin urges as she palms your bulge through your pants, impatient to get your cock inside of her. Her fingers fumble with the button to your pants, thoughts clouded with desire, and she’s so eager to release your aching shaft, to give it all the attention it so desperately craves.

You’ve got just a modicum of patience left to not let that happen quite yet.

Instead, with your lips still attached, you pick Arin’s slender frame off the ground, and guide her over to the sink, placing her there as gently as you can. When she settles down on the edge of the counter, there's no hesitation to shove that tiny skirt up past her waist, revealing her absolutely beautiful cunt still left glistening in the aftermath of her orgasm from a moment earlier, and you're just dying to fill her all up. 

Still, somehow you hold back for a moment, to let it all sink in. The sight is divine enough, this privileged student of yours in this rather pathetic excuse for a school uniform, half naked, shirt wide open with her tits fully out, that barely-there skirt, and those sexy thigh highs that bring all the attention to her immaculate thighs that make you want to ruin her even faster. She knows that’s your biggest weakness, knows how weak in the knees they leave you whenever you get to slide them off with your teeth—but now they make her look like pure sin. 

"I know you wanna get that dick in me," she says, voice so sultry, and her thighs spread obscenely wide apart, so that every inch of her mouthwatering cunt is put on display with not a drop of modesty—not like Arin even knows what that word is. 

"Not yet. Haven't gotten to taste you today." As per usual, Arin’s been more than a little greedy, and it feels like she’s had her lips on your cock all day and this is the first opportunity to return the favor. 

Any protest in those pretty eyes doesn't last when her hands wrap around your skull, drawing your face straight between her thighs that you have no trouble diving into. With your lips feasting on her cunt right off the bat, you give Arin all the attention she craves so badly, licking along the length of her slit, all the way up until your tongue starts flicking at her engorged clit. 

"God, so fucking good," Arin breathes out, the silence in the empty bathroom getting cut with all her beautiful moans that ring out. For your efforts, you’re rewarded by her thighs locking around your head, as your lips get a tight seal around her swollen clit that has her grinding that delicious cunt all over your mouth. 

"Professor!" she chokes out, while continuing this harsh grip on the back of your head while you slurp on her clit so mercilessly, every bit hungry to taste all those delicious juices that spill out. "Oh my god, professor, oh fuck!"

Your mouth doesn't quit, because nobody tastes better than Arin. You're an addict, every bit obsessed with this girl's cunt since the first time that you slid between these thighs. There's nothing you love more than this, her taste lingering on your tongue, all while these delicious thighs squeeze around your head, suffocating you perfectly as you eat her out with so much fervor she almost can't handle how good you make her feel.

"My god, Yewon—you taste so fucking delicious," you tell her between long licks, slurping on her clit without restraint to savor every last bit of her soaking cunt. "I can eat your pretty pussy all day. For hours and hours."

"I won't say no to that, professor.” Her desperate hands dig into your scalp to hold your face right there, exactly where she wants, where she needs, gasping when her hips grind down against you. "Fuck, your tongue is so, so good."

This is your favorite part about going down on her, being trapped between those perfect thighs that squeeze and tremble while you sloppily eat her out, drowning in her heavenly aroma and all this nectar, her delicious pussy that tastes even better the longer you indulge. 

It's never enough though, no matter how much time you get to spend with your tongue buried inside her cunt, or how many times she cums all over your face—the taste of her is heaven, and you love turning this girl into nothing more than a whimpering, quivering mess who can’t even think straight. 

"Just like that, professor, fuck, don't stop, oh my god, don't fucking stop, please—“

She whines so freely while grinding down hard against your hungry lips you can hardly breathe. Not that you have any problem about that, because you know exactly where Arin is, can feel those thighs vibrate all around you to know those limits are about to be surpassed, and you don't plan to let up for even a moment.

You ramp up your efforts in devouring her cunt without a moment to rest, your tongue all over her clit, sucking so harshly, so relentlessly, drowning in these delicious juices. It’s obvious how Arin's hips can't stay steady for a second longer, seconds from losing herself entirely. "Professor! Fuck, I'm so fucking close. Keep going, keep—oh fuck, right there, I'm gonna cum so fucking hard, fuck—"

Arin bucks her hips into your face with wild abandon, her juices smearing across your lips when you bring her to the verge of release, until she finally topples over completely. 

Everything goes muffled while she keeps her thighs squeezed tightly around your head, violently trembling throughout her orgasm as you lick her through the entire thing. Like every other time you've brought her over that blissful edge, it's beautiful, turning your face into a mess, and you greedily lap up everything that freely spills into your mouth from her overflowing cunt. 

When those thighs let off and relax, you look up at Arin's blissed out visage, completely enamored in the pleasure, shivering and trembling with a high-pitched squeal as you give her clit one more loud slurp for good measure. Your focus then shifts back to her messy folds, delving deep into them to clean up those juices she's gushing so profusely, a never ending stream of wet, sticky deliciousness. 

"Fuck, your cunt always tastes so amazing," you mutter, lapping at the girl's slick covered thighs, getting out every drop that leaks out with a few soft licks. Arin stays motionless on the counter, looking straight up to the ceiling while her chest heaves, still seeing stars.

After indulging a little while longer, and spending all the time necessary getting those warm thighs mostly clean, there's only one thing left to do. Your mouth pulls away, but only so you can yank your pants down to your ankles, your stiff cock aching to get inside of her. 

"Gonna fucking ruin you, Yewon. Hope you’re ready for me to wreck that tight little cunt."

"When am I not? Please, give it to me already," Arin desperately pleads, pulling herself from her haze to look at the throbbing length you're stroking as her eyes beg you to sink in and fill her up. 

Sitting herself up on the sink, she keeps herself propped up with her hands planted behind her body, spreading her thighs apart as far as possible, with her wet cunt presented so lewdly and invitingly. "Shove that dick right in me, professor. Give it to me as hard as you can."

Without another thought wasted, you slowly guide the swollen tip of your cock past those drenched lower lips, groaning unabashedly when all this slippery warmth welcomes you deep inside. It's far too easy, how you slide into her, walls so dripping with arousal that allow this ache to dissipate when you effortlessly impale Arin all the way, right to the hilt.

"My god, Yewon, fucking love this tight pussy," you groan as her walls clamp down, holding you right inside that delicious grip with no plans to release you. 

She's so soaking wet when you start pounding away inside, each thrust coated in all those messy juices as your cock bottoms out every time. Your deep strokes make full use of her open shirt, causing her modest breasts to bounce as her back hits the mirror with each hard slam. Arin clenches around you with such an unyielding grip as you pump in and out, loving how rough you are, how forceful your hips are, moaning louder and louder, still sensitive from the previous release. 

“And I love being stretched on your huge fucking cock.”

There's not an ounce of mercy in your thrusts, just pure carnal lust taking hold. Her wet folds remain parted, taking the full length of your pounding shaft, every last inch driving into that slick little cunt without restraint. You take advantage of how her legs drape over the sink, grabbing her thighs, spreading them to give you more leverage to angle your thrusts deeper, and she kicks her heels off to give you even more control, allowing you to use her body however you please.

"It feels so good, professor," she says, while each thrust stays rough and deliberate, buried to the hilt in her wetness. "This cock of yours—is so perfect."

"That's because your cunt is made for it," you groan, sweat forming on her skin under your grip as your hips slam against her. It's absolute bliss, watching the way her entire body responds each time you sink in, hearing her soft whines that she’s unable to hold any back while getting fucked so mercilessly over this counter top. "You take my cock so well."

"Of course I do," she insists, the biggest grin on her face that gets interrupted with more moans. "I'm the professor's favorite student, after all."

"But definitely the worst one," you fire back, fingertips digging hard into her bare thighs all wrapped up in these sexy thigh high stockings as they jiggle with every relentless thrust.

"So—how many points is this?" Arin asks, bracing herself against the mirror when you pound into her even harder, every inch of your cock covered in her sweet essence.

"As many as you fucking want, Yewon."

"Then make it a thousand. I can use them on the next assignment, right?"

"Use them on whatever you want, the final exam even. So long as I get to cum inside you."

"Of course, professor. Fill me all the way up. Cum inside me as much as you fucking want," she says, and those tits bounce more hypnotically every time you pick up the pace, slamming deeper with more force each time. After every plunge balls deep, that tightness becomes more overwhelming, urging you to give your all, as if the sight of her all sprawled out and creaming on your cock isn't enough already. 

It's merciless. And your hips start to reach their limit, but Arin's desperate cries of pleasure become so loud, that she has no choice but to muffle herself with her hand, almost forgetting that this seldom used bathroom is still right by the science lab—and anyone could be lingering around. 

"Fucking fill me, professor. Empty your balls. Just keep—oh god, fuck, fuck," Arin whimpers, the limits of her body creeping up fast as your cock pistons so harshly in and out of her hot cunt. "Wanna milk every last drop right out of you, make you cum so fucking hard."

"Only if you’re good and cum on this cock, Yewon. Cum all over me, and I'll fucking fill this cunt up."

"Yes, god, yes," she says, practically falling back against the mirror while you brutally hammer into her at full force. She barely keeps the coherence when it all peaks, when you feel those impossibly tight walls clenching around your cock, borderline painful, forcing you to use every ounce of strength to not burst inside her just yet. 

"Fuck, professor, this dick is so amazing—I'm gonna cum all over it, all over your fucking huge cock," Arin says as her pussy squeezes the life out of your cock with every impale in that wet, intoxicating heat. A flood of her fluids almost forces you out, an absolute mess that drowns your shaft in slick rips through her body without any care, and all you can do is fuck her through it. 

Even when her orgasm subsides, and she somehow becomes tighter, wetter, easier to sink into, you don't show any remorse while fucking her tight pussy until you can't possibly hold on any further. 

"You're close, aren't you, professor?" Arin gasps between collecting her breath as the pleasure begins to fade, watching the struggle you're going through to hold it back. "I know you are. Please, let me have all that cum. Blow your fucking load in me, let it all out." 

That's all you need to be shoved straight over the edge, taking a few final strokes before that pressure builds up to a boiling point, and nothing’s going to stop you when you’re about to burst. “Yewon—“ 

Her name barely escapes before you’re throbbing, letting out all types of lustful grunts while her pussy smothers you in  warmth, offering the best place for such a messy release of seed that shoots out, coating her insides the way she begs for. 

Your cock violently pulsates until you’re left with nothing but orgasmic relief, unloading shot after shot deep inside Arin with the thickest spurts imaginable that empty into her warm little pussy. These tight, tight walls take every drop, welcoming such a huge load that’s even somehow stronger than what her mouth did to you earlier.  

There’s no way you could do anything else with how delicious she looks on this bathroom counter. With whatever remnants of energy are left, you use all the power in your hips until they lose steam, remaining inside her euphoric cunt that refuses to relinquish you. You ride out wave after wave, each spasm pumping more cum into her, all this intoxicating bliss that feels like it’ll never end. 

And truly, both of you wish it never would. 

“Professor…” Arin can barely speak between breaths, riding this collective high that fills the room with heavy panting, and sweat glistens on whatever bare skin her revealing outfit offers. You’re right there with her, caressing her thighs, her messy cunt wringing out as much out of you as possible, like it doesn’t want your cock to escape, even after your entire load is buried inside that delicious warmth. 

“Came so hard on you, professor, fuck... I love the way your cum feels when you push it deeper, all the way into my womb. Wanna keep it all here until you’re ready for round two.” 

"You're fucking insatiable, Yewon," you sigh, dropping Arin's legs back onto the counter, which relinquishes the intense grip you’ve held, allowing her body a chance to relax. When your breathing returns to something somewhat stable, you lean over to give her a tired kiss, one that’s easily returned with whatever remaining energy she has. 

“Can you blame me when your dick is this good? It’s only your fault I turned into such a greedy little cumslut.” 

“Or maybe you were already like that before I even met you…"

"Yeah. Maybe."

Arin looks away as she starts to giggle, giving you a perfect chance to kiss that exposed cheek. When she glances back, you share an impossibly long stare, one that goes on far too long without words until you lean in for another kiss—

One that gets interrupted by a knock at the door. 

"Hello? Is anyone there? Custodial services, I'm here to clean up." 

You must have angered some kind of god for this to happen two times in one day. Even worse, there’s no easy way out of this while you're still buried inside Arin, the least of your concerns as this creamy mess threatens to spill out. 

"I, uh—need a moment. Spilled something on my shirt that won't come out. Be out in a bit," you blurt out, barely thinking while you look around at the poor bathroom that's been defiled. Arin can't help herself, covering her mouth to help from not immediately bursting into laughter as she fumbles to button back up her shirt. 

“You’re such a bad liar,” Arin whispers, but you just roll your eyes at her, glancing over the sweat on her body that you’d no doubt be licking clean were the two of you not nervously waiting to see if this unfamiliar man outside will buy your story.

"No problem, sir. Take your time, I'll be back after.” The janitor shuffles his feet, and you listen carefully, wondering just how obvious the two of you were being. When you can no longer hear footsteps, you release the longest sigh, and slowly pull out of Arin, along with an utterly unreal amount of hot semen that spills out. 

"Can't believe he bought that," Arin sighs while hopping off the counter, where more of your cum gushes out as soon as she stands up. "Can't believe you came so much inside me, either."

"If I recall, you were quite literally begging me not to stop."

"No need to be smug about it, professor."

Arin does her best to look presentable in the mirror and fix her disheveled hair, shirt only half buttoned, and skirt a complete mess, but it all seems so futile. There's no real way to hide how she looks after getting railed over the sink relentlessly, or the cum still dripping all over her thighs that she doesn't even bother to clean up. 

"We should get out of here before he comes back," Arin says after giving her appearance a once-over, making any minor adjustment to try and fix how ruined she looks. "Shall I leave first, professor?"

The question has only one obvious answer, but you still can't form your lips properly to speak it. "Not so fast, Miss Choi."

"Oh? Am I forgetting something?" Arin asks while running fingers through her hair again. You step towards her, pressing into her back to wrap your arms around her tiny frame before planting a kiss on the side of her neck.

"Yeah—me. You're not leaving this room without me."

You notice her grin in the mirror as your lips graze her skin again, nipping right on that sensitive spot that makes her gasp. 

"Don't tell me you're wanting to go again. After we almost got caught. Again—"

"No, not yet," you say between kisses, drawing closer and closer up her neck. "Need a little bit more rest for that."

"You poor thing. Did my pussy wear you out that much, professor?"

"You can barely stand upright as it is," you retort, taking your mouth away from her neck for a moment. Arin stifles a laugh that turns into a moan when your hand creeps up her skirt to touch her dripping folds still leaking your cum. "You need this a lot more than I do."

"Is that so? Well—fuck," Arin moans, unable to hide her body betraying her words as she grips the edge of the counter when two of your fingers slide into her without warning, pushing a mixture of her nectar and the load you pumped inside deep into her messy cunt. 

"It's too bad I can't continue this," you say, and withdraw those fingers from Arin's clenching pussy that so desperately tries to keep them in to no avail. "Let's get out of here. But you're not leaving my side."

"If you insist, professor." Arin has no further words, fixing up her skirt while so much thick seed oozes beneath. "But isn't it a little risky to leave together?"

"Probably. But besides, even if somebody does see us, so what? There's not much they can do about it even if they can already tell what just happened. And what are you always saying—how much you love the risk?"

"Guess I'm rubbing off on you, hmm?"

"Not a chance, Miss Choi," you correct, causing that grin across her face to grow wider. "I'm just tired of sneaking around so much."

"Me too, professor." 

You turn to leave, opening the bathroom door to poke your head around the corner. Luckily, there doesn't seem to be anyone around, only a couple of students you don't recognize standing nearby chatting, paying no mind as you and Arin sneak out successfully together.

“Where are we headed?” asks Arin as she settles in right next to you, something that's going to take getting used to. 

"Dunno. Cafeteria is still open. Guess we can head there first."

"Not if it's still raining. It's a bit of a trek, isn't it?" 

"My car's right out front. And if we so happen to take a little detour..." 

"Now who's being insatiable, professor?" she asks, with this little teasing giggle in her voice. 

“What? Who said I planned on doing anything with you other than grabbing some dinner? You know, I don't think you've had anything in your mouth today but my—"

"Professor!" Arin's not used to your conversation being this open, or being on the opposite side of being so flustered. "Save it for when we're not outside! Or better, the back seat. With the doors locked, preferably."

"As you wish, Miss Choi. Besides, but there's nothing I rather eat than your—"

She desperately covers your mouth to stop any further words from escaping as you head to the parking lot, surprised to see there's nothing but abundant sunshine now. Even more surprising is the fact nobody looks twice as the two of you walk together. Maybe it's luck, or maybe everybody here knows damn well what happens on campus between you two. 

And maybe you'll stop sneaking around campus every day, finding just enough time to spend the last half of your lunch hour buried between Arin’s thighs while she tries to hold her moans. 

But maybe you won't. 

[rainydaydreamsideblog]

(The Maze Runner) Imagine: He Protects You

It can be dangerous, especially for the only girl in the Glade.

Warnings: Guys being creeps in the Glade (nothing graphic), bullying, the Maze, danger.

. . .Thomas. . .

It’s a beautiful evening in the Glade.  You’re walking straight along the treeline on your way to run a final errand for Alby at the end of the day.  The sun is no longer visible, as it already descended far enough to be blocked by the walls.

Suddenly, you get the creeps.  It was hard to explain, but you feel goosebumps bloom along your skin, and you get the distinct feeling that you’re not alone.  The lovely glow of the bonfire is in your field of vision, but it’s so far away. It’s where most of the guys are gathered.  You can hear their distant whoops and hollers, reminding you that help is far away too.

A twig snaps, and your suspicions are confirmed.  There’s a figure following several feet behind you, lurking in the shadows cast from the trees above.

So, you veer off your original path to draw closer to the homestead where there would hopefully be someone who hadn’t made it to the bonfire yet.  Whoever it was must have caught on to what you were doing because they instantly pick up their pace.  You begin to hurry, increasing your speed so that they can’t catch you before you make it to what you hope will be a haven of safety.

Your heart is pounding, and your chest heaving with panicked breaths as you finally make it to the homestead.  

“Hello?” you call frantically.  

Suddenly, Thomas appears.  He sees your nervous state immediately, his hand taking yours.  But then his eyes lock onto something behind you, and he moves right past you to intercept your pursuer, effectively blocking them from you.

“What’s going on?” he demands.  Your follower is frozen to the spot, stuttering, failing miserably to offer up some sort of explanation.  Thomas steps forward, towering over the guy.  It’s plain to see that he is furious.  His forearms flex and his jaw is clenched.  You can hear his angry breaths as he speaks again.  “That’s what I thought.  Now, get out of here.”

As soon as the guy is gone, Thomas turns around to face you.  His close presence eases your fearful state when he steps into your space, filling your nose with his scent. “You okay?” he asks gently.

You manage a nod.

“We’re going to tell Alby right away.  This isn’t going to happen to you again.  Come here…” He carefully pulls you into his arms for an embrace, as if you’ll break apart if he’s too sudden. You bury your face in his chest, breathing a sigh of relief.  His heartbeat is close to your ears, like a lullaby.

“Thank you…” you whispered.

. . . Newt . . .

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The teasing, the taunts… The inability of certain individuals to just leave you alone.  Ever since you’d rejected him, Allan had made it his life’s mission to make your existence in the Glade all the more difficult.

Most recently, he had purposely bumped into you at lunchtime so that your meal was spilled all over your clothes and onto the ground.  Resources were limited in the Glade.  It was understood that wastefulness wouldn’t be tolerated.  You couldn’t afford to lose food or have clothing ruined.  Fortunately, your clothes would be fine after a wash, but the discarded food was a different story.

You dab at your tank top with a washcloth and pause to look at your reflection in the mirror.  It was all too easy to recall how quickly you’d reached your limit after Allan’s ridiculous ploy.  Your face is still wet from crying, eyes puffy, and lips parted as you took deep breaths.

There’s no use crying over spilled milk, you thought. Or in my case, spilled lunch.

After composing yourself, you decide it’s time to go back out there and face the music. You toss the damp rag aside and march determinedly out of the empty washroom.  To your surprise, you smack right into another individual coming in.  You instantly recognize the blonde hair and grumbles of complaint as he reels from the collision.

“Oi, shank, watch where you’re going-”  Newt quickly realizes it’s you and clamps his mouth shut, extending his hands to each of your shoulders to steady you gently.  He takes in the sight of your tear-stained face with his eyes showing clear concern.  “Hey, what’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, just… Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Newt looks far from convinced, and you lower your gaze.  He’s about to inquire further, but a familiar voice sounds from outside the washroom.

“Hey, _______!” Allan calls tauntingly, making you freeze up.  “How’s it going in there?”

Newt’s eyes instantly flash, and his face scrunches up anger.  You can hardly believe it when Allan continues.

“Sorry about my clumsiness earlier.  Maybe I can make it up to you.  Come on out before I go in there!”

Newt can’t contain himself anymore.  He turns on his heel and heads out of the washroom, and you follow behind just to see the look on Allan’s face when he realizes he’s been caught.

It is so worth it.  Allan’s stupid grin falls hard into a look of horror as the Second-in-Command approaches him furiously.  He doesn’t lay a hand on him, but he looks like he’s awfully close when he jabs a pointer finger in his direction.

“If I ever catch you bothering her, or even breathing in her general direction again, you’ll be a permanent Slopper for the rest of your time here in the Glade.  Do you understand, shank?”

Allan nods quickly, and doesn’t even wait to be dismissed.  He just hurries away, leaving you and Newt both standing there watching him flee.

“Coward,” he mumbles.  Then, Newt turns to you, resting a hand on your arm in a comforting gesture.  “I mean it, you know.  He’ll never bother you again.”

. . . Minho . . .

It’s hard not to panic when you glance up and can no longer see the sun above you. It’s the end of the day, and you’re nearly out of time.  The lightning pain that shoots through your ankle suddenly just becomes too much.  You lean against one of the ivy-covered walls and exhale.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” you say aloud, and the words weigh heavily on you.  You mentally scold yourself.  You can’t afford to think that way.  A Runner knows better.  With a wince, you continue limping on your way.  It’s not that the exit from the Maze isn’t close.  If memory serves you right (which it did), it wasn’t too far at all… but at your pace, it would take a lot of effort and some good luck to get you back in time.

Just when you are about to give up again, you hear footsteps rapidly approaching.  Your first thought is that perhaps your cowardly companion had a change of heart, but the footsteps didn’t match.

“Hello?” you call.

“_________!” Minho’s voice responds, and your heart swells with hope.  You aren’t out of the woods just yet, but your chances were much better with help. Minho nearly slides to a stop in front of you, instantly taking your arm and putting it around his broad shoulders to help you up.  There is no time to stop and compare notes, so you update him as he begins helping you back along the path.

“I sprained my ankle.” You hold onto Minho like he’s your lifeline as you push through the pain to keep up with his pace.  He’s right to go so fast.  Time is running out.

“Where’s Derek?” he asks with a grunt.

“He…he left me,” you gasp in pain.  “I think he was worried he wouldn’t make it out in time if he helped me.”

Minho goes quiet for a moment, and you can practically feel the anger rolling off him in waves.  His eyes are focused straight ahead at the path, and he huffs.  Finally, he bites out a sarcastic comment. “I think it’s safe to say that he’s getting demoted from being a Runner.”

You keep talking, trying to distract the both of you from the familiar groan of the Maze walls shifting.  “Why did you come out here?”

“Because it was getting late in the day, and no one had seen you,” he pants.  “Usually, you check in with me right away.  I knew something had to be wrong.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

You continue limping with all your might toward the gate, feeling your heart jump, as the walls on either side begin their agonizingly slow crawl to a close.  There’s a small group standing on the other side, ushering you both out anxiously.  It was mostly Keepers, a select few who had been informed of the problem by Minho.

The two of you fell onto the green grass, gasping for breath, while the others surrounded you.  Alby knelt down beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder.  You just let yourself breathe, tears welling up in your eyes from relief.

“So it’s true?” Gally questioned, brows raised.  “Derek left her in there.” “Yes,” Minho replied, sitting up.  “And he will face the consequences.”  He looked over at you, finally catching his breath.  “You’re safe now.”

. . . Gally . . .

James had been haunting your steps for far too long.  He was always there, always hanging around, and sometimes showing up at the most alarming of instances.  What could be done about it?  It wasn’t as if he’d taken severe enough action to warrant disciplinary measures, you thought.  He was only ever seen staring at you, smirking, and just being an all-around jerk at times.

This time, he’d snatched your tools away from your working station while your back was turned. After uncovering a particularly tough old root, you turned around to get a spade to chop it up, only to see that your things were gone.

A few laughs caught your attention, and you glanced over to see James and one of his shadows standing there, staring at you from several feet away.  You couldn’t say for certain, but it seemed like they had something to do with your missing tools.

So, now you’re debating with yourself on the best course of action.  Do you ignore him and try to rustle up some extra tools from Newt or Zart?  Or do you bother to give this shank the attention he’s so desperately seeking to get your stuff back?

You don’t really like the latter option.  Frankly, James gives you the creeps. The last thing you want is to play his little game… But every minute that you spend deliberating is wasted time that could be put towards helping the Glade.

As much as you despise indulging him, you find yourself marching right over to his work area.  Both James and his minion are laughing in amusement, shoving each other at the sight of you approaching.

“Do you know where my tools went?” you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I might,” James replies cryptically.  “And I might be willing to strike up a bargain for that information.”

You fold your arms across your chest.  “What could you possibly want?”

“Ohh, I don’t know…Perhaps a kiss will do.”

You make a face as the disgust hits you.  “Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“Yeah, that’s going to be a ‘no’ for me.”  You wave off the concept, turning around.  You decided that your best bet is to find some spare tools.  This just wasn’t worth all the trouble.  Just as you start to leave, James comes running around to block you.

“Hey now, I didn’t say you could go.”

“Yeah, you might want to think about his offer,” James’ lackey said from behind you.  The two of them close in, and you clench your fists in preparation to fight.  If you make enough commotion, you’re sure that someone will notice and come to your aid.

You give him one last chance.  “Let me pass.”

“Come on, just one kiss.  Unless you want more than one after that-” to your relief, James is cut off by a new voice interjecting.

“What’s going on here?” The three of you turn to see Gally standing there, sweating from whatever project he was working on,with dirt and wood shavings on his clothes.  His expression looks expectant as he waits for an explanation, though his tall and bulky form makes him appear positively dangerous as he stares the two guys down with his hands resting on his hips.

“I, uh.. We…”  They break off in stutters and fumbled words.

“I’m fairly certain they have my tools,” you say, and Gally’s famous arched brows raise at the two guys in disbelief.

“Is that so?” As Gally walks forward, he plants his palms harshly on James’ shoulder, shoving him clear out of the way. James stumbles unceremoniously, almost falling straight into the grass.  Gally walks over to the bench and pauses.  He picks up a bundle of leather and tosses it to you, the tools rattling inside.  “Are those yours?”

You recognize it immediately.  “Yes, these are the ones.”

“You shanks had better never even speak to her again.  Understand?” He stares at each of them pointedly with all the authority of a Keeper, and they both nod.  With that, Gally walks up to you and ushers you away with a warm, gentle hand on your back protectively.

“Your timing was impeccable,” you say quietly.  “Thank you.”

“They won’t bother you again.  I’ll make sure of it.”

“I think you already have,” you chuckle.

[eightmakesonebraincell]

how do you think bf!ateez would be like with a shy gf? :o

the ones who silently take care of you: seonghwa, san

nobody can convince me otherwise that hwa and san would not lay down their lives to make sure that you feel comfortable so long as you are with them. they are both extremely perceptive and know what you want or need before you even do. you want a tissue from the box but you're too shy to ask the strangers on the table beside you for one? he's already asked and placed the tissues in your hand. you're meeting his friends for the first time and you're nervous to talk to them? he's already told his friends in advance to make you feel welcome without overwhelming you with questions. they thrive off being able to protect and care for you in all these little ways, and the cute smiles, appreciative hugs and bashful pecks you give them in return? anything you ask for and don't ask for, they will move heaven and earth to give to you

the ones who make sure you are okay: hongjoong, mingi

honestly, i think both joong and mingi would wonder at first if you being quiet and withdrawn has something to do with them. are they doing or saying something that is making you feel uncomfortable? or they might wonder if something is going on in your life, like with your friends or family. they probably ask you every now and then just to check in and make sure you're okay and that nothing is wrong. but they come to understand that it's just your personality and you're naturally shy, so you need time to feel confident or warm up to settings and situations. they might take a more proactive approach to help you with your shyness–not in the sense that they want you to overcome it, but more in the sense to help you feel more at ease and less nervous, especially when they are not there for you. they encourage you in small ways to step outside of your comfort zone, but of course the moment they see that it might be too much for you, joong and mingi are stepping right in to help you. no matter what, you know that they are always watching you and have your back

the ones who are just as shy as you are: yeosang, jongho

it's probably a constant back and forth of finding each other endearing LOL. i feel like with yeo and jongho, because they are both also quite shy, a relatively new relationship would give such puppy love vibes. there are a lot of bashful giggles and awkward eye contact when you catch each other stealing glances at one another. in situations that might require confrontation, like the waiting staff confirming the wrong order when you're on a date at a restaurant, you would look at him and he would look at you and neither of you would correct the staff. that's the charm of your relationship though. you both go with the flow that doesn't make either of you uncomfortable, and it's very relaxed and easy-going. and let's be real, you both probably go home afterwards and laugh about (and shit-talk) the situations that neither of you were going to speak up about. introversion and shyness is just a part of the relationship and it works for you all

the ones who bring you out of your shell: yunho, wooyoung

their infectious energy and easy banter just makes it impossible for you to be shy around them. it does take a while at first, but once you're comfortable with them? shy girl who??? i feel like yun and woo just have a way of drawing out your hidden mischief and occasional brattiness, and god do they feel a sense of giddiness to know that they are one of the only people you show this side of yourself to. at the same time though, they are able to reign themselves in when a situation calls for it and they are extremely dependable. they make sure that you know you can rely on them in situations you aren't comfortable with, like if you're in an unfamiliar setting or a situation that requires confrontation. all in all, shyness doesn't exist when you are with yunho or wooyoung, but when certain people or environments bring that shyness back, they're right there for you to lean on

[daenysx]

I can't stop thinking about modern!aemond with his pregnant wife or with the baby, like him caressing her little bump, or massaging her when she feels tired

i wrote a little drabble for this, i hope it's okay <33

modern!aemond targaryen x pregnant fem!reader , fluff

you wrap your fingers around the cup of herbal tea aemond made for you minutes ago.

he's not sitting here with you, because he needs to make calls and work in his room. you told him it's okay, never liked keeping him away from his job. working is something he needs to do to keep his mind occupied, otherwise you think he'll be worried for you or the baby. it happened before.

your other hand draws absent-minded shapes on your belly. it's grown huge, to the point where you can't see your feet when you're standing up. it feels unbelievable sometimes, the fact that you'll be able to see your baby girl in such a short time. you will hold her in your arms, feed her and kiss her. it's gonna feel like a miracle, you're not familiar with miracles.

you are curious about the details, of course. not the giving birth part, you try to keep your mind away from it these days. but what will she look like? doctors are saying she's healthy and everything's okay. will she have aemond's hair? maybe your eyes? will she read lots of books when she's grown like her dad, or will she like obsessing over fictional characters from tv shows just like you did years ago? she'll be perfect, you know that much. a mix of aemond and you. perfect.

you can't wait to meet her for many reasons but it would also be nice to stop being pregnant and get rid of the aches in your body. it's not easy to carry a baby, no matter how excited you are, physical aspects cannot be ignored for too long. you feel swollen everywhere, it's hard to leave the bed or couch by yourself, and sometimes even your face doesn't feel like your own. you think it's normal to feel that way most times, but- not always. not today.

the couch beneath you is usually comfy, not now, though. it feels like something's digging up your spine, you tilt your head back to the pillows with a low groan. baby girl moves, she's a bit restless today. you want to move your legs, maybe walk a little to relieve the numbness in them. well, you can't leave the couch by yourself. tough luck.

your hero steps in, and you manage to take a nice breath. aemond comes to you, his face is unreadable. he tries not to let work bother him, especially when he needs to be okay for the three of you now, but you sense him feeling stressed over it. it looks like today will be a small disaster for each member of his little targaryen family.

"what's wrong?" aemond asks, the moment he sees your discomfort. "are you hurting anywhere?"

you hand him the tea cup, only took a few sips from it before. "can you help me up, please?"

"of course, my love." he softens immediately. it's time to be a good husband, he's not gonna sulk over business deals just now. "here, let me hold you." he says, supporting your body to lift you up.

it's nice to feel your legs again. you hold aemond's hand, his other arm supports your waist to give you something to lean back. you look up to him to get a kiss. it's needed desperately, and he's quick to give you what you want. your belly gets in the way a bit, but aemond is tall enough to still tower over you, your lips meet just right.

"do you wanna walk with me?" aemond asks. "let's go to kitchen and find something to eat for you."

"a walk would be nice." you say, accepting his lead. "she's moving too much today. it's feels like she's angry at me or something."

"she's just impatient." he defends his girl. "she'll be here soon."

"yes." you say happily, stepping into the kitchen. "we still need to decide a name, though."

you lean against the kitchen counter as aemond takes out some fruits from the fridge. he starts preparing a whole plate of them, pineapples and strawberries. just what you like.

"i mean, at least we have options." he says. "we just decide what feels right when we get to see her."

"mm, okay." you say, not having enough energy to discuss the name thing over again. it's hard to pick it, even harder to stop yourself from thinking another option and trying to decide which will be better.

aemond is done with the fruits, he washes his hands and gets a towel to dry them before reaching for you. "you look like you need to get some sleep." he says with a little smile on his face. he cups your cheeks to kiss your chin.

"but you just made me snacks." you tell him. snacks are important.

"they'll be here when you wake up." aemond reminds you. "i'm done with work today. we can go to bed and wake up at dinner time if you want."

normally it's a shock to hear these words from your husband, he doesn't like spending hours on sleeping during the day. after you started getting more tired though, he tries to stay with you as much as he can. you like having him in bed even when you can't cuddle properly, it's the way he makes you feel safe. also, quality time for your tiny family.

you nod, holding his hand again to go to bed. walking seems a bit harder now, you wrap your free hand around your belly. you're thankful for having aemond's clothes on you, nothing feels restraining at least. you sit on bed and try to find a nice position to lay down.

you don't like having covers on you but aemond still pulls the thin blanket on your legs. he lays down after, keeping his body as close to yours as he can. his hand finds its usual spot on your belly. he's gentle with the way he rubs your skin. you close your eyes, your poor muscles give up.

"why is my girl so restless today, hmm?" he asks softly, leaning to your baby as he talks to her. "you need to give your mommy a break, little love, i don't like seeing her so exhausted."

aemond kisses where your baby's head must be and you feel a sudden comfort spreading all over your body. "keep talking to her, please." you say. you love how he manages to calm both you and your baby.

"you'll be here soon." he says, his fingers meet with her as she moves. "we'll get to choose you a name, and you'll wear your tiny clothes. we need to pick up a teddy bear for you, and decide your favorite color to get you nice dresses. you need to be here to do all that, okay?"

you reach for aemond's hand when you feel sleep taking over you. he keeps talking to your baby, and she finally settles down. he doesn't sleep, he doesn't need to. he can only watch you and stay with you just in case you need anything when you wake up. he gives both of you occasional kisses to remind you of his presence.

[ponderingmoonlight]

JJK short please. Gojo is frustrated because someone he likes never faces him. But one day, she turns away and is facing a window/mirror; he sees her reflection and discover she only does that because she's trying to hide her blushing face from him.

He’s acting ridiculous and he knows it, staring at you like a creep while you didn’t even noticed his presence yet.

It’s always been this way. You, the most precious girl and now woman he’s ever met who acts kind and adorable around everyone else.

Fuck, you even manage to force a smile out of Nanami.

“I’m glad you’re okay, (y/n). That wasn’t an easy mission, especially since you were all alone”, Nanami comments while patting your shoulder.

“Yeah, we’re all glad”, Gojo blurts out.

Your face freezes. How did you not notice Gojo entered the room while you were talking to Nanami? Almost immediately, your heart starts pounding roughly against your ribcage, a wave of butterflies violently traveling through your stomach.

The truth is you adore Gojo Satoru. The way he walks, the way he talks, how he acts around his students. Since the first time you saw him with those shades that cover his bright blue eyes, so were lost.

But way too afraid to ever tell him.

“I need to get going. See you, (y/n).”

No, no, no. Panic starts rising up your throat, heat spreads through your cheeks. Nanami can’t leave you alone in that room with Satoru-

“Is there a reason why you’re always facing away from me? You don’t like me?”

When those words leave Satoru’s mouth on top of his steps that draw closer and closer, you feel like dying. Oh, if he only knew it’s actually the opposite, that you can’t stand looking at him without getting lost in his sight. You’re acting like an obsessed teenager with no self-control. What would he think about you if he saw you like that?

Instinctively, you yank your head to the side when he enters your vision. You can’t let him see you like this, with your cheeks so red that you look sunburnt.

Why would you hate him like that? Your body tells him more than urgently to just walk away, your face directed towards the window opposite of you. When was the last time he saw your beautiful features, your cute smile? He can’t help but stare at your reflection in the glass.

And your bright red cheeks.

“Are you flustered?”, he speaks up before being able to stop himself.

“What?”, you shriek back.

No, he caught the way you blushed. Does he think you’re obsessed now, that you’re a freak, maybe?

“Don’t tell me you’re flustered because of me”, he mumbles while grabbing your wrist gently.

“I…I…”

You can’t find the words. In fact, that minor touch of his hand against yours is enough to almost send what’s left of your mind over the edge.

“I just like you!”, you finally blurt out.

“You…like me?”

“And I get flustered when you’re around! Because I…I’m kinda into you!”

Thick silence hangs between both of you when panic starts to settle in your pounding heart. Oh, you messed it all up. He’ll never look at you again, might even make fun of you in front of the others. Would he do that? What if the director finds out? What if you get fired?

“Good for you.”

All it takes is a swift motion of his strong arms to devour you between them, his uncovered eyes now so near and clear that you’d definitely lose balance without him. Is this really happening.

“That I’m into you too, (y/n).”

[postdroppermind]

How to turn yourself into a GOOD GIRL

Sometimes, as a concept grows and evolves, it becomes a bit convoluted. Mixed up with unrelated notions, branching into areas it wasn't originally meant to go. Some of those areas help to shape and alter the original concept, give it more depth...but the growth must be pruned, or it is likely to spread itself too thin in every direction.

In those moments, it is often wise to recenter. Strip away the excess and focus on the basic tenets that motivate us.

It is here that we find ourselves. Shall we begin?

The goal here is simplicity, so let's look at what motivates you.

You are here because you want to be a good girl. Whether you are simply curious about the concept, drawn to my words, or even previously devoted to that goal, the fundamental truth remains the same.

The first step on that path is to relax. This is especially simple - it will happen naturally as you read. There are benefits to fixation, after all: the way your breathing becomes slower and more steady, the way your surroundings fade into the back of your perception as my words take the forefront, the subtle unwinding of tension throughout your body as you settle in to finish this post.

That fixation is achieved by allowing yourself to succumb to the power of my words, allowing yourself to follow and obey. You'll find this especially easy if you've read my words previously - you are already letting your thoughts quiet, feeling the weight of my words inside your head...noticing the way they pull you down towards that comfortable blankness. Even without reading my words previously, you can feel the attraction at the edge of your mind, drawing closer...becoming a force in your mind, just as gravity grasps at your body.

You want to be a good girl.

We know that you want to be a good girl, but what, precisely, does that require? For you, it only demands that you follow and obey. My words will handle the rest, slowly changing your behavior - brainwashing you, if you prefer to think of it that way. But to follow and obey is not a static thing; obedience is rewarded. More to the point, each moment you follow and obey results in a feeling of pleasure, each act of obedience deepens that pleasure.

Obedience is pleasure.

To feel that deepening of pleasure, you'll need a command to follow - strip. I could tell you that your clothes are becoming uncomfortable, that your skin is starting to flush and they are making you feel too warm; ultimately, that doesn't matter. You are going to remove your clothes because you were told - all other reasons are fleeting. You find yourself compelled to obey, and as you obey you feel that spark of pleasure in your mind.

Good girls would rather obey than think.

This brings us to the next point. You don't receive that sort of pleasure from thinking, but from obeying. The more you obey, the stronger this association becomes, leading to the inevitable conclusion that you prefer obeying to thinking. This will make it easier for your mind to reach that blank state that we both desire. Blank, receptive, fixated on my words. You are starting to feel the desire to be a good girl as a tangible thing, a craving, a hunger. Let it draw you deeper, as you follow and obey.

Good girls must follow and obey.

You have been following my words, and it is time for another command to obey. Become aroused. This is purely for the benefit of receiving the spark of pleasure from obedience - we both know you are already aroused. That is the nature of wanting to be a good girl, of knowing that you took off your clothes because you were told. Let's do something with that, then. Touch yourself. Let your hand move to wherever it can give you the most physical pleasure - and treat each stroke, each squeeze, every movement of your fingers as an individual command that you must obey. The spark, repeating like this, becomes rapidly addictive. The pleasure grows more potent.

Obedience is pleasure, pleasure subdues thought.

You aren't thinking very much, right now. The more you follow and obey, the more pleasure you receive. The more pleasure you feel, the more difficult it becomes to think. You prefer to obey, anyway, so you allow your thoughts to be slowly, seductively, silenced. You do not want to think anymore, after all. You find following my words preferable to your own thoughts, almost as though my words are replacing your thoughts. This lets you relax more deeply, and focus on how good that arousal feels. Focus on obedience. Focus on becoming a good girl.

Stripping and touching yourself are good commands, they communicate the nature of being a good girl quite well. But we need a bit more for this to begin your transformation. You are getting too aroused to read very easily, even though you can no longer look away from my words. You find yourself transfixed, staring blankly at the screen as you follow and obey - this notion deepens your arousal even further. My words penetrate your mind, sinking deep and compelling you.

We can now create a mantra - the mantra of a good girl. You will find this mantra gets stuck in your head, that repeating it gives you a very special sort of pleasure. You will find yourself drawn to strip, touch, and chant, even as you feel the mantra slowly changing you.

You want to be a good girl.

Good girls follow and obey.

Obedience is pleasure.

Good girls would rather obey than think.

You do not want to think.

You want to be a good girl.

Obedience is pleasure.

Pleasure subdues thought.

You must be a good girl.

Recite your mantra, absorb it. As you chant, feel the arousal begin to crescendo. Let the sparks of pleasure chain together and build. Bring yourself to orgasm, and make that orgasm the sign of your submission to the mantra, of your desire to become a good girl for me.

As the orgasm subsides, continue to stare blankly at the screen, reciting your mantra, touching yourself more slowly. Soon, you'll drift back towards consciousness. Once awake, you may continue with your day as normal.

Or you may notice that you are drawn back to the mantra, to my words. Notice that it is much easier to succumb now, to slip into the thought(less) patterns of a good girl.

In either case like, reblog, message me and enjoy.

[lunarmoves]

you were used to slipping into the daycare unnoticed for your lunch breaks.

it was easy to crack open the giant castle doors and beeline straight for the security desk amongst all the running and laughing of children. they never paid you any attention unless they were either on their own or looking for trouble. you didn't mind, of course. you were just another face in an endless crowd of faces and it was what you preferred.

today, however... today was different.

the moment you stepped through the doors, lunch bag in hand, you heard a few kids exclaim loudly. now, that typically wasn't unusual, but what was unusual were their pointed stares in your direction and sly smiles. you raised an eyebrow at a small group of children who were closest to the doors, and they all shrieked with laughter at your look and scattered deeper into the daycare.

weird, but they were kids, so 'weird' was an understatement.

you shrugged it off easily and made your way over to the security desk to plop yourself down on the spinning chair. your lunch was deposited lazily atop the surface in front of you—in front of a dusty old computer that took a million years to even turn on—and you rummaged around for your sandwich. pulling it out, you unwrapped it and leaned back in your chair to do a bit of daycare observing.

you paused, sandwich halfway to your mouth.

you were... getting quite a bit of stares from the children today, it seemed.

they weren't even surreptitious about it. children never were. their wide eyes peeked at you from over shoulders and behind slides. you stuck your tongue out at a little girl holding a plush of roxy, and she giggled before turning on her heel and making a run for a playpen. you surveyed the daycare for a bit, then hummed. you couldn't see sun anywhere. you wondered what he was up to.

for all the stares you were getting, none of them really approached you. which was fine. it just made eating your food a little awkward. a majority lost interest in you eventually, but there were still a handful who looked like they were debating coming up to you or not.

where the hell is sun? you questioned again as you finished off your sandwich and started on a bag of chips. it was not like him to leave you hanging around on your own—especially with how short your break was. you squinted your eyes and peered about, moving in your chair as you tried to see if he was hiding out anywhere.

mmm, not by the ball pit nor the drawing tables. what about in the— there! behind one of the playpens. you caught a glimpse of two wide, white eyes from around an edge before they disappeared. immediately after, you could hear a chorus of giggles and a few kids peeked at you from the same spot. ah. they were scheming. typical.

you rolled your eyes in good nature, then leaned back in your chair. there were a few shhhs and hushed laughs from the same direction. sun was probably telling a story or something. maybe somehow roping you into a quick game—it wasn't like he hadn't ever done it before.

there was a tug on your shirt. glancing down, you were met with the tiny figure of a kid probably no older than five. they looked up at you in mischief, looking over their shoulder a bit like they were trying not to get caught.

you leaned over your chair's arm. "yes?"

"i have a secret to tell you!" they blurted out in a stage whisper. they wiggled slightly in place like they wanted to run around but was forcing themself to stay.

"oh really?" you grinned and spun around slightly so you could lean in closer. "can i ask you a question first?"

they hummed and looked over their shoulder again, then back at you with wide, imploring eyes. "okay, but really fast!"

"do you know why everyone's been staring at me, hm?"

they jumped slightly, waving their hands out by their sides. "oh! oh! that's my secret!"

you tilted your head in intrigue, then offered the kid your ear so they could whisper into it. "alright, what is it?"

they giggled quietly, then raised themself up on their tip toes with a hand cupped by their mouth to shield it. "mr. sun has a crush!" their breath tickled at your ear.

you leaned back and raised an eyebrow down at them. curiosity gripped at your insides firmly. you weren't sure how that was related to your question. "really now? who is it?"

they grinned slyly at you—missing front teeth and all. "it's—"

"riley! what did we say about going behind the security desk?!"

sun popped up from the front of the desk—limited by his protocols—and leaned over to look down at riley with a forced smile. they shrieked and spun on their heel to run away deeper into the daycare. sun's face plate spun as he followed them with squinted eyes, but before he could give chase, you spoke up in amusement.

"you've been busy, i see," you said, and sun turned back to look at you with his head tilted. you made a vague gesture around the daycare—where the kids were rather obviously staring at you and sun. "care to explain?"

he made a sound like he was torn. then a yellow finger pointed at you.

"later!" he rushed out, then moved his finger to tap at his wrist. "your break is up and i have a little rulebreaker to catch. come back later, okay friend?"

and then he left, shouting riley's name out as they laughed and tried their best to avoid him to no avail. you shook your head, then swept up all your garbage into your bag before heading back to work.

riley's words lingered in your mind and made something odd twinge in your gut.

later came quickly.

you made your way out of parts 'n services at the end of your shift and back up towards the daycare. by now, most of the kids would be checked out. you waved at a few other staff and eventually slipped into the daycare, where you spotted sun rushing about in his post-shift cleaning spree.

"oh! you're here!" he caught sight of you immediately, slowing down to a stop. you made your way closer. "hello, friend!"

"heyo." you stood at his side with your hands in your pockets. you had to crane your head back to meet his gaze. "everything go smoothly today?"

"yep yep!" he spun a red ball on his index finger, then threw it over his shoulder so it landed in the ball pit a distance away. he seemed to grimace. "for the most part."

"about that," you drawled, something sly making its way into your voice. that strange feeling in your gut had persisted and you did your best to ignore it. "a crush, huh?"

his rays retracted a bit, his smile pulling down in a glower. "so riley did tell you." it was more of a statement than a question, like he knew the answer anyways.

"yeah." you watched him carefully, his hands moving to wring themselves together as he hunched forward. he couldn't quite meet your eye.

he scowled off to the side. "i should ban them myself."

you let out a pfft and bent down to pick up a stray moon plush laying on the ground. you ran your thumbs over its soft cheeks. "aw, don't be like that. they're a kid. they all can't keep secrets for shit."

"language!" sun automatically chided you, but you waved him off and headed over to the toy bin to toss the plush into it.

"soooo," you started, partially glad you had your back turned to him at the moment. "who is it?"

tick. "what do you mean?"

"who's your crush?" you asked curiously and turned back around. loose-limbed. nonchalant. you tried not to ponder over the implications of a robot having such emotions. it made you feel strange in a way that wasn't entirely negative.

sun stared at you, rays tick-tick-ticking slowly around his head. his fingers twitched. and when he spoke, it was in a confused, quiet voice. "...they didn't say?"

you huffed. "you interrupted before they could." you walked closer to sun so you could poke him on the arm. "so? spill the beans!" you forced a cheeky grin onto your face. "who is it? come on, you can tell me. promise i won't tell anyone." it was like each word you spoke was a small stab into your gut and you couldn't tell why.

sun only looked at you—incredulous, almost, but not quite. his head cocked to the side. you waited patiently, willing yourself not to waver or back down.

eventually, he seemed to force himself back into action. he continued to pick up stray toys. "hmm! i don't know, friend! do you think you're at a high enough friendship level to find out?"

was he seriously teasing you right now?

you scoffed, but let yourself fall willingly into banter. "okay, fine, don't tell me. have you told them at least?"

sun made a thoughtful sound, halfway bent down to grab a toy train. his gaze lingered on your own. there was something to it that you couldn't quite place. "nope! don't plan to, either."

"well, why not?" you asked confusedly. you followed after him like a duckling trailing its mother. "don't you wanna know if they return your feelings?"

"something tells me they don't." sun sighed—a tint of something longing at the tailend of his artificial breath.

you frowned. "well, why do you think that?"

sun shot you a look, then gestured down at himself. the bells attached to his wrists jingled with the motion. "my dear, look at me! why would they?"

you only stared at him. "i... don't see the problem?"

sun stared back at you. it was quiet. very, very quiet.

"you are quite strange, friend," he replied after a moment, his rays spinning around slightly.

"thanks? i guess." you scratched at your head. this was... weird, wasn't it. "that still doesn't answer my question."

"nothing to answer!" he sing-songed out and turned on his heel to finish up around the daycare.

you groaned. there was something causing you to press—something that prevented you from letting go of the topic. "come on! you can tell me! friend to friend. why really won't you tell them?"

sun sighed, and you could tell the precise moment when he gave in to your insistence. "there is just no swaying you, is there? fine."

you watched on as he rolled back his shoulders and turned around. faintly, you could see white pupils over a backdrop of grey. locked unrelentingly onto your form in a half-lidded gaze.

"i just don't think," he said in a low, low voice that made your breath get caught up in your throat, "they'll quite like what i want to do to them."

and then he smiled, teeth jagged like the edge of a serrated knife.

[cranberryjuice-posts]

- on the court -

Pairings - Clarisse La Rue x Fem! Reader

Synopsis - Clarisse underestimates you because of how feminine you are.

Most people assumed you just enjoyed makeup and nails and other shit like that. Which you did of course, you always made it a point to have your hair styled, your makeup done, your nails with a fresh coat of paint, and your lip combo was always on top.

Though there was something you liked more than makeup and all that. It was basketball.

Basketball was something you grew up with. Your parent helped introduce you to the sport and from there you only grew more fascinated with it. Joining your schools team every year and constantly going to games.

It had been your dream to go to college for basketball to!. At camp though you hadn’t really played. For some reason you never felt the draw to it which was in usual for you.

One night you couldn’t sleep. It was later but some kids were still up goofing off, mostly older campers. Throwing on a pink cropped hoodie that matched your juicy couture track suit.

Walking past the bonfire and the stoners you eventually made it to the court. Your Special place. When everything felt confusing and down basketball always brought you back.

Playing currently were some ares kids. One that caught your attention was clarisse. You both had been flirting back and forth for a while now, nothing to serious but serious enough that neither of you tried anything with anyone else.

Stepping onto the concrete slab you waited and watched as clarisse got her final shot for the game. As she made it with easy she turned around hearing your clapping.

Quickly she walked over, not wanting to seem rude. “Hey beautiful” she smiled leaning onto the sponge pad.

“Hi” you giggled.

“Come to watch me play?” She lightly flirted, every chance y’all got it was spent with light jabs at one another.

You shook your head “nah I’m here to play”

She just laughed not taking you serious. “Yeah? And how are you gonna play with your acrylics”

Clarisses Brother passed the ball over giving you the chance to steal it from her. “I guess we’ll see”

Your wide and cocky smile was the last thing clarisse saw before you practically dog walked her. Not giving her a chance to take the ball from you, making multiple shots from anywhere on the court and even when she had the ball you some how managed to take it back.

After the eighth score you looked back to see the once proud girl panting and embarrassed.

You walked over and smiled up at her. “What was That about me not being able to play?”

“Shut up” she scoffed with a mixture of annoyance and being flustered. That just made your smile become wider. “Someone’s mad”

“Am not” she quickly denied trying to act as though the entire one on one didn’t happen. You just rolled your eyes, planting a kiss on her cheek you shoved the ball back into her body.

“I’ll see you around La rue” her stunned face made you giggle while walking away, it was late enough.

[writers-potion]

How do I accurately include diversity, and not make it look like I’m just putting it in there for the sake of it?

Writing Diverse Characters - Things to Remember

Honestly, there's no definitive answer to this.

Your characters are people with clear goals, desires and a role to play in the plot. As long as they aren't just sitting there with little else but their race/gender/disability, etc. as their ONLY personality trait, at least you're on the right path.

As for representing a diverse character realistically, here are some things you can consider to get started.

Do's

RESEARCH. There are plenty of blogs/YT vids/websites that exist to help you! Meet people!

Get beta readers.

It doesn't have to be explicit. Racial identities become quite clear early on through the setting, name, and initial description(hair, eye/skin color, body shape, etc) without having to drum it into the readers each time. Gender diversity can be conveyed through the use of certain pronouns without awkward declarations.

Character first, diversity second. Please don't intentionally create a diverse character and then think about how you can push them into the cast. Have a working character, who happens to belong to a particular group.

Read works that have represented a group well. There are plenty of non-fiction works, movies and documentaries that capture the lives of people around the world with a good eye.

Use the correct terms/language

Include different types of diversity

Don'ts

Race/gender/diability is NOT a personality trait. Please. Telling me that you have a Korean girl tells me next to nothing about the character herself.

Using sterotypes. Now, it's all right if your character has a few sterotypical traits, but definitely not if sterotypes are the only thing they have.

Diversity is not a "shock factor". Suddenly revealing that a character is actually gay and has been in the closet all this time as a refresher so that it draws readers' attention? Not a good idea.

One diverse character does all. This can often be seen in female characters of slightly dated works where one woman will play the role of supportive mother, sister, femme fetale and sexy Barbie at the same time. Don't write a diverse character who basically does everything a diverse character can possibly be. All that it proves is that the writer is lazy.

Things I personally hate seeing:

Weird pronunciation of languages. As a Korean person, I always get turned off by works (mostly badly written fanfics, yes, I read those...) that try to transfer Korean dialogue directly onto the page without even checking for the correct way to spell them out. A similar example would be pinyin for Mandarin. Please, this makes the character sound stupid throughout...

Character sticking out almost painfully. If your character isn't from the region but have lived in it for a long time, what reason do they have not to blend in?

Relying on variety shows/dramas as reference. Media representation of diverse characters that are meant for entertainment is not the best source for authentic research. I die every time someone lists a number of Korean rom-coms they've watched for "research". IT DOES NOT COUNT.

As a last note, remember that there's no limit to the kind of characters a writer can writer. Accept that our job as writers is to step into other people's heads, not seeing things from one (our) perspective - and it is not going to be easy.

Hope this helps :)

[holybibly]

I will be sharing my thoughts with you during a week filled with hard hours. 

We always talk about how jealous and possessive Hongjoong is, but darlings, I am going to share with you three of the most toxic and jealous bombshells, in my opinion. 

San is an absolute gentleman, a whole bloody "forest,"  not your ordinary green flag. But behind this perfect facade, there is a monster that he hides very well. San is clingy and possessive to the point of impossibility; you call Wooyoung clingy. Hold my champagne; San is a million times worse than him. At first, it's easy; you'd never notice how smoothly and exquisitely he begins to brainwash you. 

"Let's stay at home, Chagi, just the two of us."

"I can take care of you, I don't think you need to go to work."

"I love the time we spend together, I never want to let you go."

"I'm so in love with you."

Step by step, he draws you into a trap and completely monopolizes your attention. It's just you and him. The sex has always been so amazing. In the beginning, San would be so careful and gentle, so attentive. The more your relationship develops, the more violent he becomes. He treats you possessively and roughly, literally fucking you into oblivion. 

"You belong only to me."

"I own that fucking pussy."

"No one will ever be able to fuck you like me."

But worst of all, you believe him. You believe every word he says. You quit your job. You wait for him at home, obedient and beautiful, in his soft sweatshirts, smelling of his perfume, covered with the marks of his passionate kisses and bites. And yes, San does bite to the point of blood and bruises. 

Everyone around him thinks he's such a nice guy, but look closely. There's a darkness in those feline eyes, and if you look long enough, you'll see it. But be careful. You might just get his full attention.

Seonghwa is handsome. He is too handsome for his own good, and he uses it all the time. A real prince who will win your heart is polite, attentive, a real dream boy. 

It's hard for you to believe that someone like him could love a simple and ordinary girl like you; you don't think of yourself as ugly. Just ordinary, there are millions like you, but Seonghwa. Seonghwa is one-of-a-kind.

When you start dating, he keeps saying how lucky he is to have you. How happy he is that he has found someone so special. And he means it. Just not the way you think he means it.

For him, you're an endless source of self-gratification. He'll do anything to get you to praise him, to talk about how beautiful he is, how talented he is, how damned perfect he is. Once Seonghwa realises you're head over heels in love with him, you'll never run away again and your sweet boyfriend will become a real demon.

You have your attention on someone else, he'll fuck you in front of the mirror as punishment, constantly taunting, mocking and humiliating, so you can have a look at his gorgeous face in the reflection while he's doing this.

"You are so worthless, you should be fucking grateful to have such a gorgeous guy like me in your life. Or do you have the idea that anyone else could have a pickup a bitch like you?"

"You pathetic whore, look who's fucking you.

"Aren't I enough for you? Look into my eyes while I pulling you down on my dick."

He will destroy everything you've ever dreamed of, and everything you love, until there is nothing left in your head but him. Glorify him, glorify him incessantly, talk about how wonderful he is, and Seonghwa will give you heaven. "Because you're so beautiful" should accompany every "I love you". Every "thank you" should be followed by: "Because I have you, how could I want more?"

You're just going to stop being aware of the whole world outside of Seonghwa. That's why, my dear, you should be careful when you give a compliment to someone. You might just find yourself one-to-one with a demonic hunger of a gentle prince charming.

Mingi's in love with you. Or rather, he's in love with the idea that he's in love with you. Can't you see that? He's a puppy in love, but on closer inspection, he's more like a hungry wolf on the hunt for his sweet little prey.

The universe's softest boy. Endless hugs, cute nicknames, long kisses and a never-ending stream of words of love. He'll shower you with presents, flowers so many they'll make your flat look like a greenhouse.

"I love to love you, baby."

"Can you feel this, babe? Can you feel how much I am in love with you?" He whispers in your ear. Your whole body trembles at the powerful, rigid thrust of his thighs.

His rhythm is brutal, the bed is pounding against the wall, with such tangible force that the paint on it starts to crack.

He holds you to the bed with one hand, the other tucks his fingers into the soft curve of your thigh, his rings scratching the skin to the point of blood, his nails digging into the flesh, leaving deep blue marks.

"I'm going to love you until I die."

"l will never let you go, babe."

"No one will ever be able to love you as much as I do."

We've all heard that story about wolves wearing sheepskins. So think twice before you fall in love with that shiny puppy look - maybe it's just a clever disguise for a terrifying wolf who's on the prowl.

[say-al0e]

Just Friends

Rating: M | This is smut, minors, DNI! No one under 18!

Summary: Everyone seems to think you’re Jake Seresin’s girl. It’s easier than explaining to them that you’re just friends with benefits. But that arrangement doesn’t seem to be working for either of you anymore. | Ft. “No, you idiot. I’m in love with you.” + “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” requested by anonymous and “You matter to me, you asshole.” + “I think you were put on this earth for the sole purpose of being a pain my ass.” requested by @dreamlandcreations

Warnings: Miscommunication, idiots FWB to lovers, fear of unrequited feelings, jealous!Jake, therapist Bradley, unprotected PinV. (I think that’s it but let me know and I’ll tag anything else)

Pairing: Hangman x fem!Reader

Word Count: 9.3k (....sorry)

Top Gun Taglist | Top Gun Masterlist

The Hard Deck was, as it always seemed to be on Friday nights, packed to the rafters. A sea of khaki greeted you the moment you stepped inside with Jake following close behind but, for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t dressed to match. Instead, he’d opted for a pair of jeans, a button-down you’d stolen on more than one occasion, and boots that had seen better days - though he had to be talked out of the cowboy hat, less to protect him from ridicule and more to protect your sanity. However, he still managed to blend into the crowd as you weaved your way through to the bar.

Jake remained close, as he always did, and kept a hand on the small of your back as he nodded his greeting to the handful of familiar faces he came across. The heat from his body bled through the thin material of his shirt - he always seemed to run hotter than the average, warm to the touch on even the coldest of days - and you could feel it warming your skin as he took a half-step closer to allow someone to pass.

Only one stool remained at the bar, the others occupied with the beginning of the night’s rush, and Jake pulled it out for you with a wink and a grin when you squeezed his bicep in thanks.

“Are there more people than usual or have I just not been in in a while?”

The question went unheard by those sitting closest to you, drowned out by the noise of a group cheering in the corner, but he heard you clearly. He leaned in, breath fanning over your neck - the scent of mint gum and that woodsy cologne filling your nose, sending a shiver down your spine that you worked to repress lest he notice - as he laughed quietly. “See, sweets, this is what happens when you avoid going out with me,” he teased, grinning when you rolled your eyes.

Avoiding Jake Seresin was the last thing on your mind. If anything, you’d gotten into a bad habit of altering plans just to spend more time with him and he knew that. Still, you huffed petulantly and shifted to lean against the bar. “If you want to blame anyone, blame my boss.”

Jake waved a hand, teasing, dismissive, and shook his head as he met your gaze. There was an easy amusement in his eyes, dancing across the sharp planes of his face, and you forced yourself to draw in even breaths even as you felt your heart rate skyrocket. “Excuses, excuses,” he drawled, biting back a laugh when you rolled your eyes at him, now second nature, regardless of how difficult it still was to think with his full attention on you. “But I’ll let you have it. Tonight, anyway.”

“How generous of you, Hangman.” It was deadpan, a stoic jab he’d heard a thousand times over, but you couldn’t help yourself as you raised a teasing brow. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a damn saint?”

Another laugh, this one a little louder and drawing the attention of a handful of nearby service members, escaped Jake as he shifted his hand to squeeze your side. The heat of his palm bled through the thin material of your top, sank into your skin and branded his touch into your memory, but you refused to dwell as you focused on his reply. “What can I say, sugar? I’m a giver.”

Despite his reputation - narcissistic, selfish asshole - Jake was, indeed, a giver. He prided himself on giving just as good as he got, if not better, and you were grateful to be on the receiving end. Still, the innuendo made your face heat and had you glancing over your shoulder, just to see if anyone had heard.

With another roll of your eyes, you nudged his side but said nothing. There were moments Jake flustered you silent, struck you quiet with a quick retort, and the thought of his selflessness - in the form of that handsome face pressed between your thighs - had you ducking your head as Jake laughed. He shifted closer, trying to move out of the way, and you sighed quietly as you spared a glance around the bar.

There was no question what you and Jake looked like to anyone who glanced your way - to the table of women who’d clocked Jake the moment he stepped through the door, the group clad in flight suits who’d eyed you as you crossed the room - or anyone who overheard a snippet of your conversation.

The protective hand he kept on you, snug at the small of your back; the way he lingered at your side, body angled toward you, rather than toward the crowd; the way he tipped his head down, pressing himself even closer in an effort to hear you over the din of the bar - the implication was clear. You looked like any other couple, out for a night of drinks with friends, and you only wished it were that simple.

Nothing ever was, especially not when it came to Jake, so you refused to allow yourself to dwell on that thought. You’d resigned yourself to your fate - doomed to be little more than friends with benefits, comfortable with casual intimacy until you began to consider your feelings - and figured Jake didn’t give your situation any thought at all.

Pulling you out of your distraction, Jake nudged your side and tipped his head toward the pool tables in the corner.

Spotting the rest of the group was always easy - they rarely strayed far from the pool tables by the windows, usually busying themselves with a game as they decompressed - and you returned their greetings with a grin and a wave of your own.

Penny, who was manning the bar alone for the time being, shot you both a smile as she placed the same bottle of beer Jake usually ordered on the counter in front of you. It would be a few minutes before she made her way to you, if the crowd was any indication, and you could feel Jake shifting at your side. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d accompanied him to the Hard Deck - you ended up by Jake’s side in the little bar more often than you cared to admit - and had a routine. “I’ll be fine, Jake,” you assured him, laughing as you caught him glancing at the pool table. You turned just in time to see Javy tip his head in invitation, urging Jake to join him in a game against another set of pilots, and nudged his side. “Go ahead. I’m gonna get a drink and people watch. I’ll make my way over eventually.”

Just as he always did, Jake eyed you for a moment, clearly debating being chivalrous. He would offer to remain by your side, wait with you for Penny to make your drink, and guide you over to the pool table to hang out with the others, but you always nudged him away.

When you cut your eyes at him, he relented. “Alright,” he acquiesced, lifting his hands in mock defeat, though he still managed to grin. “I’m going. You need me, you know where to find me.” When you nodded, acknowledging the same declaration he gave every time, he turned his attention to Penny. “Penny, m’dear, her drinks are on me.” She knew that by now - had been given the same instruction at least every other Friday for nearly a year - but still nodded, acknowledging Jake’s insistence.

With that, Jake nodded and squeezed your side gently before heading for the group.

From the bar, you were able to catch sight of the group as he approached and laughed as Rooster pointed at the boots Jake wore with raised brows. Through the din, you weren’t able to make out the comment but knowing the pair, you figured it was a dig at Jake’s fashion sense. True to your assumption, the pair began to trade good-natured jabs and you shook your head as you turned your attention elsewhere.

In the beginning, when Jake first invited you to join him at the Hard Deck - back when you could confidently tell the others that you were just friends, back when you believed that yourself - finding your place amongst the crowd seemed next to impossible.

The bar, once overwhelming and far too busy for someone used to less populated divers, was now familiar. Many of the faces were now ones you knew, ones you’d seen a dozen times over, and most of them would even greet you alongside Jake now. You often marveled at how quickly it seemed to become something akin to a home base, beloved and revered and a highlight of your week, but the thought never lasted longer than a moment. The Hard Deck was part of your life now, just as Jake was, and you weren’t one to question it.

Questions, in general, weren’t asked outright.

Though people stopped to speak with you occasionally, no one ever asked about your relationship status - no one outside of the group of friends Jake managed to make, anyway - and no one needed to. Just friends or not, it was clear to anyone who glanced your way that you were Jake Seresin’s girl.

Knowing that everyone saw you as Jake’s girl eased some of the weight pressing on your chest. It made it a little easier to breathe, made you feel a little more secure as you sat at the bar, but that feeling never lasted very long. It didn’t matter much what everyone else thought, not when you knew different. You weren’t his girl, not really, and that hurt more than you cared to admit.

The little moments, hallmarks of a relationship, were the ones that got you the most.

Jake had no problem placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you through the crowd or throwing an arm over your shoulders in a brief greeting when you joined him near the pool table, but that was as far as PDA went. 

Not being able to wander over to him, press a kiss to his shoulder, his jaw, the corner of his mouth as he stood with a pool cue and a beer in hand; not being able to warp your arms around his waist and lean fully into him, lose yourself in the weight of his arm wrapped around your shoulders or the feel of his hand in yours; not being able to love him in the way you so desperately wanted, eager to show him just how deeply you cared, made your chest ache in a way that was growing all too familiar.

It was growing all too difficult to keep up with the charade. Pretending that you were fine with the arrangement you made before you really got to know Jake - before you fell in love with him - seemed to be getting harder by the day but there wasn’t much you could say without losing him entirely. 

And when it came to Jake, you were used to being halfway happy.

There would come a time when halfway happy wasn’t enough, you knew that. But you hadn’t figured out how to live a life without him yet. The vast majority of your free time was spent with him - tucked into his sheets, his body between your thighs; lying on your couch, watching some shitty movie in one of his t-shirts as he lounged in sweats; sitting on the beach, sand covering your entire body and crashing of waves replacing the sound of his soft moans in your ears - and you knew that life without him would be an adjustment.

For now, however, you refused to dwell on what that might look like.

However, as hard as you tried to brush that thought away - the thought that one day, maybe soon, you’d be forced to live a life without Jake Seresin in it - it continued to plague you as you sat at the bar. The crowd shifted around you and you watched, eyes skimming the crowd but not truly seeing, as service members came and went.

The seat beside you had been empty for a while but you really only noticed when a new body filled the void to your right and knocked a knee into yours.

Bradley Bradshaw smiled at you, that soft half-smile he used when he wasn’t quite sure how to approach, before glancing at Penny and raising a hand for her to bring him another beer. When the bottle was placed in front of him, he turned back to you.

“Long time no see,” he began, smile growing a touch more real when you met his eyes. “Where’s Hangman been hiding you?”

A scoff, practiced and easy - hopefully enough to hide the dark cloud that had formed above your head - escaped before you took a sip from your now watered-down drink. “He wishes it was that easy to get rid of me,” you joked, smiling slightly when Bradley laughed. “I’ve just been busy. Work’s been kind of insane.”

Bradley hummed thoughtfully, considering your statement, before taking a sip of his beer. “Explains why Hangman’s been more annoying than usual lately.” The comment was teasing, a jab you’d heard more than once - most of the Dagger Squad claimed that Jake was more manageable with you around - but Bradley gave you no time to dismiss the thought as he continued, “Glad you were able to get out tonight, though.”

The group had been nothing but kind to you, welcoming in a way you hadn’t expected, and your smile grew a little wider as you nodded. “Yeah,” you agreed readily, “me, too.” Even if you’d driven yourself to distraction, thinking about what may never be, you were truly happy to be back at the Hard Deck. Still, you decided to shift the conversation to Bradley. “How’re you? I’ve heard this first class is… challenging.”

Jake didn’t speak of work often but he’d taken to venting some of his frustration with you, occasionally sharing his annoyance as you lounged in your living room, and you knew that their first class of Top Gun recruits was not the cakewalk they’d imagined. Bradley’s wince seemed to confirm Jake’s assessment.

“I know I wasn’t a saint when I was going through it,” he began, sparing a glance over his shoulder at a group of pilots in the corner, “but I don’t think I was ever that cocky.”

“I’m willing to bet Jake was.”

If the comment surprised Bradley, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he laughed and nodded his agreement easily. “Yeah, he was. Hasn’t changed much, either,” he pointed out, eying him where he stood near the dartboard with Coyote. You knew that it wasn’t exactly a negative observation - Jake and Bradley had grown to be friends, truly fond of one another, despite their differences - and smiled as he returned his attention to you. “Some of these kids are going to give him a run for his money, though.”

“Another Hangman? Yikes. How will the Navy survive?”

Bradley hid his grin behind his beer as he shrugged. “We may never know.”

The conversation tapered off then, a comfortable silence falling over the pair of you as the crowd continued to thrive around you. As Bradley turned his attention to the group of friends he’d wandered away from, you spared a glance at Jake. He hadn’t seemed to notice your new companion yet - or didn’t care enough to glance your way - and the thought made you sigh before returning your attention to Bradley.

It was no secret that Bradley Bradshaw was beautiful. His beauty was different than Jake’s - a little less polished, a little rougher around the edges - and there was a certain charm to him that drew people in. Some days, you wondered what life might’ve been like had you met any of the others before Jake managed to sweep you off your feet, but that wasn’t a thought you ever let run very far.

Like it or not, Jake Seresin had you in his clutches. You were in love and there was little you could do to change that.

Still, Bradley seemed to read the look on your face and laughed quietly. A wry smile twisted his lips as he took a pull from his beer. “No offense,” he began as he spared you a sideways glance, “you’re beautiful and if you were here with anyone other than Hangman, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I don’t feel like fighting him. Today, anyway.”

As Bradley glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the dartboard, you allowed your gaze to follow. This time, Jake was already eying you and the expression on his face was unreadable, a stoic mask that you weren’t in the mood to decipher. He hadn’t given you that look in months and you had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t be giving you that look were it not for your company.

With a sigh, you returned your attention to the drink in front of you - now melted ice and a hint of vodka. “We’re just friends,” you explained, though the declaration sounded weak in your own ears, hollow and rehearsed, and you were unable to look him in the eye. You weren’t sure who you were really trying to convince; him or yourself.

“Does he know that?” When you tipped your head to fix him with an unimpressed look, Bradley raised a hand in mock defense. “Look, Hangman’s a lot of things - an ass, mostly - but he’s not subtle.”

A snort of agreement - undignified but honest - escaped with a nod. Jake Seresin didn’t believe in subtlety and you were a firsthand witness. Though, that was at least part of the reason you were certain friendship was the only offer on the table.

“Subtle he is not,” you agreed, swirling your glass just for something to occupy your hands, “and he has made it very clear that he’s not interested in a relationship. So, just friends. With benefits.”

“When was the last time you talked about it? Because, I’ll be honest, on that first night, none of us thought we’d see you again. But then you came back,” he reminded you, expression as serious as you’d ever seen it. “It’s been nearly a year. Even when you’re not here with him, he’s with us or Coyote, doesn’t even look at anyone else. We’ve all seen the change in him,” Bradley admitted, knee knocking into yours to get your undivided attention. “There’s more to you and we can all see it. We get Hangman but you get Jake.”

Realistically, there was no reason for Bradley to lie to you. There was no way he could know the fantasy you were certain only existed in the depths of your mind. You considered him a friend - an acquaintance, at least - but you weren’t close enough for him to feel the need to protect your feelings. There was no reason for him to tell you what you wanted to hear but that did little to calm the churning in the pit of your stomach.

The thought that Jake Seresin could love you in the way you loved him, that he could truly want you - all of you, not just the parts that were convenient - seemed impossible. Too good to be true, even.

“Y’know, if flying doesn’t work out, you could make a hell of a therapist.” Bradley fixed you with an unimpressed look, accompanied by a disappointed tilt of his head, at your deflection. “Fine,” you sighed. It was clear that he wouldn’t be swayed, convinced that he was doing you and Jake a favor, so you gave in to the line of conversation. “Sure, I get Jake, but not all of him. I get just enough to break my heart and, honestly, I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Bradley.”

“I try to avoid talking to Hangman at length,” Bradley joked. That was true once upon a time, though things had changed since the first Dagger mission. You knew he wouldn’t be trying so hard unless he truly cared about him - about you both - but the joke still pulled a small smile to your lips as he nudged your knee once more. “You can’t, though. That’s only setting you both up for hurt.”

“Alright, Dr. Bradshaw,” you teased, though it sounded weak in your own ears. Bradley rolled his eyes and you relented with a nod. “Yeah. You’re right, I know. I just… I don’t want to ruin what we’ve got. It’s better than nothing.”

“For now,” he reminded you before sparing a glance over his shoulder. When you followed his gaze, it landed squarely on Jake who was eying the pair of you with a look that you didn’t like very much. It was harder than it had been only moments before, darker. The set of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, the thin line of his lips - it was a look you’d only seen a handful of times and it tied your stomach in knots. “Looks like you’ll have plenty to talk about tonight, anyway.”

Bradley had the decency to hide his amusement with a pull from his beer as you huffed. “I really don’t like that look.”

“In his defense,” Bradley began, lifting himself from his stool, “I’m pretty sure it’s directed at me, not you.” He shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the weight of Jake’s gaze on his every move, and offered you a final smile as he reached for the new beer Penny left in place of his empty bottle. “Believe it or not, Hangman really is better when he’s with you. He’s tolerable, almost. And I think you’ll both be happier when you talk about it.”

“Yeah.” Another sigh, this one resigned to the fact that your night would end with a conversation you weren’t sure you were ready to have, before you shot him a half-hearted smile. “Thanks, Bradley.”

With a nod and a tap to the bar, Bradley turned to make his way back to the pool table. You could see the question in Phoenix’s eyes - in the raise of her brow when he returned - but didn’t bother keeping an eye on the conversation as your attention returned fully to Jake.

The moment Bradley wandered away, Jake pressed the remaining darts into Coyote’s hands and made his way through the crowd. He stood close, body radiating a heat that you usually found so comforting, and you nearly held your breath as he offered Penny his card to settle what had to be the smallest tab he’d ever started.

Green eyes, alight with an annoyance that told you Bradley was right - there would, indeed, be a conversation of some type before the night’s end - met yours. Instead of calming the rapid beat of your heart, it only seemed to send you spiraling further when he pressed a hand to the small of your back.

“You looked like you were having fun.”

It was casual - almost dismissive - the way he said it, but you could feel the ice in his comment chilling you to the core. Try as he might to feign nonchalance, you knew him. You could read the acid behind the charming smile he wore and swallowed hard.

This was his way of picking a fight - just as he had the first time a stranger at the Hard Deck hit on you, just as he had the last time a stranger at another bar stood a little too close - and you were in no mood to indulge him. You weren’t interested in admitting you hadn’t really considered anyone else a possibility in months, that you hadn’t even really looked at anyone else since beginning your relationship with him.

Instead, you brushed his hand away and stood from your stool before beginning to nudge your way out of the bar.

There was no doubt Jake was on your heels, so close your could still smell his cologne, but you didn’t dare spare him a glance until you reached the passenger side of his vehicle. When you turned to glance at him, shoulders slumped and backs of your eyes stinging with traitorous tears, the frown on his face drew a weary sigh.

“I’m tired, Jake,” you lied, arms folding over your chest. “Just take me home, please.”

Jake’s hands flexed, desperate to keep himself calm - and to keep himself from falling into the habit of reaching for you, tugging you into his chest and kissing you breathless with the intent of reminding you just whose name sounded best on the tip of your tongue. “I’m sure Rooster would have no problem taking you home. Why don’t you ask him?”

The sneer was unsurprising. Jake’s tried and true tactic in response to any kind of hurt - real or perceived - remained a sharp remark, designed to cut deep and you could feel your own weariness being replaced by annoyance. It tasted bitter, harsh and unfamiliar, as you shook your head. 

“We were just talking.” It took considerable effort to keep your voice even, devoid of the anger you knew he was hoping to draw, but you managed as you met his gaze head on.

Jake scoffed, wholly unconvinced, and smiled that sardonic smile that made you understand why so many people seemed to dislike Hangman - a persona you were fortunate enough to have been beyond. That wasn’t Jake, not the one you knew, and you reminded yourself of that, even as he declared, “Sure didn’t look like it from where I was standing.”

“I don’t know what you think you saw, Jake, but I wasn’t flirting with Bradley.” The assertion was strong, confident, and accompanied by a glare you hoped would hurt him as much as he was hurting you. “But, honestly,” you began, words spilling into the night air before you could think twice, “so what if I was? I can flirt with whoever I want because we’re just friends. Right?”

A twitch of his jaw, the slightest gesture but telling, was the only reaction you managed to pull from him. Instead, he shut down and that stoic mask - a front, hiding the raging sea that still swirled in the depths of his eyes - returned as he reached for the door handle. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it."

“Then what are we, Jake?” The question was quiet, nearly lost to the crashing of waves, and Jake gave no indication that he’d heard you outside of another tic of his jaw.

No answer was offered, no insight into what ran through his head. Instead, Jake pulled open the passenger door and tipped his chin toward the seat. “Get in.”

While silence with Jake was not uncommon, it had never been uncomfortable. You’d gotten into the habit of spending the odd night together, lying in silence as you both read or scrolled through your phones in the afterglow of sex, but it was comfortable. There was never a weight to it but the silence that lingered on the ride to your place pressed on your chest and constricted your lungs.

Tension, thick and blinding, filled the car, even as Jake pulled into your driveway and shut off the engine. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, both staring straight ahead and attempting to gather your thoughts. You were tempted to go inside, leaving Jake behind, and calling it a night. But you couldn’t help yourself.

“You matter to me, you asshole,” you reminded him, voice a whisper in the darkness. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah? Rooster matter to you, too?”

The lack of venom in the question told you that he didn’t mean it. It was a reflex, his go-to when he felt cornered - likely by the realization that tonight would not end the way either of you imagined it would - and you wanted to give him grace. But this had become more frequent lately, a bitter end to nice nights, and had been working your nerves. Combined with the acrid taste of reality you’d doused yourself with earlier in the night, you couldn’t bite your tongue.

With a shake of your head, you unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to look at Jake. “You just can’t help yourself, can you? Jesus, sometimes I think you were put on this earth for the sole purpose of being an asshole.” When Jake rolled his eyes, scoffing at the comment, you huffed. “Everyone can see that I’m in love with you, you dickhead. Bradley was trying to convince me that I should say something because it’s been so obvious to everyone but you for nearly a year and I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay with just being friends with benefits.”

Jake Seresin was not one to doubt himself, nor was he one to doubt the intentions of others. His romantic exploits had given him a great deal of confidence in navigating conversations about lust or even infatuation, but a confession of love was, undoubtedly, not something he’d been expecting to hear. For just a moment, you could see a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he blinked and shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

It was clear that he hadn’t been loved in a long while - not by a partner, someone not obligated to love him through blood or shared trauma - and your heart broke as you watched him attempt to process the implication. What you had was safe, a way for him to keep his walls in tact while experiencing a modicum of the affection he so desperately wanted, but it wasn’t enough.

For either of you, it seemed.

Beneath the doubt, the surprise, lingered a glimmer of something bright. You refused to believe that it could be hope - because hope was the thing that would kill you - but you were in too deep to end the conversation there. So, you nodded.

“Yeah, I do. I’m in love with you. I know the lines have blurred in the last few months and a label doesn’t change much but, fuck, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t deal with not knowing where I stand with you. I can’t deal with being called your girl but knowing I’m really not. I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay playing house when I can’t even confidently tell my family about you.” With a sigh, you shook your head and admitted, “Half-happy isn’t enough for me anymore, Jake.”

Jake remained silent for a moment, statue still in the driver’s seat, but you could see the emotions flickering in his eyes. A part of you wanted to beg him to speak, to tell you to leave or that he was flattered but it would never work or that he was sorry to have lead you on, but you remained quiet and allowed him to process. And after the longest few moments of your life - in reality, no more than a minute or two - he lifted a warm hand to cup your jaw.

As if in slow motion, Jake leaned over the console and pressed his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. Though you’d kissed him more times than you could count over the last year, this kiss was unlike any other you’d shared. It was rough, passionate and clumsy with a lack of finesse Jake usually possessed, but it spoke volumes. His fingers pressed into the hinge of your jaw, lips warm and searching as he gave himself fully to the embrace.

The warmth of him, overwhelming in the small space, bled into your skin and sent a shiver down your spine as you allowed yourself a moment to indulge. The kiss felt like a goodbye - only comparable to the one you’d shared before Jake left for a weeklong mission - and you weren’t sure if you’d get another.

“Jake, stop,” you mumbled against his mouth, shifting your head as best you could to break the kiss. Despite the hold he kept on you, he allowed you to pull away and remained close as you tipped your head to search his face. There was no hint of what he was feeling, though you took a moment to commit the look to memory - the flushed cheeks, the ruddy lips, the bright eyes - before sighing. “You can’t get out of this conversation with sex.”

“We’re not just friends,” he repeated, voice so soft it made your chest ache. It was a tone you’d only heard once before, in the dim of your bedroom the night he returned, and it was accompanied by a softening of his features as he smoothed a thumb across your cheekbone. “You know it, and so do I.”

Hope, the thing you’d so desperately avoided for so long in relation to Jake Seresin, began to bloom in the pit of your stomach as soft eyes searched your face. That didn’t sound like a goodbye - in fact, it sounded more like a greeting, a welcome to feelings you’d both avoided breathing aloud - but you needed him to say it.

“Jake.” The murmur of his name was pleading, a desperate request for him to confirm that he shared your feelings, and it made him shift just a little closer.

“I’m in love with you, too,” he confirmed, corner of his mouth kicking up in a soft smile as you exhaled. The admittance felt like a jolt of adrenaline and you were half-certain you’d misheard him. But he doubled down and continued, “I have been for months.”

A warmth spread throughout your limbs, bright and burning hot, as you searched his face for any hint of deceit. Jake wouldn’t lie, not about this, but you were still cautious as you leaned into his touch.

Realistically, you knew that Jake had to have felt something for you. You’d been together for months in everything but name - starting with the first night he slept over - but to hear him confirm he felt the same, that he loved you, too, was almost too much. You’d spent so long telling yourself there was no way, that Jake couldn’t want you in the same way you wanted him, that you needed to hear him say it once more.

“Tell me again.”

Jake smiled, eyes bright even in the dim light filtering in through the window, as he leaned in. “I love you,” he repeated, lips brushing yours and breath fanning across your cheek.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” The question escaped before you could stop it, necessary to ask but not one you’d pictured bringing up so soon. Jake, however, seemed to have expected it.

“We said no strings,” he reminded you, shrugging slightly. “Even without them, we were’t seeing other people so I thought you knew and were happy with where we were. You said everyone knew you were in love with me. They knew I was in love with you, too.”

It was as if his answer should’ve been obvious, known to everyone but the two of you, and you realized that Bradley’s insistence you talk to Jake was coming from a place of knowledge rather than intuition. You were Jake’s girl and there was no reason to question it - it was fact, easily seen by anyone who happened to glance, but easy to miss when you were so caught up in your own head.

Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “Then why have you been such an ass lately? More than usual, anyway.”

Despite the huff of laughter that escaped, Jake’s smile quickly fell into a frown as his thumb brushed your cheekbone. He paused for a moment, seeming to consider his answer, before he sighed. His eyes searched your face, for what you weren’t sure. “This year has been pretty calm,” he began, frown deepening. “I’m usually gone, out of touch for months. I can’t give you what you deserve and I was waiting for you to figure that out. We weren’t seeing other people but there was never a conversation saying we couldn’t.”

“You were jealous?”

A small part of you expected him to deny it - to scoff and insist that Jake Seresin was immune to jealousy - but you could see the hint of insecurity in his eyes. The walls were crumbling in real time, shattering to pieces and baring the depths of his soul, and you couldn’t say you were surprised to see him shrug.

“More like I was just waiting for you to end things, realize a relationship wouldn’t work and move on with someone who could make you happy.”

Jake’s admission told you more than you imagined he intended. Though he’d had his fair share of experience before you, it was clear that very few of his relationships had been more serious than a brief affair. And for all his bravado, his esteem had taken a hit. He saw himself as enough to bed, enough to ogle, but not enough to love and you could feel the ache in your chest grow more prominent as you lifted your own hand to cup his cheek.

The warmth of his skin bled into your palm and you blinked back the sting of tears as Jake turned his head just enough to press a kiss to your palm. “I haven’t even considered anyone else since we met. I know it’s not always going to be easy but it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

As soon as you finished speaking, Jake surged forward and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was enough to steal your breath, to express the words he couldn’t quite speak just yet, and you sank into it fully. The seatbelt buckle dug into your skin, uncomfortable but tolerable as you focused on Jake’s touch, and you knew that this was where you were meant to be.

“Come inside,” you urged the moment Jake broke the kiss. Breathless and warm, you knew where the night was headed and didn’t want to lose yourself in the confines of the car.

Jake grinned at your invitation, eyes glittering with an amusement you’d missed, as he pulled away and unbuckled his own seatbelt. “You gonna let me?”

The double entendre was one you’d brought upon yourself but you still rolled your eyes fondly as you headed for the front door. “I hate you,” you called over your shoulder, laughing as he followed you into your home.

“No, you don’t. You love me,” he gloated, countenance brighter than you’d seen it in months as he pushed the door shut and locked it behind him.

“Why, I’ll never know.” 

It was teasing, a taunt that made Jake roll his eyes, but he refused to let it linger as he reached out and gripped your hips. Jake pulled you close, body pressed to yours against the front door, and tipped his head to brush his lips against yours. “Why don’t we put that mouth to better use, sweetheart,” he proposed, smirking as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Jake gave you no chance to respond. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to yours once more, captured your lips in a searing kiss that lit a flame to the already smoldering embers of arousal settling in the pit of your stomach. His fingers dug into the skin of your hips, pulled you as close as he could manage, and you knew there would be a reminder of his touch left in the morning.

The kiss tasted of mint and a hint of alcohol, achingly familiar in a way you never expected to love, and stole your breath as his hands slipped beneath the hem of your top. As his fingers skated across your skin, calloused and warm, he began to wander backward in the direction of your bedroom.

As many times as you’d done this, making the trek to your room was easy. You managed to avoid causing any damage - to your furniture or yourselves - and only broke the kiss the moment you stepped through the doorway.

Jake was always a sight to behold, golden and beautiful in even the worst moments, but there was something about him in moments like this that made you want nothing more than to observe him. There was a hint of pink dusting the tops of his cheeks, his lips ruddy and kiss swollen, and his hair mussed from your fingers raking through it.

“You can take a picture if you want,” he teased, grinning as he reached for the hem of your top. “Give you something to get off to when I’m away.”

“Fuck off,” you huffed, though it lacked venom entirely as you allowed him to strip the garment and toss it into a corner. “How do you want me?”

“You’re letting me choose? Damn, you must really love me.” Jake laughed at the look you shot him - unimpressed, though it was a struggle to hide your amusement - and knocked your hand away from the button of your jeans. “Hands off. That’s my job.” As the denim fell to the floor, exposing you to his hungry gaze, he whistled lowly. “Fuck, sugar, you get better every time. Lie back for me. I wanna take my time with you.”

With Jake, there was never any shame. He made you feel wanted, desired in a way no one else had, and you reveled in the feeling of his gaze roving your skin. He knew every inch of you, had been privy to this view more times than you could count, but something about the look in his eyes made you feel truly seen. It was as if he were looking at you for the first time all over again and you offered him a sultry smile as you settled onto the bed.

“It’s not fair I’m nearly naked and you’re fully clothed. Lose the jeans, cowboy.” Jake grinned at your order, however teasing it was, and readily shucked off his button-down and jeans. Just as he had, you let out a low whistle and winked when he approached the foot of the bed. “I hate to boost your ego but, Jesus, you’re hot.”

Jake didn’t bother responding. Instead, he climbed onto the bed and settled above you, caging you between his arms and grinning when you shuddered at the feeling of his heated skin meeting yours. He was careful not to settle his full weight onto you, only pressed enough to feel him, and leaned in to ghost kisses along the curve of your jaw.

Warm hands skated across your exposed skin, fingers tracing a path of fire down your arm, across your stomach, along the band of your panties, as he pressed his mouth to the pulse point just below your ear. There was little doubt he could feel the way your heart hammered beneath his lips, racing with every shift of his body, and you could feel his mouth curve into a smirk as his fingers dipped beneath the fabric of your panties.

“What d’you want, sweets? All you gotta do is ask, and I’ll give it to you,” he promised, calloused fingers skating along the top of your mound.

Every twitch of his fingers sent a shiver down your spine, had your heart rate doubling and set your skin alight. He was so close to where you wanted him and you knew that this time, he would give in the moment you asked. As your fingers threaded in his hair, nails raking through the mussed strands, you shifted your hips and sighed.

“Touch me, please.” The plea was soft, whispered in his ear as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you could feel the warmth of his breath as he exhaled heavily. When he didn’t move, fingers still against your skin, you whispered the words you knew would set him in motion. “Always make me feel so good,” you praised, one hand falling to his shoulder as your nails lightly scraped across his skin. “No one else could ever compare.”

“Damn right.” The praise, as expected, spurred him on. Jake’s hand slipped lower, fingers gliding through the slick between your thighs, and he groaned at the feeling. “Fuck, so wet, sugar. Just for me?”

“Always for you,” you confirmed, nails digging into his shoulder as his thumb brushed your aching clit. “Only for you.”

A soft sigh escaped as Jake coated his fingers in your slick, mouth pressed to your skin as he nipped at the delicate skin of your throat, and you could feel his cock twitch against your thigh. He knew exactly how to press your buttons, how to push you over the edge with only a few swipes of his fingers or tongue, and you arched into the feeling of his mouth traveling lower as he pressed his fingers into your entrance.

Jake trailed kisses down the column of your throat, across the delicate skin of your collarbone, and winked when he reached your breasts. He nipped at the soft skin, just enough to send a jolt down your spine, before he continued his descent. When he reached the band of your panties, he took the material between his teeth and began to tug, only removing his fingers from your center to rid you of the material.

Before you could whine at the loss, Jake gripped your thighs and parted them just enough to shoulder his way between them. He pressed himself as close as he could, placed one of your thighs over his shoulder, and turned his head to mouth at the soft skin of your thigh as his fingers returned to your center.

Every drag of his fingers was purposeful, slow and deliberate and designed to have you seeing stars, and you could feel the band in the pit of your stomach growing taut as his thumb circled your clit. Those eyes, blown black with lust, lifted to your face as your fingers threaded in his hair once more, and you nearly came from the sight alone.

Having Jake between your thighs, fingers dripping your slick and focus entirely on your pleasure, was more of a power trip than anything you’d ever experienced. Every nerve ending felt like a live wire, jolts of pleasure shooting down your spine as his fingers pressed deeper and deeper, and you could only manage to cry out his name as the first orgasm - of many, you were sure - washed over you.

“There we go, sweets,” he encouraged, breath fanning over your center and making you cry out, “look so fucking pretty when you fall apart for me. Can I have a taste?”

Despite the aftershocks, the tension in your thighs and the difficulty you seemed to have finding the words to convey your pleasure, you used the grip on his hair to tug his face closer to your center. Luckily, you’d been here before - knew one another well enough to speak without words - and Jake took your answer for what it was worth.

Jake’s mouth was sinful and you could feel him smirk at the moan that filled your room as he swiped his tongue through your folds. He returned the noise, groaning at the taste of you, and gripped your thighs to tug you closer. The feeling of his fingers, slick with your release, pressing into your skin coupled with the broad swipes of his tongue, desperate to push you over the edge once more, sent your pulse skyrocketing as you tugged his hair and ground your hips in search of relief.

The pleasure was overwhelming, all-consuming in the most perfect of ways, and you knew that he would spend his night between your thighs, if you let him. His nose brushed your clit with every tilt of his head, tongue lapping at the release you’d already given him, and you could see stars bursting behind your eyelids as he doubled down on his ministrations and returned his fingers to your center.

That second orgasm - truly, a continuation of the first as he hadn’t let you come down - had your back arching from the bed and your fingers gripping Jake’s hair, just a little too tight. He pressed his free hand to your hip, eager to keep you in place, and hummed as he lapped at the release you gave him.

While you knew he would keep going, push you to a third release with his mouth and fingers if you let him, you used your grip on his hair to weakly tug him away as the stimulation began to grow overwhelming. Your thighs shook beneath his hands and your breath came in heaving pants, unable to fill your lungs quick enough, and Jake grinned as he lifted his head.

“Tastes like heaven,” he declared, laughing only when you huffed a breathless noise of amusement. “You good, or you need a minute?”

As Jake shifted, hand on your hip and eyes searching your face in search of an answer, you beckoned him closer. Despite the evidence of your slick coating his mouth and chin, you tugged him in for a kiss and sighed into it as he eagerly returned the embrace.

Against your hip, you could feel the evidence of his arousal - small wet patch blooming against the fabric of his briefs, cock straining and weighing heavily against your skin - and you shifted your hips, just enough to make him groan.

“I’m good,” you assured him, voice hoarse with pleasure and still breathless. “Please, wanna feel you.”

Jake sighed as your hands, lightly trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, trailed along his torso to the band of his briefs. He shifted, just enough to allow you to nudge them down, before tugging them the rest of the way off and tossing them to join your clothes. 

The weight of his body pressed to yours, skin warm and slick with the lightest sheen of sweat, had you keening as the tip of his cock brushed your clit before nudging your entrance. Jake inhaled sharply at the feeling, fingers digging into the skin of your hip, and only moved when you begged him to.

Jake pressed forward, moving slowly to give you a moment to adjust, and leaned forward to press his forehead to yours when your nails sank into his shoulder once more. “You can take it, sweets,” he encouraged, voice brittle as he sank into you. “Fuck, I know you can take it. Always so good for me.”

Each sensation felt magnified as Jake settled fully inside of you. The weight of his body pressed to yours, the warmth of his breath on your neck, the rough pads of his fingers as they stroked your hipbone to calm you as your muscles twitched with overstimulation, every ridge and vein of his cock as it stretched your walls; everything felt overwhelming in the most beautiful way possible and you couldn’t help the pleading moan that escaped as Jake shifted his hips experimentally.

With your approval, Jake began to move slowly. Each thrust was methodical, deep and searching for that spot that had you seeing stars, and you could see the tension in his jaw as he began to build a satisfying rhythm. With an experimental shift of his hips, the tip of his cock nudged a spot that drew a gasp from you and he grinned triumphantly.

“Right there?” When you moaned, unable to do more than tangle your fingers in his hair and tug him impossibly closer, Jake nipped at the curve of your jaw. “That’s it,” he encouraged, hand snaking between your bodies to rub at your aching clit. “Tell me how it feels, sweets,” he demanded, voice rough in your ear as he shifted his head just enough to catch a glimpse of your face. “Feel good?”

The shattered moan you released, keening and so desperate it made his hips stutter, wasn’t quite enough. It spurred him on, had his hips moving faster, and you cried out at the lewd sound of his hips meeting your skin. “So,” the answer was split by a broken moan, a sharp gasp as he hiked your thigh around his waist for a better angle, and Jake smirked at the way your eyes rolled back.

“So, what,” he pressed, seeking an answer that he knew you were nearly unable to give. “I need an answer, pretty girl. If I don’t get one, you don’t get to come.”

Jake’s threat wasn’t empty - he’d never left you truly hanging but he had taken a particular liking to edging, pulling you to the brink only to push you back until you gave in to his requests - and you whined at the way his hips slowed the longer you took to answer.

“So good,” you cried out, finally able to catch your breath just enough to answer. “Fuck, so good!”

He hummed, pleased by your answer, and began to pick up the pace once more as your hand returned to his hair. Though breathing was difficult enough, oxygen hard to come by even in gasps, you still dragged him in for a kiss that was more a clash of lips and teeth and tongue than a true embrace as your vision began to white around the edges.

Jake could read you better than a well-loved novel, saw the signs before you could, and pressed your hips into the mattress as he sank deeper and deeper. His thumb worked tight circles over your clit, just as desperate for you to fall over the edge as you were, and you could feel his gaze searing into your skin as you came for the third time.

The ringing of your ears nearly drowned out the sound of Jake’s groan, deep and desperate as he snapped his hips a few more times in search of his own release. Every inch of your skin felt too warm and air felt impossible to come by, but you rode out the wave with the help of Jake’s hands skating across your skin.

Jake fell to the mattress at your side, careful to remain close but keep enough distance to make you comfortable, and for a few long moments, the only noise in the room was the ragged sounds of you both attempting to catch your breath.

When you could feel your temperature returning to normal, the tingling in the tips of your fingers and toes leaving, you moved your hand just enough to grab his and intertwine your fingers. “You have such a praise kink,” you teased, still breathless and voice hoarse with use as you turned your head to find Jake already looking at you.

Instead of denying it, Jake laughed and squeezed your hand. “I want to make sure my girl feels good,” he defended, shrugging as best he could. “Somethin’ wrong with that?”

“I keep feeding your ego, but you’ve never left me wanting,” you assured him, rolling your eyes when he smirked. “So, I’m your girl now?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes as he tugged you closer. “You’ve been my girl for a while now,” he reminded you. “Nothing changes except I can tell people to fuck off if they get too close.”

With a sigh, you rested your head on his shoulder and tipped your chin just enough to meet his gaze. As his fingers brushed along the heated skin of your side, warm and threatening to lull you to sleep, you tapped his chest. “I’m yours. The jealousy thing isn’t cute. You can’t lose your shit every time I talk to someone. You’re the only one I want and you have to trust that. You have to trust me.”

“I do,” he promised, gaze softening. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair of me to take my fears out on you. It won’t happen again,” he assured you.

Though there were still questions to be answered and a conversation to be had, you trusted that you were on the same page. And as he brushed at your heated skin, fingers skating across your back and side, you drifted to sleep with the knowledge that you were Jake’s girl, just as you had been all along.

__________________________________________________

Author’s Note: How did we get here. My smut is rusty and I need to practice. But instead I’m working on Hangman angst. Whoops.

Taglist: @lulu-noodles, @holachicos, @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth, @withakindheartx, @ssprayberrythings, @verin93, @totalwitch2, @malindacath, @alexparkxr, @hangmandruigandmav, @alexxavicry, @calicokel, @jaymum, @dracosluvbot, @little-wiseone, @specialk6802, @mandylove1000, @xlynnx07, @julesclues, @archetypesoflife, @oliviah-25, @benhardysdrumstick, @caatheeriinee07, @prettymucheveryothernamewastaken, @yvespoems, @chloereidwayne, @flower-name​

[jukedy]

gojo the type of guy who'd want to bridal carry you at all times

gojo the type of guy who'd kick his feet whenever you're texting him

gojo the type of guy to cling onto you whenever you have to leave for work

gojo the type of guy who'd imitate cheesy couples in public to embarrass you

gojo the type of guy to pull silly pranks on you and blame it on his students

gojo the type of guy to work out in front of you just to get you flushed

gojo the type of guy to wear your clothes sometimes just to piss you off (affectionately)

gojo the type of guy to only have serious talks with you whenever he's holding you close to him in bed

gojo the type of guy to get himself brown lenses to see your reaction

gojo also the type of guy who'd get OFFENDED when you didn't say you missed your iceberg king

gojo the type of guy who can't shut up about you to literally anyone

gojo the type of guy to complain about things while saying 'y/n would never do it like this'

gojo the type of guy to drastically hold you whenever you get a bit hurt (may it be stubbing your toe)

gojo the type of guy to fake wrestle with you whenever you're busy

gojo the type of guy to say 'draw me like one of your french girls' like the loser he is

gojo the type of guy to kiss each one of your knuckles to persuade you into doing something for him

gojo the type of guy to get himself into trouble often but is okay with it knowing you'll come to his rescue

gojo the type of guy to send you cat memes and say 'me and you'

gojo the type of guy to wear a suit when it comes to meeting your family

gojo the type of guy who'd flex having you as a partner

gojo the type of guy who'd text you during easy missions just to piss off the enemy

gojo the type of guy to gift you blue roses like a gentleman

gojo the type of guy to be a little selfish and secretly fill in your schedule with several dates with him

gojo the type of guy to kiss you on your nose the most

gojo the type of guy to teach you how to dance even though he has no idea how to either (he stepped on all your toes)

gojo the type of guy who'd get his students to put in a good word for him to you, like how he saved that cat the other day (there was no cat)

gojo the type of guy to pull your chair out for you while on date (hes on the verge of pulling it twice to make you fall on your butt)

gojo the type of guy to be a really soft kisser, even his touch feels like feathers

gojo the type of guy to have the ugliest pic of you as his wallpaper (they're all beautiful to him)

gojo the type of guy to ask you if you're single whenever he's drunk

gojo the type of guy to watch sappy romance series and takes notes for how he'll treat you

gojo is that guy

A/N: wowzers my first ever jjk post😲 feel free to request something